Fervor

Fervēns pectus petit tuum fervōrem.

Inconscium, tuam requīrit mentem.

Vīrō pōtante quaerit id quō vīvis.

Ānō factō petit tuam hanc aurem.

Translation of Rūmī’s quatrain #556, Foruzanfar, ed.; 

pg 18 in Houshmand’s Moon and Sun; 

quatrain # 1004 in Gamard’s The Quatrains of Rumi.

See blog entry for October 31, 2021 about Latin and Persian poetry.

بـــجـوشــــد دل کــه تا بـه جـوش تو رسد

بـی هوش شده است تا به هوش تو رسـد

میــنـــوشـــد زهــر تـا بـــه نـوش تو رسـد

چون حلقه شده است تا به گوش تو رسد

Bejūshad del ke tā be jūsh-e to rasad.

Bīhūsh shodast tā be hūsh-e to rasad.

Mīnūshad zahr tā be nūsh-e to rasad.

Chūn halqa shodast tā be gūsh-e to rasad.

The heart boils so that it arrives at your boiling.

It has become mindless so that it arrives at your mind.

It is drinking poison so that it arrives at your antidote.

It has become like a ring so that it arrives at your ear. 

Each line of this quatrain presents a problem for the translator. For a Persian speaker, the problem is the same. Persian has only one third person: a he-she-it all rolled into one pronoun. This is surprising considering that the language, like all Indo-European languages, once had three genders. This pronomial trinity ended sometime after the Arab invasion in the eighth century.

In the first line it is clear that the heart is in a state of fervor so that the heart reaches your state of fervor. But in the second line, what or who becomes mindless? The heart or an unidentified third person? Is someone mindless so that that someone reaches your mental state? Similarly in the third and fourth lines, is it the heart that reaches for your antidote and for your ear or is it that mystery person? I really don’t know, although I did make a decision in the Latin. I chose to say ‘inconscium’ instead of ‘inconscius.’ The former would refer to pectus, the latter to some unidentified third person.

Then, we must consider who is the ‘you’? The beloved? God? If so, we have three entities: heart, a person, and the beloved. If it is God or the beloved, we find it difficult to make sense of the fourth line. A ring in the ear was a poetic way of indicating servitude. Slaves were made to wear an earring to show their status. Is Rūmī saying that the beloved or God will become a slave to the heart or to that mystery person? I don’t believe so. Rather we might have to look at the fourth line in another way. Perhaps ‘ring’ is just a metaphor for submission (Islam, ’surrender’) and that all the poet is suggesting is that by my submitting to God’s will, God will hear me. In other words, I will become a ring, a slave, so that I will be heard. Both Houshmand and Gamard make it sound as if God or the beloved will wear the ring and thus become a slave. Houshmand: “[the heart] forges itself as a ring to grace your ear.” Gamard: “And it [the heart] became like an ear ring so that it may reach your ear.” 

One last problem. In the third line Rūmī uses a word whose root is nūsh (نوش). Basically the word means to drink [to stay alive]. It is etymologically related to hūsh (هوش) in the second line, which means ‘intelligence.’ It is also related to words that mean ‘clear,’ ‘eternal life,’ and ’sweet.’ So nūsh also has these meanings of sweetness, clarity, eternity, and in some instances antidote. Rūmī states that the way to the sweetness, the deathlessness, the wine of the beloved is by drinking poison. What that poison is, I do not know. A metaphor perhaps of difficulties we must go through in this life to reach a higher level of understanding.  

Here is a very free translation as I try to skirt some of the problems mentioned above:

My heart blazes as a way to your fire.

I empty my thoughts as a way to your mind.

I drink poison as a way to your deathlessness.

I become an earring as a way to your ear.