The Prairie Rubaiyat- PART III - CHAPTER II
By: Habeeb Salloum/Arab America Contributing Writer
From my early youth when I first read the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, I have been enthralled by the verses of that world-renowned poet and his type of poetry. Of course, it was not the poet himself but rather Edward Fitzgerald who first translated his stanzas into English thus making this mathematician-astronomer poet a famous literary figure in the English-speaking world.
The Rubaiyat, an Arabic word meaning four, is a form of verse which follows an Arabic form of poetry. In this type of poetry, each verse is a separate entity and carries its own message. Arabic, in Omar Khayyam’s day, was the universal language of the Muslim world which in that era was the civilized and pace-setting portion of mankind.
In my youth, I read and enjoyed the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, but as time passed and I became proficient in Arabic, the language of my ancestors, I found a larger world of enjoyable rubaiyat. In later years when I would reminisce about the harsh depression era in southern Saskatchewan, I would think of these poets from long ago and relate their verses to these years of despair. Perhaps, it was my Arab background that made me think of the Rubaiyat with its messages at the times that I would remember the harshness of my youthful years. There is no doubt the flowery poetry of the Arabs, especially the rubaiyat form, had a great influence on my literary thinking.
A subject on which most bards agree, especially the rubaiyat poets, is love and beauty. No one will question the fact that these versifiers add much to the enjoyment of life with both their down-to-earth and metaphoric description of nature’s beauty or the charms of women. In the rubaiyat, since each stanza is an entity by itself and carries its own message, it forms a separate image. These images become a series of colorful pictures, easily absorbed and remembered by the reader.
The second section ‘In the Garden of Love’ is filled with my fantasies about the beauties of life, especially captivating women. All bards dream about bewitching and enticing females and I am no exception. The attractive and charming women in the streets, public places and sunny beaches, all enchant me and inspire my verses. Without these radiant jewels of life, my Rubaiyat would lack an enticing and alluring element.
Hope you will enjoy the poem.
In the Garden of Love
That beauty meandering along the country road,
That sophisticated model who before us strode,
And the dancer whom we desire but talk about,
All make the house of fantasy our true abode.
Her sensuous glances which make men rave,
And her beautiful body which makes men crave,
Her talk, her walk, and her coyish ways
Entice, but are you ready to be her slave?
The wine washing her ruby lips seemed to say,
All pleasures for which you yearn and pray
Will be yours if you pour me again into her cup
For I am the friendly companion who will betray.
Look! As she waters the blooming roses red,
A fresh tender blossom crossing the flower bed.
This beauty and the roses with perfumed flowers,
From the same soil, were they both not bred?
Enticing are the words dripping from her lips,
Seductive her movements as she sways her hips.
The Master must have designed a perfect pattern
When He created Eve from one of Adam’s ribs.
Oh, come with me to my enchanted Isle of Paradise,
Filled with black-eyed houris, beauties that entice. (6)
Is this Isle only dreams or the promised heaven?
But are not the two the same, if one is precise?
My friend, if you are a poet of love, rejoice!
To praise alluring women has been your choice.
Let them who are pure, in jealousy rant and rave.
Heed not, your fate was decreed by the Ruling Voice.
She is more irresistible than a dazzling flower,
Yet t’is said this beauty, we must not devour,
Then why are we tempted with bewitching shapes?
He could have willed otherwise, the One with power.
Avoid the ruby lips which invite one to kiss,
And her seductive and provocative smile dismiss.
Of that treasure with flirting and coquetting ways
Beware! The bliss you seek will lead to an abyss.
Oh, Master who created the jewels which flirt,
And who with them made ones that men avert.
If you could not be perfect in your handiwork,
Why didn’t you return the others back to dirt?
And that captivating body I wanted to embrace
All decked out with a robe of silk and lace,
Is but an unwritten page in my book of fantasy.
How many are the mirages we form then chase?
Prospectors search for gold, silver or even jade.
Nuns search for paradise in their daily crusade.
Each one has a goal, each one has a trade.
As for me, give me only a well-formed maid.
By the water, I saw her coming, saw her by chance.
My greeting she answered, I awoke from my trance.
Her eyes and her movements asked me the question,
Yes, my heart yearned for a lingering romance.
Dear lad, why search for that burning flame?
Do you not know that love is an endless game?
Be wary, the road of passion is filled with sorrows.
It leads a few times to joy but many times to shame.
Yesterday on a beach, I sat under swaying palms,
And to the dark-eyed beauties, I gave salaams. (7)
I thought, ‘Is this the joyful promised heaven
Which we hope for, yet our mortal mind embalms’?
Why do I pine for her I often ask my heart?
Why do I feel that fire when we are apart?
She does not return my love but yet it grows
For she has, in my breast shot that dart.
She was so inviting on yonder sandy beach,
I wanted to greet her but I ran out of speech.
A jewel, a precious treasure arousing my greed,
But I could do nothing, she was out of reach.
Motionless she sat by the slow running stream,
Gazing into its cold waters as if in a dream.
A lovely flower blooming, but soon to wither.
It all fits into His prepared worldly scheme.
The one I cherished, now I know of her deceit.
That radiant treasure, I had thought so sweet.
It is the way of women since the dawn of time,
They always love you, then with another cheat.
Green were the wheat fields where I sat with her.
Words of love I whispered and she began to purr.
Alas! These youthful days are now only memories
Recorded on a hidden, but cherished calendar.
Unbowed I walked a happy poet for I was proud
Of my verses, recited by youthful lovers aloud,
Till t’was said, I corrupted the morals of youth,
But can one corrupt a passionate poetic crowd?
What shall it profit the composing of a verse
Or your fantasies about that charming nurse,
If you are alone with these dreams of longing?
But, this is the way of our imperfect universe.
How many were the times I wanted to caress,
And in a bridal bed her shapely form undress,
That actress who millions craved or desired,
But as others, in dreams, I could only possess.
Decked on the dance floor, a maid, a dazzling gem,
With eyes full of passion, a tempting radiant femme.
Transfixed. Well! I thought of love and seduction,
But, could you blame me and my thoughts condemn?
Fascinating figures promenading the beach attract.
You think, but your thoughts are in the abstract.
You desire to explore, you are eager to embrace,
It is only a world of images, you cannot act.
When I beheld her, the wind of passion blew.
I sent her ardent verses, asking for a rendezvous.
She mocked me and my flowery verses until I
Found, one alone cannot love, there must be two.
Attractive was that new secretary which I eyed.
0h! If only she would consent to be my bride.
We live with eternal hope and throbbing desires
Fantasize! One cannot stop the flowing tide.
As God is above, to her, to her I drink,
That ravishing beauty all wrapped in mink.
She is elegant. She is overflowing with passion,
But if only she would, of that animal think.
Farewell my love, farewell my radiant pearl.
Depart, at you, indignations I will not hurl.
Because our passionate nights are dear to me
The banner of righteous anger I won’t unfurl.
Where are the young maids I yearned to please?
Where are the glamorous women I longed to squeeze?
The ravages of time are eroding their charms,
As their aging bodies, inch by inch increase.
Many were the times my lady-love brought me joy
When we caroused, for she was my precious toy.
But like a spoiled child, I found other toys
With which to play, then one after one destroy.
In her abode of love, she held her nightly court.
Many were her customers in that seafaring port.
All of these lovers were men of fame and wealth.
Did you say her lovers, as wives they escort?
As God is my witness, my desire is to boast
About that rare jewel who is my flaming host.
I do not want to hide this adorable treasure
For her elegance, I want all the world to toast.
You cultivate her, yet you say she is a slut.
Why do you develop her art of making love, but
You agree with others when they snigger, saying,
She is a loose woman who loves a life of smut?
Aye! Her provocative body for which I yearn,
And her tender arms in which I love to burn,
Are my paradise. I have no need for promises.
For her, that other life I will gladly spurn.
Some praise northern blonds with domineering ways,
Others boast that redheads are their inner craze,
But were they ever in Mexico to see dark ones smile,
Beauties from Montezuma, setting manly hearts ablaze. (8)
Abandon that life you live by a rigid code,
And let the lovely ones enter your barren abode.
Sad and lonely is a garden without flowers,
Forsaken by the poet and his rhyming ode.
As God rules in heaven, to her, to her I pray,
She who from the trodden path led me astray,
For between her arms I found more pleasures
Than promised a believer on that important day.
