The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

by Omar Khayyám

II Dreaming when Dawn’s Left Hand was in the Sky2 I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry, “Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life’s Liquor in its Cup be dry.”

Alternate Before the phantom of False morning died, Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried, “When all the Temple is prepared within, Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside?”

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before The Tavern shouted—“Open then the Door! You know how little while we have to stay, And, once departed, may return no more.”

Enjoy this short life while it lasts?

Irám indeed is gone with all its Rose,5 And Jamshýd’s Sev’n-ring’d Cup where no one knows; But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields, And still a Garden by the Water blows.

Ppl come and go but the reality remains?

But come with old Khayyám, and leave the Lot Of Kaikobád and Kaikhosrú forgot: Let Rustum lay about him as he will,8 Or Hátim Tai cry Supper—heed them not.

With me along some Strip of Herbage strown That just divides the desert from the sown, Where name of Slave and Sultán scarce is known, And pity Sultán Máhmúd on his Throne.

Come travel with Khayyam to a place without heirarchy

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness— And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

Good company, good food and shelter are enough to make paradise

“How sweet is mortal Sovranty!”—think some: Others—“How blest the Paradise to come!” Ah, take the Cash in hand and wave the Rest; Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!9

Some people live in this world. Others live anticipating the afterlife

Look to the Rose that blows about us—“Lo, Laughing,” she says, “into the World I blow: At once the silken Tassel of my Purse Tear, and its Treasure10 on the Garden throw.”

The rose blows into the wind and disperses its seeds - But what is this a metaphor for?

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon Turns Ashes—or it prospers; and anon, Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face Lighting a little Hour or two—is gone.

Sooner or later you will meet your end, even if times are good right now

And those who husbanded the Golden Grain, And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain, Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn’d As, buried once, Men want dug up again.

The hopes, aspirations and the end of those who save their riches and those who share them are the same

Think, in this batter’d Caravanserai Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day, How Sultán after Sultán with his Pomp Abode his Hour or two, and went his way.

This life is but a pit stop Sultans come and go

I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.

The world is cyclical? The Greatest joy comes after the greatest pain

XXII And we, that now make merry in the Room They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom, Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth Descend, ourselves to make a Couch—for whom?

XXIII Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!

XXIV Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, And those that after a TO-MORROW stare, A Muezzín from the Tower of Darkness cries “Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!”

Both those who are busy in preparations of today and tomorrow are wasting time

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss’d Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn Are scatter’d, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

Talking of sufis?

Oh, come with old Khayyám, and leave the Wise To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies; One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies; The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

There is no afterlife so enjoy the current moment. Do not waste it on discursive thoughts of the wise about nature of reality and afterlife

Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument About it and about: but evermore Came out by the same Door as in I went.

With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with my own hand labour’d it to grow: And this was all the Harvest that I reap’d— “I came like Water, and like Wind I go.”

XXXII There was a Door to which I found no Key: There was a Veil past which I could not see: Some little Talk awhile of Me and THEE There seemed—and then no more of THEE and ME.

Unity? Disappearance of ego?

Then to the rolling Heav’n itself I cried, Asking, “What Lamp had Destiny to guide Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?” And—“A blind Understanding!” Heav’n replied.

Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn My Lip the secret Well of Life to learn: And Lip to Lip it murmur’d—“While you live Drink!—for once dead you never shall return.”

Ah, fill the Cup:—what boots it to repeat How Time is slipping underneath our Feet: Unborn TO-MORROW, and dead YESTERDAY, Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet!

Live in the moment Done regret?

One Moment in Annihilation’s Waste, One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste— The Stars are setting and the Caravan Starts for the Dawn of Nothing15—Oh, make haste!

Nihilism? But tinged with optimism. Given we are headed nowhere, you might as well enjoy this moment

How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit Of This and That endeavour and dispute? Better be merry with the fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

Be happy with what you have? Dont go on running. Enjoy the present moment

XL You know, my Friends, how long since in my House For a new Marriage I did make carouse: Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed, And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

What does this mean? Leaving reason to drink wine and take understanding of reality to the next level?

XLI For “IS” and “IS-NOT” though with Rule and Line, And “UP-AND-DOWN” without, I could define,16 I yet in all I only cared to know, Was never deep in anything but—Wine.

XLII And lately, by the Tavern Door agape, Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and He bid...

XLIII The Grape that can with Logic absolute The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects17 confute: The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice Life’s leaden Metal into Gold transmute.

Drink the grape and all your arguments will go away as you come to a closer understanding of reality?

But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me The Quarrel of the Universe let be: And, in some corner of the Hubbub coucht, Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.

Leave the wise be Leave the paradoxes of the universe with me As for you, make game of that which makes game of you This smoothly flows into the next verse where Khayyam says that its all but a game of shadows

XLVI For in and out, above, about, below, ‘Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show, Play’d in a Box whose Candle is the Sun, Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.

Sounds like Plato?

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, End in the Nothing all Things end in—Yes— Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what Thou shalt be—Nothing—Thou shalt not be less.

There is no sadness in being Nothing as that is the reality of all things?

While the Rose blows along the River Brink, With old Khayyám the Ruby Vintage drink: And when the Angel with his darker Draught Draws up to Thee—take that, and do not shrink.

Drink my wine and then drink the angels draught too. Feel no shame in doing this

’Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays: Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays.

It is all a chessboard. Everyone plays their game and then goes back into the grave

The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes, But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes; And He that toss’d Thee down into the Field, He knows about it all—HE knows—HE knows!

God knows the quandary he has put you in?

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

Fate cannot be changed. Do not try it

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky, Whereunder crawling coop’t we live and die, Lift not thy hands to It for help—for It Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

The sky is as helpless as us

Earth’s first Clay

Last Man’s knead,

Last H...

S...

Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

What was written on the morning of creation is exactly what will happen until the day of reckoning

The Vine had struck a Fibre; which about If clings my Being—let the Súfi flout; Of my Base Metal may be filed a Key, That shall unlock the Door he howls without.

Let the sufi criticize my wine drinking but through it I can see past the door he is so desperate to open

And this I know: whether the one True Light, Kindle to Love, or Wrathconsume me quite, One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught Better than in the Temple lost outright.

Better to see god in a Tavern than not see him at all in the Temple

Oh Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin Beset the Road I was to wander in, Thou wilt not with Predestination round Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?

God, are you not going to stop me from sinning when it is you that has filled my path with pitfalls and desires?

Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And who with Eden didst devise the Snake; For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blacken’d, Man’s Forgiveness give—and take!

O Thou, who created man’s base nature, then created the desires because of which sins, forgive man!

LIX Listen again. One Evening at the Close Of Ramazán, ere the better Moon arose, In that old Potter’s Shop I stood alone With the clay Population round in Rows.

Standing with God?

And, strange to tell,

Then said another—“

That He who subtly wrought me into Shape Should stamp me back to common Earth again.”