Ending

Here they are — fifty new English versions of the ghazals appearing in The Diwan of Zeb-un-Nissa, published by Jessie Duncan Westbrook and Magan Lal in 1913, along with the text of their translation from Persian into English.

I’ve finished the project I began a year ago. To Zeb-un-Nissa, I say:

Thanks for the ride.

At times I’ve been annoyed with you, impatient with the grief you express again and again, particularly in the last ten or twelve poems in the series. Still, I suspect there’s much elegance in your original phrasing that I have either missed or muffed: metaphors, rhythm and rhyme schemes, turns of phrase that are in themselves artful.

I’ll tell you, I was relieved to come to

XLV. Ease and joy are not

No way of joy and ease is mine to tread,
The road of shame and madness joyfully I choose instead

And even more relieved to arrive at

XLVII. The roses hear

O happy Makhfi! fortunate thy day!

You, Zeb-un-Nissa, have certainly earned your right to complain, given your imprisonment, your father’s punishment for an imagined betrayal. These fifty mournful poems likely sample what you wrote during that time of hardship and don’t represent the entire body of your work.

I suspect other poems of yours take on different tones and moods. For example, in her introduction to the Diwan, Westbrook tells us “The Diwan-i-Makhfi is widely read in India, and is highly esteemed. Its verse is chanted in the ecstatic concourses which meet at festivals at the tombs of celebrated saints ….”

Another example: The beloved Sufi teacher Hazrat Inayat Khan refers to you as he discusses directing the mind’s attention:

As Zebunnisa, the Persian poetess says, “If thou thinkest of the blooming rose, thou wilt become a rose. And, if thou thinkest of the crying nightingale, thou wilt become a nightingale.

“Such is the mystery of life. If thou thinkest of the divine Spirit, thou wilt reflect It and thou wilt become It.”

Westbrook writes that you knew Hinduism and Zoroastrianism as well as Islam. You do use some of these fifty poems to challenge rigid religious conventions, whatever their denomination. According to Westbrook, your “special triumph” is weaving together different religious traditions and harmonizing them with Sufi practices.

I like this: You modified a garment Turkestani women wore to suit the needs of Indian women. The result, the angya kurti, became popular all over India. Amanda Bloomer, move over!

Zeb-un-Nissa, your gift to me: In a time when I felt I had nothing much to say poetically for myself, you gave me a way to exercise my poetic imagination. Thank you. I know these versions of your poems are first-round only. On second and third rounds I might scout out more interesting alternatives to grief, sorrow, shame, weariness, pain. I might look more deeply into the Sufi practices you reference — greeting the new day with floods of tears and sighs, striking the heart to spark flames of divine love.

I confess: I’ve had a problem with at least one metaphor, the “tears of blood.” I’ve kept other metaphors more or less in tact: The morning breeze moving in and out of the garden — the spiritual teacher. The lock of the Belovéd’s hair — the worldly evidence of the ineffable Presence. The nightingale and the rose, the moth and the flame — the Lover and the Belovéd.

In a few places, you describe holding onto, or at least touching, what the Belovéd is wearing:

XII. I used to have many

I follow on where Wisdom’s feet have led,
And firmly hold,
The while this hard and thorny path I tread,
Her garment’s fold.

XXX. This cup contains

I vainly stretch imploring hands that long
To touch Hope’s gleaming garment as she flies

XLV. Ease and joy are not

Though, Makhfi, God shall pardon at the last,
The Skirt of Intercession hold within thy fingers fast

I love this image of apparel, especially the “skirt of intercession.” I think of Mary, the designated intercessor in Christian iconography, the go-between between ordinary mortals and the Big-Guy-in-the-Sky. She’s the one who curries favor for us, advocates for us, delivers our prayers. I wonder if she wears a Skirt of Intercession. I wonder if she has a whole wardrobe of them. Some in plaid, some in velvet? Different skirts for different occasions?

Zeb-un-Nissa, I’ve had a fine time finding ways to retool your poems, making the language contemporary without trivializing your meaning:

XLIX. A single ringlet

Before the soul who understands
Be silent: in the desert sands
He learnt his lore. Break not the rest
Of the afflicted and oppressed
With poisoned arrows in his breast.

becomes

Standing before the soul who
understands, be silent.
Her wisdom is hard-won. Don’t
shoot poison arrows at her heart.
You’ll disturb her stillness.

L. The dust that collects

O King of all the roses, be thou kind
Unto the bulbul, whose unquiet mind
Makes him a mad faquir in loving thee;
For even kings who ride in majesty
Will stop their chariots e’er a faquir stir.

becomes

King of roses, be kind to the nightingale
whose unbalanced mind makes him mad
for the love of you. Even royalty riding
in state avoid running over a madman.

I’ve enjoyed using language to add a tad of humor and lift the mood:

XLII. You who source yourself

O Self-Existent, give
Unto Thy faithful ones their heart’s desire,
And visit not with Thy consuming fire
O’er-burdened souls, too sorrowful to live.

becomes

You who source yourself:
We are your faithful ones,
give us what our hearts desire.

At least give us a break.
Don’t snare
our overburdened souls
in your all-consuming fire.
We lose interest in living.

In many places I’ve retained Westbrook’s phrases, providing images that have a fresh and striking appeal:

Reason, that can speed a runner in the valley of desire
waves of the tempest rise menacing to the skies
tulips arise and burn like torches
the veil arising from thy moon-like face

Zeb-un-Nissa: Again, thank you for the opportunity to slide into poetry through the door you’ve opened. I wish you peace, and satisfaction, and union with your Belovéd.

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