Jami (1414-1492 CE) [Electronic resources] : Joseph And Zuleika نسخه متنی

[Horne Introduction]

Jami, the last of the great classic poets of Persia, was born at Jam,
near Herat, in 1414 and died in Herat in 1492. He essayed every form of
literature and achieved success in each. From childhood he was welcomed
everywhere as a marvel of brilliancy. He himself wrote that he never found a
master who knew more than he. When we seek for the work which best represents
this universal genius, we find it perhaps in his chief love-tale, which
follows below. This mingles Nizami's romantic touch with Jalal's Sufism and
the fire of Hafiz. It is Jami at his highest note.

Zuleika, the daughter of Taimus, King of Mauretania, beheld in a dream a
figure of such extraordinary beauty that she became immediately enamored of
the glorious vision, and sank into a deep melancholy, fruitlessly longing for
the unknown object. This dream was three times repeated, and the last time the
beautiful apparition named Egypt as the land of his abode. He is indeed
Joseph, or Yusuf, of the Old Testament, and Zuleika is to play the part of
Potiphar's wife. The following is abridged by L. M. Costello.

The ravens of the night were hushed,

The bird of dawn began his
lay,

The rosebud, newly awakened, blushed

To feel the touch of
springing day,

And bade the roses round unveil,

Roused by the
warbling nightingale.

The jasmine stood all bathed in dew;

Wet were
the violet's lids of blue.

Zuleika, fairer than the flowers,

Lay tranced---for 'twas not sleep
that stole

Her senses, through the night's still hours,

And raised new
visions to her soul.

The heart unfettered, free to rove,

Turned
toward the idol of her love.

No---'twas not sleep, 'twas motionless,

Unbroken thought, repressed in
vain;

The shadow of the day's distress,

A frenzy of remembered pain.

But, 'midst those pangs, what rapture still;

The same dear form is
ever there;

Those eyes the rays of Eden fill

And odors of the blest
distill

From every curl of that bright hair!

His smiles!---such
smiles as houris wear

When from their caves of pearl they come,

And bid the true believer share

The pleasures of their sacred home.

See, on his shoulder shines a star

That glows and dazzles as he
moves:

She feels its influence afar,

She gazes, worships,
hopes---and loves!

At this period, while her mind is absorbed by the one engrossing idea, an
embassy arrives in Mauritania from that very country, Egypt, the land of all
her hopes, soliciting the hand of the princess for the Asis, or grand vizier
of Pharaoh, an offer which she unhesitatingly accepts, being secretly
convinced that her visionary lover and her proposed future husband are the
same. She accordingly departs for Egypt, with a splendid and numerous retinue,
and makes a magnificent entry into Memphis, under the escort of the Asis
Potiphar, or Kitfir, himself, who comes to meet his bride. Curious to discover
his identity, she anxiously seizes an opportunity of peeping through the
curtains of her litter, but is filled with grief and dismay on finding a
totally different person from the lovely image of her dreams. She thus
exclaims, on hearing the acclamations which announce the arrival of the Asis,
when he first comes to meet her, before she has yet made the discovery fatal
to her peace:

O joy too great!---O hour too blest!

He comes---they hail him---now,
more near,

His eager courser's feet I hear.

Oh heart! be hushed
within my breast,

Burst not with rapture! Can it be?

The idol of my
life---divine,

All radiant, clothed in mystery,

And loving me as I
adore,

As none dared ever love before,

Shall be---nay, is---even
now, is mine!

I will be patient, but his breath

Seems stealing o'er my
senses---death

Were better than suspense like this---

One
draught---though 'twere the last---of bliss!

One glance, though in that
glance I die,

To prove the glorious certainty!

Not he! not he! on whom for years

My soul has dwelt with sacred
truth;

For whom my life has passed in tears,

And wasted was my bloom
of youth;

For whom I breathed, and thought, and moved,

My own, my
worshiped, my beloved!

I hailed the night, that I might gaze

Upon
his star's unconquered blaze:

The morn but rose that I might pray,

Hope, wish, expect from day to day,

My sole existence was that
thought,

And I do wake to know 'tis naught?

Vain tears, vain
madness, vain endeavor,

Another blasts my sight forever !

Dawn upon the wide world broke,

And the sun's warm rays awoke;

Scattering o'er the cloudy sky

Hues of rich variety:

Such bright
tinting as illumes

With its rays the peacock's plumes,

And the
parrot's feathers bright,

Touches with a starry light.

The Asis
rides in kingly guise;

Yon curtained litter holds the prize

More
precious than all wealth beside---

His own, his young, his peerless
bride.

Around, afar, of homage proud,

In countless ranks his warriors crowd,

Well may the lordly Asis boast

The glories of his gorgeous host.

Rich are the veils, profusely spread,

That canopy the "fair one's"
head;

Like some delicious tree that throws

Its shade, inviting to
repose:

And, like soft turf, the carpets lie,

Bedecked with gay
embroidery.

The temple moves, all-glorious, on---

Throned in the midst the "happy
one."

All heaven resounds with shout and song,

As the bright pageant
sweeps along.

The camel-drivers' cries succeed,

Urging their stately
beasts to speed.

Whose hoofs, with swift and frequent tread,

The
sands with moonlike forms have spread:

The earth is plowed with
coursers' feet

And still fresh hosts the wounds repeat.

Many a fair
and blushing maid

Exulted in the gay parade:

And all who called the
Asis lord

Hailed the fair idol he adored.

But she--- "the
beautiful," "the blest"---

What pangs, what tumults shook her breast!

She sat, concealed from every eye---

Alone---in hopeless misery.

"O Fate!" she cried; "O ruthless Fate!

Why am I made thy mark of
hate?

Why must my heart thy victim be?

Thus lost,
abandoned---crushed by thee!

Thou camest, in troubled dreams, and stole

The peace, the pleasure of my soul,

In visions that the blest might
share,

Whose only fruit has been despair.

I see each glittering
fabric fall;

But vain reproach, vain trust, vain all!

For help, for
rest, where can I fly?

My heart is riven---let me die!

Have I then lingered long in pain,

In sad suspense, in musings vain,

To be---O crowning grief! betrayed,

In foreign lands a victim made?

Relentless destiny! accurst

Were all the joys thy visions nurst.

Is there no drop of hope left yet?

Must I all promises forget?

Dash not my cup to earth: say, Power benign,

I may be blest---even
yet he may be mine!"

"Why hast thou thus cruelly

Robbed me of my peace?

What have I
done to thee to be thus treated;

it is folly indeed that I seek help
from thee.

When souls melt, thou art called upon for aid;

What is
the melting of thy soul?"

Thus raved Zuleika, when without

Arose the sudden deafening shout

That hailed the close of all their toil---

"Lo!---Memphis! and the banks of Nile!"

Then, far and ide, the glittering ranks

Rush to the fiowery river's
banks.

The Asis' sign his slaves obey,

Gold, silver, flowers,
bestrew the way:

And o'er the litter gems are thrown,

Whose
countless rays like meteors shone;

As thick they fall as on the rose

Hang the rich dews at evening's close;

The courser's feet on rubies
trod,

O'er mounds of gold the camel strode.

On swept the train---one gorgeous mile,

Planting with gems the banks
of Nile;

The proud stream rolled its waters deep

O'er pearls in many
a shining heap:

Each shell was filled with pearls; each scale

That
clothed the crocodile in mail

Was changed to silver, as he lay

And
basked amidst the fervid ray.

And onward to the palace-gate

The train poured on, in sumptuous
state;

The glowing portals opened wide---

In flowed the overwhelming
tide,

Ushering the Asis and his bride.

A throne the Peris might have framed,

The sun and moon's pale luster
shamed:

And she, whose radiance all effaced---

Zuleika---on the
throne was placed.

Sparkling with jewels, red with gold,

Her heart
shrunk, withered, crushed, and cold;

Although a feverish sense of pain

Frenzied her mind and seared her
brain:

As on a flaming hearth she sat---

Amidst
rejoicing---desolate!

Laden with many a priceless gem,

Crowned with
a gorgeous diadem.

Each pearl a poisonous drop appears:

And from her
eyes fall scalding tears.

And thus a crown is gained---for this,

We leave all thoughts of
present bliss!

We toil, we strive, we live in care,

And in the end
possess---despair!

Our sun of youth, of hope, is set,

And all our
guerdon is---regret!

Yussuf was always surrounded with a celestial light, typical as
well of the moral beauty and wisdom which adorned his mind. He is sold as a
slave, and Zuleika becomes his purchaser, to the great rage and envy of all
her rivals, amongst whom was included the Princess Nasigha, of the race of
Aad. The beautiful Yussuf now enters her service, and, at his own desire, a
flock of sheep are given to his special keeping, his admiring mistress
wishing, by every indulgence, to attach him to her. The nurse of Zuleika is
the confidante of the passion which she cannot control, and which, at length,
in an imprudent moment, she discloses to its object himself. His father,
Jacob, or the angel Gabriel in his likeness, appears, to warn him of his
danger, and he flies, leaving his mistress in an agony of despair, rage, and
grief. She thus exclaims:

Is this a dream?---another dream,

Like that which stole my senses
first,

Which sparkled o'er my life's dull stream,

By idle, erring
fancy nursed?

Was it for this my life I spent

In murmurs deep, and
discontent---

Slighted, for this, all homage due,

From gen'rous,
faithful love withdrew?

For this, no joy, no pomp have prized;

For
this, all honors have despised---

Left all my soul, to passion free,

To be thus hated---spurned-by thee?

O God! to see thee loathing
turn,

While on my cheeks swift blushes burn:

Contempt, abhorrence on
thy brow,

Where radiant sweetness dwelt--->till now!

Thy bitter
accents, fierce, severe,

In harsh, unwonted tones to hear:

Thy
horror, thy disgust to view,

And know thy accusations true!

All, all
but this I could have borne---

A husband's vengeance and his scorn;

To be reproached, disgraced, reviled,

So Yussuf on his victim
smiled.

I would, amidst the desert's gloom,

Have hailed, with thee,
a living tomb;

My home, my state, my birth forgot,

And, with thy
love, embraced thy lot;

Had taught my heart all pangs to share,

And
prove what perfect love can dare.

Let me look back to that dark hour

That bound my spirit to thy
power---

Thy grateful words, thy glance recall,

My hopes, my
love---and curse them all;

Let me thy tender looks retrace,

The
glories of thy heavenly face;

Thy brow, where Aden's splendor lies,

And the mild luster of thine eyes:

Yet, let my heart no weakness
prove,

But hate thee as I once could love.

What fearful eloquence was thine,

What awful anger---just---divine!

Shuddering, I saw my heart displayed.

And knew all this I should
have said!

'Twas mine to shrink, withstand, in time,

For, while I
sinned, I knew my crime.

O wretched, wavering heart!---as vain

Thy wild resentment as thy
pain:

One thought alone expels the rest,

One sole regret distracts
my breast,

O'ermastering and subduing all---

More than my crime,
more than my fall:

Are not shame, fear, remorse, forgot,

In that one
thought---he loves me not?

Though in a dark and narrow cell

The "fair beloved" confined may
dwell,

No prison is that dismal place,

'Tis filled with dignity and
grace:

And the damp vaults and gloom around

Are joyous spring, with
roses crowned.

Not Paradise to me were fair

If he were not a dweller there;

Without his presence all is night,

My soul awakes but in his sight:

Though this frail tenement of clay

May here amidst its pomp remain,

My spirit wanders far away,

And dwells with his in prisoned pain.

In solitude, where Being signless dwelt,

And all the universe still
dormant lay

Concealed in selflessness, One Being was

Exempt from "I"
or "Thou"-ness, and apart

From all duality; Beauty Supreme,

Unmanifest, except unto Itself

By Its own light, yet fraught with
power to charm

The souls of all; concealed in the Unseen,

An Essence
pure, unstained by aught of ill.

No mirror to reflect Its loveliness,

Nor comb to touch Its locks; the morning breeze

Ne'er stirred Its
tresses; no collyrium

Lent luster to Its eyes; no rosy cheeks

O'ershadowed by dark curls like hyacinth

Nor peach-like down were
there; no dusky mole

Adorned Its face; no eye had yet beheld

Its
image. To Itself it sang of Love

In wordless measures. By Itself it cast

The die of Love. But Beauty can not brook

Concealment and the veil,
nor patient rest

Unseen and unadmired; 'twill burst all bonds,

And
from Its prison-casement to the world

Reveal Itself. See where the tulip
grows

In upland meadows, how in balmy spring

It decks itself; and
how amidst its thorns

The wild rose rends its garment, and reveals

Its loveliness. Thou too, when some rare thought;

Or beauteous
image, or deep mystery

Flashes across thy soul, canst not endure

To
let it pass, but holdst it, that perchance

In speech or writing thou
mayst send it forth

To charm the world. Whatever beauty dwells,

Such
is its nature, and its heritage

From Everlasting Beauty, which emerged

From realms of purity to shine upon

The worlds, and all the souls which dwell therein.

One gleam fell
from It on the universe

And on the angels, and this single ray

Dazzled the angels, till their senses whirled

Like the revolving
sky. In diverse forms

Each mirror showed it forth, and everywhere

Its praise was chanted in new harmonies.

The cherubim, enraptured,
sought for songs

Of praise. The spirits who explore the depths

Of
boundless seas, wherein the heavens swim

Like some small boat, cried
with one mighty voice,

"Praise to the Lord of all the universe!"

Behold those spheres forever circling, bound

With scarves of azure,
in their mystic round.

See, their light mantles loosely floating throw

A flood of radiance on the world below.

See them pursuing through
the night and day,

True to their purpose, their triumphant way.

Each, like a player's ball obedient, still

Is moved and guided by
superior will.

One eastward from the west its journey bends,

The
other's ship to western waves descends.

Each in due progress with
alternate sway

Lights the still night or cheers the busy day.

One
writes fair lines that promise golden joys:

One with sad aspect bonds of
bliss destroys.

All, joying in their might, their task renew,

And
with untiring haste their course pursue.

Onward forever to the goal they
press

With feet and loins that know not weariness.

Who learns the
secret of their dark intent?

Who knows on whom each wanderer's face is
bent?

No heart is that which love ne'er wounded: they

Who know not lovers'
pangs are soulless clay.

Turn from the world, O turn thy wandering feet;

Come to the world of Love and find it sweet.

Once to his master a disciple cried:

"To wisdom's pleasant path be thou my guide."

"East thou ne'er loved?" the master answered; "learn

The ways of love
and then to me return."

Drink deep of earthly love, that so thy lip

May learn the wine of holier love to sip.

But let not form too long
thy soul entrance:

Pass o'er the bridge; with rapid feet advance.

If
thou wilt rest, thine ordered journey sped,

Forbear to linger at the
bridge's head.

In this orchestra full of vain deceit

The drum of Being, each in
turn, we beat.

Each morning brings new truth to light and fame,

And
on the world falls luster from a name.

If in one constant course the
ages rolled,

Full many a secret would remain untold.

If the sun's
splendor never died away,

Ne'er would the market of the stars be gay.

If in our gardens endless frost were king,

No rose would blossom at
the kiss of Spring

Her face was the garden of Iram, where

Roses of every hue are fair.

The dusky moles that enhanced the red

Were like Moorish boys playing
in each rose-bed.

Of silver that paid no tithe, her chin

Had a well
with the Water of Life therein.

If a sage in his thirst came near to
drink,

He would feel the spray ere he reached the brink,

But lost
were his soul if he nearer drew,

For it was a well and a whirlpool too.

Her neck was of ivory. Thither drawn,

Came with her tribute to
beauty the fawn;

And the rose hung her head at the gleam of the skin

Of shoulders fairer than jasmine.

Her breasts were orbs of a light
most pure,

Twin bubbles new-risen from fount Kafur,

Two young
pomegranates grown on one spray,

Where bold hope never a finger might
lay.

The touchstone itself was proved false when it tried

Her arms'
fine silver thrice purified;

But the pearl-pure amulets fastened there

Were the hearts of the holy absorbed in prayer.

"I shall roll up the carpet of life when I see

Thy dear face again,
and shall cease to be,

For self will be lost in that rapture, and all

The threads of my thought from my hand will fall;

Not me wilt thou
find, for this self will have fled:

Thou wilt be my soul in mine own
soul's stead.

All thought of self will be swept from my mind,

And
thee, only thee, in my place shall I find;

More precious than heaven,
than earth more dear,

Myself were forgotten if thou wert near."

"Mine eyes have been touched by the Truth's pure ray,

And the dream
of folly has passed away.

Mine eyes thou hast opened---God bless thee
for it!---

And my heart to the Soul of the soul thou hast knit.

From
a fond strange love thou hast turned my feet

The Lord of all creatures
to know and meet;

If I bore a tongue in each single hair, Each and all
should thy praise declare."

"By the excellent bloom of that cheek which He gave,

By that beauty
which makes the whole world thy slave;

By the splendor that beams from
that beautiful brow,

That bids the full moon to thy majesty bow;

By
the graceful gait of that cypress, by

The delicate bow that is bent o'er
thine eye;

By that arch of the temple devoted to prayer,

By each
fine-woven mesh of the coils of thy hair;

By that charming narcissus,
that form arrayed

In the sheen and glory of silk brocade;

By that
secret thou callest a mouth, by the hair

Thou callest the waist of that
body most fair;

By the musky spots on thy cheek's pure rose,

By the
smile of thy lips when those buds unclose;

By my longing tears, by the
sigh and groan

That rend my heart as I pine alone;

By thine absence,
a mountain too heavy to bear,

By my thousand fetters of grief and care;

By the sovereign sway of my passion,

By thy carelessness whether I
live or die;

Pity me, pity my lovelorn grief:

Loosen my fetters and
grant relief:

An age has scorched me since over my soul

The soft
sweet air of thy garden stole.

Be the balm of my wounds for a little;
shed

Sweet scent on the heart where the flowers are dead.

I hunger
for thee till my whole frame is weak:

O give me the food for my soul
which I seek."

In his stalls had Yussuf a fairy steed,

A courser through space of no
earthly breed;

Swift as the heavens, and black and white

With a
thousand patches of day and night;

Now a jetty spot, now a starry blaze,

Like Time with succession of nights and days.

With his tail the
heavenly Virgo's hair,

With his hoof the moon was afraid to compare.

Each foot with a golden new moon was shod,

And the stars of its
nails struck the earth as he trod.

When his hoof smote sharp on the
rugged flint

A planet flashed forth from the new moon's dint;

And a
new moon rose in the sky when a shoe

From the galloping foot of the
courser flew.

Like an arrow shot through its side in the chase,

He
outstripped the game in the deadly race.

At a single bound he would
spring, unpressed,

With the lightning's speed from the east to the west.

"O thou who hast broken mine honor's urn,

Thou stone of offense
wheresoever I turn,

I should smite---for thy falsehood has ruined my
rest---

with the stone thou art made of, the heart in my breast.

The
way of misfortune too surely I trod

When I bowed down before thee and
made thee my god;

When I looked up to thee with wet eyes in my woe,

I renounced all the bliss which both worlds can bestow.

From thy
stony dominion my soul will I free,

And thus shatter the gem of thy
power and thee."

With a hard flint stone like the Friend, as she spoke,

In a thousand
pieces the image she broke.

Riven and shattered the idol fell,

And
with her from that moment shall all be well.

She made her ablution, 'mid
penitent sighs,

With the blood of her heart and the tears of her eyes.

She bent down her head to the dust; with a moan

She made
supplication to God's pure throne:

"O God, who lovest the humble,

Thou To whom idols, their makers,
their servants bow;

'Tis to the light which Thy splendor lends

To
the idol's face that its worshiper bends.

Thy love the heart of the
sculptor stirs,

And the idol is graven for worshipers.

They bow them
down to the image, and think

That they worship Thee as before it they
sink.

To myself, O Lord, I have done this wrong,

If mine eyes to an
idol have turned so long.

Thou hast washed the dark stain of my sin
away;

Now restore the lost blessing for which I pray.

May I feel my
heart free from the brand of its woes,

And cull from the garden of
Yussuf a rose."

"Where is thy youth, and thy beauty, and pride?"

"Gone, since I
parted from thee!" she replied.

"Where is the light of thine eye?" said
he,

"Drowned in blood-tears for the loss of thee."

"Why is that
cypress-tree bowed and bent?"

"By absence from thee and my long lament."

"Where is thy pearl, and thy silver and gold,

And the diadem bright
on thy head of old?"

"She who spoke of my loved one," she answered, "shed,

In the praise
of thy beauty, rare pearls on my head.

In return for those jewels, a
recompense meet,

I scattered my jewels and gold at her feet.

A crown
of pure gold on her forehead I set,

And the dust that she trod was my
coronet.

The stream of my treasure of gold ran dry;

My heart is
Love's storehouse, and I am I."

"Not love thee!---ah! how much I loved

Long absent years of grief
have proved.

Severe rebuke, assumed disdain,

Dwelt in my words and
looks in vain:

I would not passion's victim be,

And turned from
sin---but not from thee.

My love was pure, no plant of earth

From my
rapt being sprung to birth:

I loved as angels might adore,

And
sought, and wished, and hoped no more.

Virtue was my belov'd: and thou

Hadst virtue's impress on thy brow.

Thy weakness showed how frail is
all

That erring mortals goodness call.

I thanked thee, and
reproached thee not

For all the sufferings of my lot.

The God we
worship was thy friend,

And led me to my destined end,

Taught the
great lesson to thy heart

That vice and bliss are wide apart:

And
joined us now, that we may prove

With perfect virtue, perfect love.

The beauty returned which was ruined and dead,

And her cheek gained
the splendor which long had fled.

Again shone the waters which sad years
had dried,

And the rose-bed of youth bloomed again in its pride.

The
musk was restored and the camphor withdrawn,

And the black night
followed the gray of the dawn.

The cypress rose stately and tall as of
old:

The pure silver was free from all wrinkle and fold.

From each
musky tress fled the traces of white:

To the black narcissus came beauty
and light.

"The one sole wish of my heart," she replied,

"Is still to be near
thee, to sit by thy side;

To have thee by day in my happy sight,

And
to lay my cheek on thy foot at night;

To lie in the shade of the cypress
and sip

The sugar that lies on thy ruby lip;

To my wounded heart
this soft balm to lay;

For naught beyond this can I wish or pray.

The streams of thy love will new life bestow

On the dry thirsty
field where its sweet waters flow."

Thus spoke the Angel: "To thee, O King,

From the Lord Almighty a
message I bring:

Mine eyes have seen her in humble mood;

I heard her
prayer when to thee she sued.

At the sight of her labors, her prayers,
and sighs,

The waves of the sea of my pity rise.

Her soul from the
sword of despair I free,

And here from My throne I betroth her to thee."

Source.

From: Charles F. Horne, ed., The Sacred Books and Early Literature of
the East, (New York: Parke, Austin, & Lipscomb, 1917), Vol. VIII:
Medieval Persia, pp. 381-401

Scanned by Jerome S. Arkenberg, Cal. State Fullerton. The text has been
modernized by Prof. Arkenberg.