Confused and distraught
Again I am raging, I am in such a state by your soul that every
bond you bind, I break, by your soul.
I am like heaven, like the moon, like a candle by your glow; I am all
reason, all love, all soul, by your soul.
My joy is of your doing, my hangover of your thorn; whatever
side you turn your face, I turn mine, by your soul.
I spoke in error; it is not surprising to speak in error in this
state, for this moment I cannot tell cup from wine, by your soul.
I am that madman in bonds who binds the “divs”; I, the madman,
am a Solomon with the “divs”, by your soul.
Whatever form other than love raises up its head from my
heart, forthwith I drive it out of the court of my heart, by your soul.
Come, you who have departed, for the thing that departs
comes back; neither you are that, by my soul, nor I am that, by your soul.
Disbeliever, do not conceal disbelief in your soul, for I will recite
the secret of your destiny, by your soul.
Out of love of Sham-e Tabrizi, through wakefulness or
nightrising, like a spinning mote I am distraught, by your soul.
“Mystical Poems of Rumi 2” A. J. Arberry
The University of Chicago Press, 1991
Reason says, “I will beguile him with the tongue;”
Love says, “Be silent. I will beguile him with the soul.”
The soul says to the heart, “Go, do not laugh at me
and yourself. What is there that is not his, that I may beguile him thereby?”
He is not sorrowful and anxious and seeking oblivion
that I may beguile him with wine and a heavy measure.
The arrow of his glance needs not a bow that I should
beguile the shaft of his gaze with a bow.
He is not prisoner of the world, fettered to this world
of earth, that I should beguile him with gold of the kingdom of the world.
He is an angel, though in form he is a man; he is not
lustful that I should beguile him with women.
Angels start away from the house wherein this form
is, so how should I beguile him with such a form and likeness?
He does not take a flock of horses, since he flies on wings;
his food is light, so how should I beguile him with bread?
He is not a merchant and trafficker in the market of the
world that I should beguile him with enchantment of gain and loss.
He is not veiled that I should make myself out sick and
utter sighs, to beguile him with lamentation.
I will bind my head and bow my head, for I have got out
of hand; I will not beguile his compassion with sickness or fluttering.
Hair by hair he sees my crookedness and feigning; what’s
hidden from him that I should beguile him with anything hidden.
He is not a seeker of fame, a prince addicted to poets,
that I should beguile him with verses and lyrics and flowing poetry.
The glory of the unseen form is too great for me to
beguile it with blessing or Paradise.
Shams-e Tabriz, who is his chosen and beloved – perchance
I will beguile him with this same pole of the age.
“Mystical Poems of Rumi 2” A. J. Arberry
The University of Chicago Press, 1991
I have come so that, tugging your ear, I may draw you to me,
unheart and unself you, plant you in my heart and soul.
Rosebush, I have come a sweet springtide unto you, to seize
you very gently in my embrace and squeeze you.
I have come to adorn you in this worldly abode, to convey you
above the skies like lovers’ prayers.
I have come because you stole a kiss from an idol fair; give it
back with a glad heart, master, for I will seize you back.
What is a mere rose? You are the All1, you are the speaker of
the command “Say”2 . If no one else knows you, since you are I, I know you.
You are my soul and spirit, you are my Fatiha-chanter3 , be-
come altogether the Fatiha, so that I may chant you in my heart.
You are my quarry and game, though you have sprung from
the snare; return to the snare, and if you will not, I will drive you.
The lion said to me, “You are a wonderous deer; be gone! Why
do you run in my wake so swiftly? I will tear you to pieces.”
Accept my blow, and advance like a hero’s shield;
give your ear to naught but the bowstring, that I may bend you like a bow.
So many thousand stages there are from earth’s bounds to
man; I have brought you from city to city, I will not leave you by the roadside.
Say nothing, froth not, do not raise the lid of the cauldron;
simmer well, and be patient, for I am cooking you.
No, for you are a lion’s whelp hidden in a deer’s body: I will
cause you suddenly to transcend the deer’s veil.
You are my ball, and you run in the curved mallet of my
decree; though I am making you to run, I am still running in your track.
“Mystical Poems of Rumi 1”, A.J. Arberry
The University of Chicago Press, 1968
A New Rule
It is the rule with drunkards to fall upon each other,
to quarrel, become violent, and make a scene.
The lover is even worse than a drunkard.
I will tell you what love is: to enter a mine of gold.
And what is that gold?
The lover is a king above all kings,
unafraid of death, not at all interested in a golden crown.
The dervish has a pearl concealed under his patched cloak.
Why should he go begging door to door?
Last night that moon came along,
drunk, dropping clothes in the street.
“Get up,” I told my heart, “Give the soul a glass of wine.
The moment has come to join the nightingale in the garden,
to taste sugar with the soul-parrot.”
I have fallen, with my heart shattered –
where else but on your path? And I
broke your bowl, drunk, my idol, so drunk,
don’t let me be harmed, take my hand.
A new rule, a new law has been born:
break all the glasses and fall toward the glassblower.
“Love is a Stranger”, Kabir Helminski
Threshold Books, 1993
It is the rule with drunkards to fall upon one another, to fight
and squabble and make tumult.
The lover is worse than the drunkard; the lover also belongs
to that party. I will tell what love is; it is to fall into a goldmine.
What may that gold be? The lover is the king of kings; it
means becoming secure from death and not caring for the golden crown.
The darvish in his cloak, and in his pocket the pearl – why
should he be ashamed of begging from door to door?
Last night that moon came along, having flung his girdle on the road, so
drunken that he was not aware that his girdle had fallen.
I said, “Leap up, my heart, place wine in the hand of the soul;
for such a time has befallen, it is time to be roistering.
“To become hand in hand with the garden nightingale, to fall
into sugar with the spiritual parrot.”
I, heart-forlorn and heart-yielded, fallen upon your way – by
Allah, I know of no other place to fall.
If I broke your bowl, I am drunk, my idol. I am drunk – leave
me not from you hand to fall into danger.
This is a newborn rule, a newly enacted decree – to shatter
glasses, and to fall upon the glassmaker!
“Mystical Poems of Rumi 2” A. J. Arberry
The University of Chicago Press, 1991
Ode 2180
From these depths depart towards heaven;
may your soul be happy, journey joyfully.
You have escaped from the city full of fear and trembling;
happily become a resident of the Abode of Security4 .
If the body’s image has gone, await the image-maker; if the
body is utterly ruined, become all soul.
If your face has become saffron pale through death, become a
dweller among tulip beds and Judas trees.
If the doors of repose have been barred to you, come, depart
by way of the roof and the ladder.
If you are alone from Friends and companions, by the help of
God become a saheb-qeran5 [lord of happy circumstance].
If you have been secluded from water and bread, like bread
become the food of the souls, and so become!
“Mystical Poems of Rumi 2” A. J. Arberry
The University of Chicago Press, 1991
This is love: to fly to heaven, every moment to rend a hundred veils;
At first instance, to break away from breath — first step, to renounce feet;
To disregard this world, to see only that which you yourself have seen6 .
I said, “Heart, congratulations on entering the circle of lovers,
“On gazing beyond the range of the eye, on running into the alley of the breasts.”
Whence came this breath, O heart? Whence came this throbbing, O heart?
Bird, speak the tongue of birds: I can heed your cipher!
The heart said, “I was in the factory whilst the home of water and clay was abaking.
“I was flying from the workshop whilst the workshop was being created.
“When I could no more resist, they dragged me; how shall I
tell the manner of that dragging?”
“Mystical Poems of Rumi 1”, A.J. Arberry
The University of Chicago Press, 1968
Sweetly parading you go my soul of soul, go not without me;
life of your friends, enter not the garden without me.
Sky, revolve not without me; moon, shine not without me;
earth travel not without me, and time, go not without me.
With you this world is joyous, and with you that world is joyous;
in this world dwell not without me, and to that world depart not without me.
Vision, know not without me, and tongue, recite not without
me; glance behold not without me, and soul, go not without me.
The night through the moon’s light sees its face white; I am
light, you are my moon, go not to heaven without me.
The thorn is secure from the fire in the shelter of the roses
face: you are the rose, I your thorn; go not into the rose garden without me.
I run in the curve of your mallet when your eye is with me;
even so gaze upon me, drive not without me, go not without me.
When, joy, you are companion of the king, drink not without
me; when, watchman, you go to the kings roof, go not without me.
Alas for him who goes on this road without your sign; since
you, O signless one, are my sign, go not without me.
Alas for him who goes on the road without my knowledge;
you are the knowledge of the road for me; O road-knower, go not without me.
Others call you love, I call you the king of love; O you who are
higher than the imagination of this and that, go not without me.
“Mystical Poems of Rumi 2” A. J. Arberry
The University of Chicago Press, 1991