Literature
- Bertels E. E.
History of Persian-Tajik literature, M., 1960. - Braginsky I. S.
Abu Abdallah Jafar Rudaki. - M.: Nauka, 1989. - Mirzoev A. M.
Rudaki. Life and art. - M.: Nauka, 1968. - Mirzo-zade Kh. M.
Rudaki is the founder of Tajik classical literature. - M.: Knowledge, 1958. - Satpayev K.I.
Great humanist: To the 1100th anniversary of the birth of Rudaki // Toikiston Sov. 1958. 15 Oct. (in Tajik) - Tagirdzhanov A. T.
Rudaki. Life and art. History of the study. - Leningrad University Publishing House, 1968. - Rudaki / Chalisova N. Yu. // Motherwort - Rumcherod. - M.: Great Russian Encyclopedia, 2015. - P. 744. - (Big Russian Encyclopedia: [in 35 volumes] / chief editor Yu. S. Osipov; 2004-2017, vol. 28). — ISBN 978-5-85270-365-1.
LiveInternetLiveInternet
Middle Ages
Victor Eremin
Abu Abdallah Jafar Rudaki
(approx. 860 - 941)
Abu Abdallah (according to some sources - Abul Hassan, that is, the son of Hassan) Rudaki is the founder of great literature in the Farsi language (Persian language). Some biographers of the poet claim that Rudaki's real name sounded like Abdullah Jafar ibn Muhammad. Others prefer to call Jafar ibn Muhammad ibn Hakim ibn Abdurrahmon ibn Adam. The Persians generally nicknamed him Odam-ash-shuaro - Adam of the poets. He received the now generally recognized name Abu Abdallah (Abdullo) Jafar Rudaki* when he was already a famous poet.
* It is very difficult for an outsider to understand Central Asian names. Therefore, I will give Eraj Basirov’s explanations, which, in my opinion, are the most understandable. “...people of that time could have several names. The father's name (kunya) was added to it, then he could receive a title (laqab) corresponding to his social status, or nicknames reflecting his personal qualities. He could be called by the name of the country or locality where he was born or where he came from (nisba). In relation to one person, these names, nicknames, titles were never used all together. Their numerous and changing combinations reflect only those names by which the person was known to his contemporaries and which have survived to this day. There was a traditionally established order of the elements of the anthroponymic model: (1) kunya - which necessarily includes the elements “abu” (father) or “umm” (mother), denoting a name after a son; for example, Caliph Ali, in addition to his many names, also bore the names of his sons: Abu-l-Hasan and Abu-l-Hussein, i.e. “father of Hassan” and “father of Hussein”; (2) alam is a personal name in the narrow sense of the word. It was given to a child at birth or to boys at circumcision and was usually used among relatives and friends; (3) nasab is a derivative of a personal name (alam), with the element “ibn/bint” (son/daughter) and denotes the name of father, grandfather, great-grandfather, etc. in the genealogical series: A, son of B, son of C, son of D, son of D, etc.; (4) laqab - an additional name, nickname, nickname, honorary title, exalting epithet; (5) nisba or tahallus - a name denoting a person’s ethnic, religious, political, social affiliation, place of birth or residence, etc. Usually nisba has the morphological indicator of a relative adjective - the suffix - and: Rudak (name of the village) - Rudaki (born in Rudak). Alam and nasab are almost always present in the anthroponymic model, while other components may vary or be completely absent. Sometimes both alam and kunya were given at birth. In this case, the kunya expressed the wish that the person would have a son with this name. This is probably what is responsible for the appearance of the additional name - Abuabdullo Rudaki, under which he is best known to the world.”
Jafar was born between 858 and 860 in the mountain village of Panjrud (sometimes spelled Panjrudak) near the city of Penjikent in the Zeravshan Valley (Tajikistan). The name Rudaki, which the poet used in his poems, is nisba. No information has been preserved about Rudaki’s parents, nor about the poet’s family in general.
* Panjrudak is translated as “Five Streams”; the word “five” was discarded and it turned out Rudak - “Stream”; the suffix -i was added to nisba. This is how the name Rudaki arose.
Early biographers claim that Rudaki was blind from birth. In later historiography, the point of view was established that the poet was blinded. The outstanding Soviet scientist M. M. Gerasimov, who examined Rudaki’s skull and restored his appearance, confirmed that the poet was deprived of his sight in adulthood.
Already eight years old Jafar wrote poetry, composed music himself and was a performer of his works. Creativity came easily to him, and his fellow countrymen appreciated the talents of the young countryman. According to legend, one day shirinkhonons (sweet-singing) - wandering musicians - came to the village. They were headed by the centuries-famous singer and composer Abulabak Bakhtiyar (Abulabbas Bakhtiyor). The perky Jafar invited them to compete. Bakhtiyar was so amazed by the musicality and voice of the young singer that he gave him his instrument - according to some sources, a chang, according to others, a barbat*. For a short time, the young man became a student of the famous musician and wandered around the villages with the shirinkhonons, delighting people’s ears with music.
* Chang is an Uzbek and Tajik stringed musical instrument, a type of cymbal. The chang is played by striking the strings with two elastic wooden or bamboo sticks. Barbat - resembles a guitar with a curved neck and pear-shaped base.
However, soon the thirst for knowledge led Jafar to Samarkand, where he studied at a madrasah and became famous for his talents.
Emir* Nasr I ibn Ahmad Samani (864-892), being the ruler of Khorasan**, on the advice of his vizier Abulfalz Balami (served under the Samanids from 892 to 938), summoned Rudaki to Bukhara. The city was just about to be made the capital of the Samanid state. The emir brought the poet closer to himself and made him a member of the court divan. Rudaki took off, and soon he was proclaimed “the king of poets.” It should be noted that the “king of poets” at the courts of major rulers of the East then performed both the role of teacher (ostasis) and censor.
* Emir is a prince in Muslim societies. ** The Samanid state in the 10th century included Maverannahr, Khorezm, Khorasan itself (Western - with Nishapur, Herat, Balkh; and Northern - with Merv), as well as Seistan and Gurgan (these are the main territories of Afghanistan).
The poet's wealth increased to enormous proportions. He had two hundred slaves; four hundred camels walked, loaded with his luggage. After Rudaki, none of the poets of the East had such wealth, and such happiness did not fall to anyone’s lot.
To understand the meaning of Rudaki's poetry, it is necessary to remember history. For a long time, the Iranian peoples lived prosperously and developed independently. The invasion of Iran by the troops of the Arab Caliphate in the 7th century dealt a crushing blow to ancient Iranian culture. The new religion of the conquerors - Islam, and the Arabic language - were implanted with fire and sword. “Centuries of silence” have come for Iranian literature. Literature seemed to have ceased to exist: many ancient works were burned by the conquerors as blasphemous, and new ones were not created. However, Iranian literature did not disappear completely; it remained only in a foreign language state.
In the 9th century, the Arab Caliphate experienced a crisis and began to disintegrate. One of the first to separate from it was the state of the Samanid dynasty*. Although the origins of the Samanids are still not precisely known, many researchers claim that they were Persians. The Samanids themselves descended from the last pre-Arab dynasty of the Sassanids and based their influence on the aristocracy and people on the renewal of ancient Iranian traditions. The Samanid capital, Bukhara, quickly became one of the largest cities in the Muslim world. In Khorasan, the main city was Nishapur, where the governor of all Samanid possessions south of the Amu Darya sat.
* The Samanid dynasty ruled from 819 to 1005.
The Samanids cultivated their native language - Farsi - and contributed to its development. The official (state) language became the common Iranian spoken language of that time, called Dari or Dariye-Farsi. A new Iranian literature began to take shape in Farsi. We must pay tribute, the aristocracy, led by the monarch, appreciated the role of poetry, which was extremely popular among the people, as a means of strengthening its power and influence.
Poetry in the Farsi language of the classical period (X-XV centuries) originated in the territory of Central Asia and Khorasan (now included in the borders of Central Asia, Northern Afghanistan and Northern Iran), among the so-called “Eastern Iranians” - Tajiks. Then it spread to the territory of Iran, among the “Western Iranians” - the Persians, now called Iranians.
There are two legends about the origin of poetry in the Farsi language.
According to one of them, the crowned darling of fate Shahinshah* Bahram V or Bahram-gur Sassanid (reigned 420/421 - 439), who later became the hero of Ferdowsi's great poem "Shahname", was famous as an excellent hunter, a sophisticated lover and a glutton. According to legend, one day he declared his love to his “delight of the heart” - Dilaram, and suddenly began to speak in poetry. This is how poetry was born.
* Shahinshah - king of kings; This title was first adopted by the rulers of the state of the Sassanid dynasty, which ruled in 224-651. From the title Shahinshah came the abbreviated title of the monarch in a number of eastern states - Shah, i.e. tsar.
According to another legend, a madrasah student was walking through the narrow streets of Samarkand. Suddenly he heard a child’s sentence sung by a boy playing nuts with his friends: “Rolling, rolling, he will reach the hole!” The young man really liked the structure of the poem, and to this melody he came up with the first rubai in history - about the beauties of Samarkand and the charm of his home in the Zeravshan valley. Rudaki was the student of the madrasah.
It is believed that he developed all forms of classical Farsi-language poetry and managed to weave folk traditions with Arabic and Persian literary heritage in a single ornament. Rudaki wrote both magnificent odes-qasidas and embossed quatrains - rubai.
A famous legend tells about the impact of Rudaki’s poetry on listeners. One day, Emir Nasr and his retinue went on a trip to Herat. We went for several months, but the emir liked those places so much that he stayed for four years! No matter how much the retinue tried to persuade the emir to return home, he could not part with such a cozy, fertile land. Then they turned to Rudaki for help. One fine morning, the poet, accompanying himself on chang, began to sing a qasida about the gardens of Bukhara. It was an improvisation, but its power turned out to be such that the entire retinue was sobbing, and Emir Nasr jumped on his horse and rushed towards the crossing of the Amu Darya. He didn’t even have time to change his slippers and only on the second stage did he put on his boots and shalwars...
Rudaki lived in great wealth and honor under the successors of Nasr I - emirs Ismail I ibn Ahmad Samani (892-907), who established Bukhara as the capital of his state, and Ahmad Samani (907-914). The poet never married, was single and had no children.
The situation changed during the reign of Emir Nasr II ibn Ahmad Samani (914-942). Rudaki not only fell into disgrace, he was blinded, deprived of all his property and exiled to his native village, where the poet died a very old man and in dire need.
The cause of the disgrace is not exactly known. Scientists put forward various versions. Most likely, Rudaki’s sympathetic attitude to one of the popular uprisings in Bukhara, which was associated with the heretical movement in Shiism - the Qarmatians (Ismailis), who asserted the equality of all people, played a certain role. Subsequently, the experience of the Ismaili sect in organizing a secret society was widely used by European Freemasons.
According to early biographers, Rudaki left a huge poetic legacy - about one million three hundred thousand poetic lines. Only a small part of them has survived to this day. For example, there are only two full qasidas. It is generally accepted that the manuscripts of Rudaki’s poems, like many compiled and rewritten in the 10th-12th centuries and stored in the palace libraries of Khorasan and Transoxiana, were lost during the Mongol invasion.
In 1940, in the village of Rudak-i-Panjrud, the famous Tajik writer and scientist Sadriddin Aini discovered the grave of the great poet. In Soviet times, a magnificent mausoleum was erected over it.
The best translations of Rudaki’s works into Russian were made by Wilhelm Veniaminovich Levik (1907-1982).
Kasida "On old age"
There is not a single tooth in the mouth. They have been crumbling for a long time. But my teeth were the beacons of my golden days. They sparkled like silver, like pearls, like pearls of rain, like a bright morning star. But they fell out, crumbled, the mouth gapes like a hole, Or is this the anger of Saturn and the vengeful reckoning of time? No, it is not the rage of Saturn, not the revenge of protracted years. So what? Listen to the truth: this is the covenant of the eternal gods. Our world rotates forever, its nature is such, This is the law of the universe: the cycle of nature. Medicine pacifies pain, it heals illness, But it will become a source of pain, which is given to us as medicine. The new becomes old, then the years fly by - And the old will be replaced by the new, so it was, so it will always be. The desert lies like sands, where gardens used to bloom, But the gardens will be replaced by a desert hungry for water. You don’t know, my musky-haired, beautiful feather, what your servant was like before, in the prime of his life. Can you now straighten up his figure with your chovgans of curls? But before he was slender, and his curls curled like a chovgan. He was joyful and cheerful in those golden years, Although he sometimes lacked gold. Without counting, he poured out dirhams when he lured Turkish girls with a pomegranate chest and lips like a fiery lal. And how many beautiful houris desired him and secretly sneaked into his luxurious house at night! Sparkling wines, beauties full of fire - That was expensive for many, but cheap for me. I lived without knowing sorrow, in a hurry to experience all the blessings, For the joy of the blooming fields, my soul opened up. How often with a winged song I turned Hearts that were hard and cold like metal into soft wax. My gaze has always been welcoming to those with beautiful hair. My ear has always been sharp for eloquent people. I had neither wives nor children, the barns were empty. And the body was free, and the thoughts were pure. You look at Rudaki, O many-wise magician, But you have not seen him before, among the merry revelers. Seeing how he enchants enemies and friends with his poems, You would say: “The nightingale with a thousand songs has flown to us!” He was the singer of Khorasan, and that time has passed. He conquered the whole world with his songs, and that time passed... Yes, I was great and happy, I had all the blessings of the earth, - No wonder the Samanids exalted me highly. But the years of spring gave way to years of harsh winter. Give me the staff! It's time for the staff and scrip.
Translation by V.V. Levik
Kasida "Mother of Wine..."
We must first torture the mother of wine, then subject the child itself to imprisonment. You can’t take a child away while the mother is alive, so crush her and trample her first! People do not allow a small child to be taken away from the mother's breast until the time is right: From spring to autumn, he must be fed entirely on milk for seven full months. Then, whoever honors the law, praises the creator, sacrifices the mother, throws the child into prison. A child, having ended up in prison, sad from adversity, will spend seven days in unconsciousness, in confusion. Then it will gradually come to consciousness, ferment, seethe, and foam will begin to play. Now it will violently spring up, contrary to reason, Now it will violently jump down, filled with melancholy. I know you melt gold in the flame, But you won’t make him cry like wine. I’ll compare the child of wine to a mad camel, From the rearing foam Satan will be born! The guard should not be lazy to collect everything clean: the dungeon is illuminated with the sparkle of wine. Now she has calmed down, like a tamed beast. The guardian of the wine comes and locks the door. The wine was cleared and immediately sparkled with the crimson of the yakhont and the purple of the coral of the Yemeni jasper, the beauty shines in it, the redness of the Badakhshan ruby in it. If you smell the wine, you will smell, like a lover, And amber with roses, and fragrant musk. Now close the vessel, do not touch the wine, Until the ripe spring comes. Then you will uncork the jug at midnight. And before you the spring will sparkle with the eastern dawn. You will exclaim: “This is Lal, his beauty is bright, Saint Musa held Him in his hand! Having tasted it, the coward will find courage in himself, And it transforms the miser into a generous one... And if you have a colorless, pale face, It will become crimson from the wine, like a flower garden. Whoever tries the small cup first will free himself from sorrow forever. He will drive away the oppression of long-standing sorrow beyond Tangier and call upon ardent joy from Ray.” Aging the wine! Let the years fly by and let worries and adversity be forgotten. Then, in the morning, among the bright roses and lilies, you will gather guests for a royal feast. Make your shelter a blissful garden of paradise, striking your neighbors with its brilliant luxury. You decorate your shelter with the work of masters, And the gold of clothes, and the brightness of carpets, Invite craftsmen, singers from all over, Let the flute ring out for your beloved friend. In the row of nobles the vizier will sit - Balami, And there - Dikhkan Salih with respectable people. On the throne ahead, shining unspeakably, will sit the king of kings, the ruler of Khorasan. A thousand handsome men will appear before the king: Let’s call anyone a sparkling moon! Those young men are entwined with colorful wreaths, their cheeks glow like red wine. Here Kravchiy is an example of magical beauty, the Turk woman is his mother, the Khakan is his father. The tall king stood up, joyful, cheerful. A handsome black-eyed man approached him, whose figure was like a cypress, whose cheeks were brighter than roses. And he presented a cup with a fiery drink, so that the king could enjoy the fragrant wine for the health of the one who rules Sajastan. His dignitaries will drink with him, They will say when they take the wine: “Abu Jafar Ahmad ibn Muhammad! Live in glory, blessed by the Iranian power! You are a just king, you are the sun of our years! You give us justice and light!” No one is equal to that king, let’s face it, of those who exist and who will be born of Adam! He is the shadow of the Almighty, he was chosen by the Lord, the Koran commanded us to be submissive to Him. We are air and water, fire and trembling dust, He is the son of the sun, ascending to Sasan. He led a dark kingdom to greatness, And the shocked world, like the Garden of Eden, blossomed. If you are eloquent, glorify him with poetry, And if you are a scribe, praise him with words, And if you are a sage, in order to gain knowledge, You must follow his path. You will tell the experts, you will tell the scientists: “For the Greeks, he is Socrates, he became the second Plato!” And if you are ready to study Sharia, then say about him: “He is the main theologian!” His lips are the source of both wisdom and knowledge, And after listening to him, you will remember Lukman. He will multiply the intelligence of experts a hundredfold, He is happy to enrich the intelligent ones with knowledge. Go to him, wanting to look at the angel: He is a messenger of joy, sent down from paradise. Look at his slender figure, at his blooming face, And you will see the truth of what I said. He captivates people with his intelligence, and kindness, and noble spiritual purity. If his words reached you, then Keivan would begin to shine a light on your destiny. Seeing him among the golden palace, You will say: “Suleiman the great has come to life again!” Such a rider, on such a horse, could be envied by the glorious Himself in the past. And if on the day of the struggle, when the battle is noisy, You see him in military equipment, The ardent elephant will seem insignificant to You, Even if he were fierce and excited by the battle. If Isfandiar had appeared before the royal gaze, Isfandiar would have fled from the king in shame. It ascends like a mountain at times of peace, But that is Mount Seyam, its destiny is peace. He will plunge the dragon into fear with his slashing spear: He will be like wax before a burning fire. Mars, whose enmity is disastrous, enter into battle with him, the celestial star will find destruction. When the mighty One orders you to pour wine, You will say: “Spring rain pours from the spring clouds. From the clouds only rain will fall for a short time, And from it there will be a stream of silks and gold. The flood's moisture flowed with great generosity. But with greater generosity he gives good to people. He is famous for his generosity, and in the land of Praise he is valuable, but gold is not valuable. A beggar comes to the great king and leaves with gold and a large supply of food. He distributed positions in the diwan to the wise men, and he gave patronage to the singers. He is fair for everyone, he is full of grace, and he has no equal among Muslims and the nobility. You don’t see his side of violence, Before his court all residents are equal. His good deeds have spread across the earth, There is no one from whom he would deprive of giving. With him, those tired of worries will find peace, He gives medicine to the tormented soul. In the deserts and steppes, amid the eternal rotation, He tied himself with a rope of forgiveness. He forgives sins, taking pity on the guilty, and with mercy he suppresses anger. He rules Nimruz, and his power is immeasurable, And happiness is a leopard, and the enemy trembles like a chamois. He is like Amr, whose fighting army, whose happiness of war seems to live again. Although Rustam’s glory is great and bright, - Thanks to him, that glory is majestic! O Rudaki! Praise those who live again and again, Praise him: he will give you love. And if you want to show off your skills, And if you sharpen your mind with a file, And if you suddenly turn angels and mighty birds, And spirits into your humble servants, - Then you will say: “I discovered only the beginning of virtues, I said a lot of words, but I said too little…” That’s all I deeply cherished in my soul. My words are pure, they are easy for everyone to understand. If I were Chrysostom, and the most sonorous in the world, I could only speak the truth about the emir. I will glorify the one for whom the human race is famous, its joy, greatness and peace. I will not tire of being proud of my embarrassment, Even though I am not inferior to Sahban in eloquence. He exalted the Shah in skillful praises And, choosing the right day, he presented them to the Shah There is a limit to praise - I will boldly say about everyone, I will begin to praise him - there is no limit to praise! It’s no wonder that now Rudaki will be embarrassed before the king of powers, having lost his mind. Oh, now I need Abu Omar’s courage, I would like to compare with sweet Adnan. Would I, an old man, dare to sing praises to the king, the king for whose pleasure the Almighty world was erected! If only I had not been weak and suffered cruelly, If not for the order of the ruler of the East, I myself would have galloped to the emir like a messenger, And, taking the song in my teeth, I would have finally rushed! Ride, messenger, and apologize to the emir, And he, a connoisseur of words, will appreciate without a doubt The embarrassment of the old man that he is weak and weak: Alas, the slave could not come to visit the king. I want the king’s joy to multiply, And the happiness of his enemies decreases all the time, So that He ascended with his head to the moon, And his enemies hid in the depths of the earth, So that the sun could find a happy brother in him, Sakhlana became stronger, higher than Ararat.
Translation by S. I. Lipkin
Text: proza.ru
ABUABDULLO RUDAKI
(860 — 941)
Since the existence of the universe, there is no one who does not need knowledge. No matter what language or age we take, man has always strived for knowledge. And the wise, so that everyone could hear them, Praises of knowledge were carved on the rocks. From knowledge, a bright light will flash in the heart, It is for the body like armor from troubles.
Abu Abdallah Jafar Rudaki, Tajik and Persian poet
He was at the court of the ruler of Bukhara for over 40 years, then he was expelled and died in poverty.
(translation by S. Lipkin) ODE FOR OLD AGE
| All my teeth fell out, and I realized for the first time that I had previously had living lamps. Those were ingots of silver, and pearls, and corals, Those were stars at dawn and raindrops. All my teeth fell out. Where does the misfortune come from? Perhaps Keivan dealt me fatal blows? Oh no, it's not Kayvan's fault. Who? I will answer you: God did it, and these are the age-old laws. This is how the world is structured, whose destiny is rotation and whirling. Time is mobile, like a spring, like streams of water. What is considered a drug now will become poison tomorrow, so what? The sick will again consider this poison a medicine. You see: time ages everything that seemed new to us, But time also makes old deeds younger. Yes, the flower beds turned into deserted deserts, but the deserts also blossomed like dense flower beds. Do you know, my love, whose curls are like musk, About what your captive was like in other times? Now you enchant him with your lovely curls, - Did you see his curls in those young years? Gone are the days when cheeks were as elastic as silk. Gone are those days, and so are the resin curls. Gone are the days when he was, like a welcome guest, dear; Apparently he was too expensive - others came in exchange. The crowd of beauties looked at him in amazement, and he himself was attracted by their witchcraft spells. Gone are the days when he was carefree, cheerful, happy, He knew great joys, small sorrows. He squandered money everywhere, and in this city He gave gold dirhams to a Turkish woman with tender breasts. The beautiful slaves wanted to enjoy themselves with him, and hurried, stealthily, to him secretly in the hours of the night. Because they were afraid to show up for a date during the day: The owners scared them, the city dungeons! |
| * - ... from the Samans ... - the powerful Eastern Iranian dynasty of the Samanids (864-949), which achieved cultural and political independence from the Arab Caliphate and contributed to the emergence of the Tajik state and the revival of their native culture. |
Swords in hands do not shine for violence and murder: the Lord does not forget evil and repays a hundredfold. The right sword is not forged for violence and murder, It is not for the sake of vinegar that grapes lie in the winepress. Isa* saw the murdered man one day on the way, And the prophet bit his finger and was overcome with despondency. He said: “Who did you kill when you yourself were killed? The hour will come when your murderer will be killed.” Uninvited, don’t knock on someone else’s door with your finger, Otherwise you’ll hear: they’re knocking on your door with all their fists. * - Jesus Christ
Why be offended by a friend? The resentment will pass soon. Life is like this: today there is joy, and tomorrow there is pain and sorrow. An insult to a friend is not an insult, not a shame, not an insult; When he caresses you, you will forget about the quarrel. Is it really possible that one bad deed is stronger than a hundred good ones? Is it really possible for a rose to live her whole life in shame because of thorns? Do we really have to look for new favorites every day? Is your friend angry? Please forgive me, there is no point in this argument!
Life gave me advice in response to my question, - After thinking, you will understand that all life is advice: “Don’t you dare envy someone else’s happiness, Are you not the envy of others?” Life also said: “Contain your anger. He who loosens his tongue is bound by a chain of troubles.”
Oh, woe is me! I have never known a worse fate: To be the husband of an evil wife who changes husbands. I will not instill fear in her if I come to her with a lion; And I’m afraid of the fly that sat next to her. Although she is grumpy and rude to me, I hope I don’t die, I will save the rest of my days.
We know: only God is not similar to any mortal, You are not similar to anyone, but more beautiful than a deity! Who will say: “The day is rising!” - He will point to the sun for us, But he will only point to you first. You are everything that man glorified in days gone by, And you are the words of praise of the future!
The desired spring came in fragrance, in flowers, It brought a hundred thousand joys to the living universe, At such a time it is not difficult for an old man to become a youth, - And the old world is young again, where did the gray hair go! He built an army of firmament, where the leader is the spring breeze. Where the clouds are, the horsemen are equal, and it seems that the war has begun. Here is the lightning of Greek fire, here is the warrior - drummer-thunder. Tell me, what army was as strong as this horde? Look how a cloud of tears is shedding. This is how a person cries in grief. Thunder is like a lover whose sorrowful soul is sick. Sometimes the sun will show us its face from behind the clouds, Or is it that we can see the head of a fighter above the fortress wall? The earth was cast into sadness for a long, long time. Jasmine brought her medicine: she is now healed. The rain kept pouring, pouring, pouring, like musk, it smelled fragrant*, And at night a shroud of snow lay on the reeds. Freed from the snow, the strengthened world blossomed again, And again the water roars in the dried-up streams, always free. Like a dazzling blade, lightning flashed between the clouds, And the first thunder rolled, and the steppe was shocked by thunder. Tulips, blooming merrily, laugh in the meadow grasses, They look like brides whose fingers have been painted with henna. On a willow branch a nightingale sings about happiness, about love, On a poplar tree a starling sings from early dawn until dark. The dove coos an ancient tale on a young cypress, The nightingale's song about the rose is so delightfully sonorous. Live cheerfully now and drink glorious wine, The time has come for lovers, the joy of meeting them is destined. The starling is in the arable land, and in the garden the nightingale is moaning in love. Drink wine to the sound of the lute—pour wine for us, dear one! The gray-haired sage is more pleasant to us than the nobleman who is cruel, Although the newness of spring is good to look at. Your rise is accompanied by your fall, your rise is visible in your fall. Look, the human race is confused, the country is in turmoil. Among the beautiful, young people you spent your days blissfully, You found what you wanted in spring - it was given to us for joy. * - musk in poetry is synonymous with fragrance and black color
MOTHER OF WINE
| We must first put the mother of wine to death, * Then the child itself must be imprisoned. You can’t take a child away while the mother is alive, so crush her and trample her first! People do not allow a small child to be taken away from the mother's breast until the time is right: From spring to autumn, he must be fed entirely on milk for seven full months. Then, whoever honors the law, praises the creator, sacrifices the mother, throws the child into prison. A child, having ended up in prison, sad from adversity, will spend seven days in unconsciousness, in confusion. Then it will come to consciousness gradually. It will ferment, seethe, and foam will begin to play. It will spring up violently, contrary to reason. Then he will violently jump down, filled with melancholy. I know you melt gold in the flame, But you won’t make him cry like wine. I’ll compare the child of wine to a mad camel, From the rearing foam Satan will be born! The guard should not be lazy to collect everything clean: the dungeon is illuminated with the sparkle of wine. Now she has calmed down, like a tamed beast. The guardian of the wine comes and locks the door. The wine was cleared and immediately sparkled with the crimson of the yakhont and the purple of the coral of the Yemeni jasper, beauty shines in it, in it the redness of the Badakhshan ruby. If you smell the wine, you will smell it, like a lover, and amber with roses, and fragrant musk. Now close the vessel, do not touch the wine, Until the ripe spring comes. Then you will uncork the jug at midnight. And before you the spring will sparkle with the eastern dawn. You will exclaim: “This is lal, its beauty is bright, Saint Musa held it in his hand!* Having tasted it, the coward will find courage in himself, And it transforms the miser into a generous one... And if you have a colorless, pale face, It will become crimson from the wine like a flower garden. Whoever tries the small cup first will free himself from sorrow forever. He will drive away the oppression of long-standing sorrow beyond Tangier, and will summon ardent joy from Ray*.” Aging the wine! Let the years fly by and let worries and adversity be forgotten. Then, in the morning, among the bright roses and lilies, you will gather guests for a royal feast. Make your shelter a blissful garden of paradise, striking your neighbors with its brilliant luxury. You decorate your shelter with the work of masters, And the gold of clothes, and the brightness of carpets, Invite craftsmen, singers from all over, Let the flute ring out for your beloved friend. In the row of nobles the vizier will sit - Balami, And there - dikhkan * Salih with respectable people. On the throne ahead, shining unspeakably, will sit the king of kings, the ruler of Khorasan*. A thousand handsome men will appear before the king: Let’s call anyone a sparkling moon! Those young men are entwined with colorful wreaths, their cheeks glow like red wine. Here Kravchiy is an example of magical beauty, the Turk woman is his mother, the Khakan is his father*. The tall king stood up, joyful, cheerful. A handsome black-eyed man approached him, whose figure was like a cypress, whose cheeks were brighter than roses. And he presented a cup with a fiery drink, so that the king could enjoy the fragrant wine for the health of the one who rules Sajastan*. His dignitaries will drink with him, They will say when they take the wine: “Abu Jafar Ahmad ibn Muhammad! Live in glory, blessed by the Iranian power! You are a just king, you are the sun of our years! You give us justice and light!” No one is equal to that king, let’s face it, of those who exist and who will be born of Adam! He is the shadow of the Almighty, he was chosen by the Lord, the Koran commanded us to be submissive to Him*. We are air and water, fire and trembling dust, He is the son of the sun, ascending to Sasan. He led a dark kingdom to greatness, And the shocked world, like the Garden of Eden, blossomed. If you are eloquent, glorify him with poetry, And if you are a scribe, praise him with words, And if you are a sage, in order to gain knowledge, You must follow his path. You will tell the experts, you will tell the scientists: “For the Greeks, he is Socrates, he became the second Plato!” And if you are ready to study Sharia, then say about him: “He is the main theologian!” His lips are the source of both wisdom and knowledge, And after listening to him, you will remember Lukman*. He will multiply the minds of experts a hundredfold, | He is happy to enrich the intelligent ones with knowledge. Go to him, wanting to look at the angel: He is a messenger of joy, sent down from paradise. Look at his slender figure, at his blooming face, And you will see the truth of what I said. He captivates people with his intelligence, and kindness, and noble spiritual purity. If his words reached you, then Keivan would begin to shine a light on your destiny*. Seeing him among the golden palace, You will say: “Suleiman the great has come to life* again!” Such a rider, on such a horse, could be envied by the glorious Himself* in the past. And if on the day of the struggle, when the battle is noisy, You see him in military equipment, The ardent elephant will seem insignificant to You, Even if he were fierce and excited by the battle. If Isfandiar* had appeared before the king's gaze, Isfandiar would have fled from the king in shame. It ascends like a mountain at times of peace, But that is Mount Seyam, its destiny is peace. He will plunge the dragon into fear with his slashing spear: He will be like wax before a burning fire. Mars, whose enmity is disastrous, enter into battle with him, the celestial star will find destruction. When the mighty One orders you to pour wine, You will say: “Spring rain pours from the spring clouds. From the clouds only rain will fall for a short time, And from it there will be a stream of silks and gold. The flood's moisture flowed with great generosity. But with greater generosity he gives good to people. He is famous for his generosity, and in the land of Praise he is valuable, but gold is not valuable. A beggar comes to the great king and leaves with gold and a large supply of food. He distributed positions in the diwan* to the sages, and he gave patronage to the singers. He is fair for everyone, he is full of grace, and he has no equal among Muslims and the nobility. You don’t see his side of violence, Before his court all residents are equal. His good deeds have spread across the earth, There is no one from whom he would deprive of giving. With him, those tired of worries will find peace, He gives medicine to the tormented soul. In the deserts and steppes, amid the eternal rotation, He tied himself with a rope of forgiveness. He forgives sins, taking pity on the guilty, and with mercy he suppresses anger. He rules Nimruz*, and his power is immeasurable, And happiness is a leopard, and the enemy trembles like a chamois. He is like Amr, whose fighting army, whose happiness of war seems to live again. Although Rustam’s glory is great and bright, - Thanks to him, that glory is majestic! O Rudaki! Praise those who live again and again, Praise him: he will give you love. And if you want to show off your skill, And if you sharpen your mind with a file, And if you suddenly turn angels and mighty birds, II spirits into your humble servants, - Then you will say: “I discovered only the beginning of virtues, I said a lot of words, but I said too little…” That’s all I deeply cherished in my soul. My words are pure, they are easy for everyone to understand. If I were Chrysostom, and the most sonorous in the world, I could only speak the truth about the emir. I will glorify the one for whom the human race is famous, its joy, greatness and peace. I will not tire of being proud of my embarrassment, Even though I am not inferior to Sahban in eloquence. He exalted the Shah in skillful praises And, choosing the right day, he presented them to the Shah There is a limit to praise - I will boldly say about everyone, I will begin to praise him - there is no limit to praise! It’s no wonder that now Rudaki will be embarrassed before the king of powers, having lost his mind. Oh, now I need Abu Omar’s courage, I would like to compare with sweet Adnan*. Would I, an old man, dare to sing praises to the king, the king for whose pleasure the Almighty world was erected! If only I had not been weak and suffered cruelly, If not for the order of the ruler of the East, I myself would have galloped to the emir like a messenger, And, taking the song in my teeth, I would have finally rushed! Ride, messenger, and apologize to the emir, And he, a connoisseur of words, will appreciate without a doubt The embarrassment of the old man that he is weak and weak: Alas, the slave could not come to visit the king. I want the king’s joy to multiply, And the happiness of his enemies decreases all the time, So that He ascended with his head to the moon, And his enemies hid in the depths of the earth, So that the sun could find a happy brother in him, Sakhlana became stronger, higher than Ararat. |
| * - Mother of wine - refers to a bunch of grapes, the “child” of which, wine, is imprisoned in a jug, as in a prison; * - Musa - the biblical Moses * - Rey - the name of the city, the ruins of which are preserved near Tehran * - Dikhkan - in ancient times a representative of the family nobility * - Khorasan - the region of eastern Iran, northwestern Afghanistan, southern Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan * - Turkic woman - in Persian literature synonym for beauty; Khakan - title of the ruler of the Turks * - Sajastan (Seistan) - region south of Khorasan (homeland of the legendary heroes - Zal, Rustam) * - Koran - the holy book of Muslims * - Sharia - code of Muslim law * - Luqman - symbol of wisdom and knowledge * - Keyvan - planet Saturn * - Suleiman - King Solomon - a symbol of wisdom and wealth * - Himself - the legendary hero from Seistan * - Isfandiar - the hero of ancient Iranian legends * - Divan - the body for managing finances and land holdings, the state chancellery * - Nimruz - another name for Seistan * - Rustam - legendary hero of ancient Iranian (Aryan) legends * - Sahban - famous Arabic speaker * - Adnan - ancestor of the Prophet Muhammad |
(translation by V. Levik)
It seemed that April had fallen from the heights during the night of December. Covered the valley with a carpet of flowers and the firmament with damp dust. Washed by the tears of clouds, the gardens are dressed in bright silk, And the spring wind brings us the scent of spicy amber. In the evening, purple fire shone in the tulip fields, In the azure, hidden by the creator, the flight of clouds was revealed to us. A flower laughs at me in the distance, - or is it Leili calling me? * Sobbing, the cloud will pass, - Majnun, perhaps, is shedding tears? And the stream smells of roses, as if my dear washed the roses of her cheeks in the blue of transparent waters: She has only to loosen her braid - and a hundred hearts drink in bliss, But two hundred will bleed, only she casts an angry gaze. While a fool cannot distinguish a rose from a thorn, While a madman drinks the disease-causing dope like honey, Let the thorns be roses for all your admirers And ,
like dope, let your enemies reject sweet honey... * - ambergris - a waxy substance used
for fragrant incense (in perfumery) * - Leili - beloved of Keys, nicknamed Majnun (in Arabic - “possessed”)
For the base joys of the body, I will insult the spirit I couldn’t, It’s shameful for someone who has a high rank to be the head of the village. He who came to the world as a prophet as a bearer of truth will not seek water in the dry stream of Hellas. My verse is Joseph the Beautiful*, I am captive of his beauty. My verse is a nightingale’s song, fate has chained me to it. I saw many nobles and in more than one I recognized feigned virtue and hidden vice. I had one desire: to be an example for them. And so... God sent me disappointment as a reward. * - biblical Joseph - synonymous with beauty
Be cheerful with the black-eyed one, Because the world is similar to a flying dream. You greet the future joyfully, There is no need to be sad about the past. Me and my tender friend, Me and her - we live for happiness. How happy is the one who took and who gave, How unhappy is the indifferent hoarder. This world, alas, is just fiction and smoke, So come what may, enjoy the wine!
The end of separation has arrived - and you are no longer with me! He uprooted my life from my native land. Your curl is a deadly bow, your eyelashes are arrows. My love! How can I complete my earthly journey without you! And who dares to ask you: “What is your kiss worth?” A hundred lives are not enough for him, so what about one? You blinded my mind with the sun of proud beauty. You burned my heart with the delight of intoxication.
I have lost peace and sleep - my soul is sick from separation, No one has ever suffered like this in all centuries and times. But then the hour of meeting came, and the sadness instantly dissipated: For those who have been waiting for the meeting for a long time, it is a hundredfold sweet, Filled with joy, I walked along the long-familiar path, And my tongue was free, my soul was clear. Like a bare-chested slave, I walked along a familiar path, And now it meets me, like a cypress, thin and slender. And, caressing me, he says: “Are you tired without me?” And, embarrassed, he says to me: “Is your soul of love true?” And I answered: “Oh, you, whose face would overshadow the houri’s beauty! O you who were born to shame the roses of beauty! My whole world is in one ring of your agate curls, In the chougans of your curls my whole life is enclosed. I lost sleep from longing for the curls of fragrant braids, And from longing for the sparkle of my eyes I lost sleep forever. Does a rose bloom without water? Will a cornfield grow without rain? Can there be a day without the sun, or a full moon without night?” I kiss the lips of her lips - and it’s like sugar on my lips, I inhale the hyacinths of her cheeks - and my chest is full of amber. She then asks: give me a ruby - and I give the ruby to her, Then as if he brings a cup - and I get drunk with wine... * - chougan - a stick with a curved end for chouganbozi (a game reminiscent of equestrian polo) * - laly - ruby - a synonym for the lips of a beloved
Pour wine for me, slender youth, crimson like a dark lal, sparkling like a dagger sparkling under the sun’s ray. It is so intoxicating that the sleepless man, having drunk it, recognized a joyful dream, So pure that anyone would call it rose water. Wine is like the tears of a summer cloud, and the cloud is your full vial*. Drink - and at once you will rejoice, you will find everything you wanted. Where there is no wine, hearts are broken, for them the balm is the wine crystal. If a dead man sip even a drop of it, he would rise from the grave And wine deserves to remain in the claws of an eagle, above the rocks, Then let us glorify justice! – the short one wouldn’t have reached him. * - vial - bowl, bowl
About three shirts, beauty, I read in a gray-haired parable. All three were worn by Joseph, famous for his beauty. One was bloodied by cunning, deceit tore the other. From the fragrance of the third, blind Jacob received his sight. My face is like the first, like the second is my heart. Oh, if only I could find a third. it was written by fate.
(translation by I. Selvinsky)
The wind, blowing from Mulyan *, reaches us. The spell of my beloved reaches us... Why do we need the rough ford of Amu? This one suits us like a gold-woven path. Feel free to get into the water! The snow-white horses get drunken foam up to their knees. Rejoice and rejoice, O Bukhara: the Shah, crowned, comes to you. He is like a poplar! You are like an apple orchard! The poplar comes to the garden of fragrance. It's like a month! You are like the blue firmament! A clear month rises into the sky early.* - Mulyan - a river in Bukhara * - yar - friend
| * * * Yes, that’s right: our world is not fair to the sage. Don’t expect good things from the world, but be hardworking. Take and give, then happy is the one who took and gave, having accumulated wealth. | * * * I don’t dye my gray hair black so that I can be considered young again and sin in my declining years. He who mournfully cries for the dead is dressed in black. Grieving for youth, I dye my gray hair black. |
| * * * My desired flower, thin-walled idol, Oh, where is your long-awaited drunken drink? It smells cool. Please me with the intoxicating joy of an unspeakable winter. | * * * No matter how you caress a snake, calling it your beloved child, it will become furious and poison you with poison. He who is vile has the abomination of a serpent. Don't hang around with a scoundrel, or be with someone despicable. |
| * * * Without knowing the true value of things, Are you really created by God for war? Listen, owner of a short life, do you really need battles? | * * * Although I was separated from you, I knew bitter suffering. Suffering is joy if it contains the expectation of a meeting. I think at night, happy, I repeat: oh God! If such is the separation from her, then what is the meeting with her! |
| * * * I gave my heart cheaply for the right to look at her. The kiss was not expensive either: I handed my life to the merchant. However, if my swindler is destined to become a huckster, then the clever huckster will immediately take my life for a kiss! | * * * Oh, your face is a sea of beauty, where there are many bounties. Oh, these teeth are pearls and the shell is a mouth. And your black eyebrows are a ship, the wrinkles on your forehead are waves, And the whirlpool is your chin, your eyes are a whirlpool! |
| * * * The beauty of resin, curly curls The crimson roses make it seem more tender. In every knot there are a thousand hearts, In every curl there are a thousand sorrows. | * * * We hid the ring while playing - fun for our hearts. Loss was replaced by success - such is the lot of rings. But fate didn’t give me a single ring, But now midnight has passed and that’s the end. |
| * * * In the end, any of us is capable of two things: Or he takes the blow, or he strikes boldly. There is nothing that would completely know destruction, There is no one who would immediately be destroyed to the limit. | * * * Bless your destiny and live justly, break the shackles of grief, live freedom-lovingly, don’t grieve when you don’t find yourself among the rich, - Having found yourself among the poor, live easily and happily. |
| * * * What a pity that a foolish son is born from a sage: The son does not inherit the talent and knowledge of his father. | * * * Look at the world with a reasonable eye, not the way you looked before. The world is a sea. Do you want to swim? Build a ship of good deeds. |
| * * * Everything you see, everything you love is unworthy of a sage, Greens, and almonds, and wine - there is no count of them, no end! The world is a snake, and the ambitious is the one who catches snakes, But the snake has been destroying the unsuccessful catcher for centuries. | * * * Others cannot stand petitioners; without listening, they abandon them mid-sentence. You listen, but you are unable to listen, But what about me, who asks? |
(translation by V. Levik)
| * * * The Almighty saved me from grief by giving me four qualities: an illustrious name, intelligence, health and good character. Anyone who has been given these four qualities by the Almighty will go his long way without grief, without recognizing human sorrows. | * * * “I came...” - “Who?” - "Darling". - "When?" - “Pre-dawn. I was fleeing from the enemy...” - “Who is the enemy?” - “Her father is dear. And I kissed twice...” - “Who?” - “Her lips.” - “Mouth?” - "No". - "Well?" - “Ruby”. - "Which?" - “Crimson Fire.” |
| * * * If I collapse lifeless, killed by passion with rage, And a cry of love does not flow out to you from my open lips, Darling, sit on the rug and say with a smile: “How sad! He died, poor thing, unable to bear my insults!” | * * * Those in front of whom grief has sent a carpet of suffering - that’s who we are; Those who hide the flame in their hearts and sorrow in their eyes - that’s who we are; Those who, through the play of hostile forces, are harnessed to the yoke of cruel fate, Who are carried by the will of fate in the stormy sea - that’s who we are. |
| * * * You stole the aroma and color from red roses: You took the color for rosy cheeks, the aroma for black braids. The waters where you wash your face will turn pink. Spicy musk will waft from loose hair. | * * * Suppress blind whim - and you will be noble! Cripple, don’t insult the blind - and you will be noble! It is not noble who steps on the chest of someone who has fallen. No! Raise the fallen - and you will be noble! |
| * * * How are you not tired of seeing a miser in every neighbor, Being blind and indifferent to human fate! Drive greed out of your heart, expect nothing from the world, and immediately the world will seem immensely generous to you. | * * * O time! A rich, bright-spoken, clear-faced young man, he came here for service on a proud horse. Well, will the Shah like him when, decades later, He returns, poor and old, having traveled a long distance on foot? |
| * * * Leave the mihrab!* Prefer love. Where are the Gurias* of Taraz and Bukhara? Live for them! My god doesn’t like prayers, He created us games for love. * - mihrab - a vaulted niche in a mosque, indicating the direction to Mecca, in the direction of which the face is turned during prayer. * - Gurias - beauties. | * * * The desired kiss of love, It is similar to salt water: The more you thirst for moisture, The more restlessly you drink. |
| * * * The temptations of the body are money, land, idle rest; Science, knowledge, reason are the temptations of my soul. | * * * A wise man is drawn to goodness and peace, A fool is drawn to war and strife. |
| * * * I am always friends with those who are condemned by the crowd, But I am not friends with insignificant fate. | * * * Every day you catch the ringing of sweet songs with your ear, But you don’t want to hear the groans of the oppressed. |
| * * * The spring day is beautiful - fragrant, blue, But I prefer the night of a date with you. | * * * Let the clothes be dirty - I myself must be clean. Woe to you, unclean hearts, woe to you, evil eyes. |
| * * * Go, comprehend the experience of life - and a small grain of it will always and everywhere be useful to you in order to overcome obstacles. | * * * While I am alive, I praise you, knowing no other labor: You are my plowing, and harvest, and threshing - and the field again! |
| * * * These have meat on the table, excellent almond pie, and these live from hand to mouth, it is difficult for them to get barley bread. | * * * Where an honest man should sit, there sits a vile rogue, The donkey is surrounded with honor, the camel is disdained. |
| * * * About grief: a kite lives for two hundred years, And a swallow only lives for one year. | * * * It is not true that the great sage lives in his heirs: Alas, the race will last, but wisdom will not pass from generation to generation. |
| * * * The well-fed one considers the insolence of the hungry one to ask for bread - He’s healthy, he easily tolerates someone else’s illness, apparently! | * * * Just one enemy is a lot of trouble, but hundreds of friends are always not enough. |
| * * * You are not a gazelle: you go into my snare, wanting it yourself. So don’t seek freedom, don’t break out, dear! | * * * Love is my work and my thoughts, I don’t need the world if there is no love! |
| * * * For a whole month I would kiss you incessantly: I don’t want to pay you off my debt piece by piece! | * * * You are alone among hundreds of thousands of faces. You are alone without a hundred thousand faces. |
FROM “KALILA AND DIMNA”
| * * * There is no stronger joy in the world than the sight of loved ones and friends. There is no more painful torment on earth than to be with glorious friends in separation. | * * * Having learned about someone that he is my enemy. That he wants to throw me into dust, I will become friends with him always and everywhere, I will talk to him affectionately. |
| * * * The charm of beauty strives towards you, Just as a stream rushes down from above. | * * * I was saddened by my words, I was happy with unspeakable words. |
Creation
Rudaki enjoyed the favor of Emir Nasr II. For several decades he led a galaxy of poets at the court of the Samanid rulers of Bukhara; had wealth and fame[1].
Rudaki was quite a prolific author. He wrote poems, qasidas, ghazals, rubai, lugz (or chistan), kit'a, etc.[24] According to legend, more than 130 thousand couplets came from him; another version - 1300 thousand - is implausible[25]. According to Aufi, Rudaki's works amount to one hundred notebooks[24].
Rudaki is considered the founder of Persian literature[5][6], the ancestor of poetry in Farsi[25]. He became famous early on as a singer and rhapsodist, as well as a poet. He received a good scholastic education and knew Arabic well, as well as the Koran. The fact that Rudaki was blind from birth is refuted by the Soviet scientist M. M. Gerasimov, the author of a method for restoring a person’s external appearance based on skeletal remains, arguing that blindness occurred no earlier than 60 years of age[26]. Iranian scholar Said Nafisi, who claims that Rudaki and the Samanid emir Nasr were Ismailis and in 940 there was a great uprising against the Ismailis. On the advice of the vizier, who hated Rudaki, Nasr ordered the poet to be blinded and his property confiscated. After another court poet, who had previously envied Rudaki, shamed him with the words: “In history you will be remembered as the ruler who blinded the great poet,” Nasr, greatly regretting what he had done, ordered the execution of the vizier and generous gifts to Rudaki, but the poet refused the generous gifts and died in poverty in his native village of Panjrud. In 1958, a mausoleum was erected on the site of the poet’s supposed grave[1].
From the literary heritage of Rudaki (according to legend - more than 130 thousand couplets; another version - 1300 thousand - is implausible) [25] barely a thousand couplets have reached us. The qasida “Mother of Wine” (933), the autobiographical qasida “Complaint about old age”, as well as about 40 quatrains (rubai)) have been preserved in their entirety[25]. The rest are fragments of works of panegyric, lyrical and philosophical-didactic content, including excerpts from the poem “Kalila and Dimna” (translation from Arabic, 932), and five other poems.
Along with laudatory and anacreontic themes, Rudaka’s poems sound faith in the power of the human mind, a call to knowledge, virtue, and active influence on life. The simplicity of poetic means, the accessibility and brightness of images in the poetry of Rudaki and his contemporaries characterize the Khorasan style they created, which remained until the end of the 12th century.
Kasida "Mother of Wine"
(From the message attached to the gift jug of wine)
Mother of wine
|
|
|
Notes
- ↑ 12345678
Chalisova, 2015. - Rudaki // Britannica
- Iran. viii. Persian literature (2) Classical // Iranica
- Seyed-Gohrab, Ali Asghar.
Metaphor and Imagery in Persian Poetry: [English]. — BRILL, 2011-10-14. - P. 18. - ISBN 978-90-04-21764-5. - ↑ 1 2 Rūdakī
- article from the Encyclopedia Britannica - ↑ 1 2 Iran VIII.
Persian literature (2) Classical - article from Encyclopædia Iranica - ↑ 12
Mirzoev, 1968, p. 85-86. - ↑ 12
Mirzoev, 1968, p. 88. - Tagirdzhanov, 1968, p. 26-27.
- Mirzo-zade, 1958, p. 6.
- Mirzoev, 1968, p. 84.
- ↑ 12
Tagirdzhanov, 1968, p. 34. - ↑ 12
Mirzo-zade, 1958, p. 7. - Tagirdzhanov, 1968, p. 61-62.
- Mirzo-zade, 1958, p. 8.
- Braginsky, 1989, p. 9.
- Tagirdzhanov, 1968, p. 76-77.
- Tagirdzhanov, 1968, p. 32-33.
- Tagirdzhanov, 1968, p. 37.
- Tagirdzhanov, 1968, p. 40.
- Mirzoev, 1968, p. 89.
- Tagirdzhanov, 1968, p. 43.
- Mirzoev, 1968, p. 97.
- ↑ 12
Tagirdzhanov, 1968, p. 282. - ↑ 1234
Rudaki // Great Soviet Encyclopedia: [in 30 volumes] / ch. ed. A. M. Prokhorov. — 3rd ed. - M.: Soviet Encyclopedia, 1969-1978. - Reconstruction by M. M. Gerasimov 1957 (unspecified)
(inaccessible link). Retrieved November 30, 2012. Archived June 17, 2013. - Russian Booker - Literary Prize - Russian Booker. (unspecified)
(inaccessible link). www.russianbooker.org. Date accessed: August 11, 2021. Archived May 29, 2021. - Literary Prize Student Booker - 2013 (unspecified)
. studbooker.rsuh.ru. Access date: August 11, 2021. - Culture of Soviet Azerbaijan. - B.: Azerbaijan State Publishing House, 1980. - P. 89. - 180 p.
Abuabdullo Rudaki - Poems about old age: Verse
All my teeth fell out, and I realized for the first time that I had previously had living lamps.
Those were ingots of silver, and pearls, and corals, Those were stars at dawn and raindrops.
All my teeth fell out. Where does the misfortune come from? Perhaps Saturn dealt me fatal blows?
Oh no, it's not Saturn's fault. Who? I will answer you: God did it, and these are the age-old laws.
This is how the world is structured, whose destiny is rotation and whirling. Time is mobile, like a spring, like streams of water.
What is considered a drug now will become poison tomorrow, so what? The sick will again consider this poison a medicine.
You see: time ages everything that seemed new to us, But time also makes old deeds younger.
Yes, the flower beds turned into deserted deserts, but the deserts also blossomed like dense flower beds.
Do you know, my love, whose curls are like musk, About what your captive was like in other times?
Now you enchant him with your lovely curls, - Did you see his curls in those young years?
Gone are the days when cheeks were as elastic as silk. Gone are those days, and so are the resin curls.
Gone are the days when he was, like a welcome guest, dear; Apparently he was too expensive - others came in exchange.
The crowd of beauties looked at him in amazement, and he himself was attracted by their witchcraft spells.
Gone are the days when he was carefree, cheerful, happy, He knew great joys, small sorrows.
He squandered money everywhere, and in this city He gave gold dirhams to a Turkish woman with tender breasts.
The beautiful slaves wanted to enjoy themselves with him, and hurried, stealthily, to him secretly in the hours of the night.
Because they were afraid to show up for a date during the day: The owners scared them, the city dungeons!
What was difficult for others, was easy for me: A charming face, and a slender figure, and expensive wines.
I turned my heart into a treasury of songs, My seal, my brand - my simple poems.
I turned my heart into a list of joy, I didn’t know what sadness was, empty yearning.
I transformed petrified hearts, cold and evil, into soft silk with hot verses.
My ears have always been drawn to the great word-makers, My eyes have been attracted to beauties and mischievous minxes.
I had no worries about my wife, children, or family. I lived freely, I had never heard of such hardships.
Oh, if only you could see Rudaki in these years, and not now, when I’m old and bad days have come.
Then I rang like a nightingale, composing songs, Then I proudly walked around the gardens, the edges of the earth.
Then I was a servant to kings and a close friend to many. Now I have lost my friends, there are only strangers around me.
Now my poems live in all the royal palaces, In my poems the kings live, their military deeds.
Khorasan listened to the works of the poet, They were copied by the whole world, strangers and relatives.
Wherever I went to the homes of nobles, I found food and tight purses everywhere.
I did not serve other kings, I only from the Samans, I gained greatness, and goodness, and worldly joys,
The ruler of Khorasan gave me forty thousand, Emir Makan gave me five thousand - not a bad gift.
I collected eight thousand from the king's servants in small things, Happy, I composed truthful, straightforward songs.
Only the emir paid me due with such generosity, And the servants, following the king, opened the storerooms,
But times have changed, and I myself have changed, Give me a staff: with a staff, with a bag, gray-haired people must walk.
Life path
Name and marten
Sam'ani, and after him Sheikh Manini, calls the poet "Abu Abdullah Ja'far ibn Muhammad ibn Hakim ibn Abdu-r-Rahman ibn Adam ar-Rudaki, poet of Samarkand" as the name and kunya of the poet. This trend, but sometimes with some omissions, will continue until the 15th century. Starting from the 15th century, sources give a different kunya for the poet. So, according to Daulatshah of Samarkandi, his name was “Ustad Abu-l-Hasan Rudaki”. Walih Daghistani writes: “His own name is Abdullah, and his kunya is Abu Ja'far and Abu-l-Hasan.”
[7].
Riza Quli Khan could not resolve this issue and wrote: “His proper name is Muhammad, kunya is Abu-l-Hasan.
Some consider his name to be Abdullah, while others consider his name to be Abu Abdullah, and his name to be Ja'far ibn Muhammad" [7].
Birth
Quite little is known about Rudaki’s life and activities. The only source reporting on the early period of life is Lubab al-albab (The Core of Hearts)[8]. Sources do not disclose Rudaki’s date of birth. Researchers, based on the year of the poet’s death and from his individual statements, made different assumptions regarding it. European authors gave the date of birth as the beginning of the second half of the 3rd century. x./865 (H. Ethe), approx. 880 (Pizzi, W. Jackson), fourth quarter of the 9th century. (Ch. Pickering) and the end of the 9th century. (FF Arbuthnot). According to A. Krymsky, Rudaki was born at the time when Bukhara passed from the hands of the Saffarids to the hands of the Samanids (874); E. E. Bertels indicated 855-860 as the date; A. Dehoti and M. Sand - 850-860; Mirzozoda - 858; I. S. Braginsky - 50s. IX century; A. M. Mirzoev - the beginning of the second half of the 9th century; S. Nafisi - approx. 873-874 or in the middle of the 3rd century. x./ok. 864-865 III century x.[9].
His place of birth was not known until 1940. According to some, Bukhara was the birthplace of Rudaki, others considered Samarkand, and still others considered the village of Panjrud. Based on written evidence and communication with local residents, the largest Tajik writer and literary critic Sadriddin Aini came to the conclusion that the poet’s homeland is the village of Rudak. He also managed to establish the poet’s burial place in the village of Panjrud[10]. It is unknown what social class the Rudaki family belonged to. But from one beyt it follows that the poet came from the lower classes and that he had to endure difficulties:
| I [wore] charms, [rided] on a donkey, and now I have reached the point that I recognize Chinese boots and an Arabian horse[11]. |
A. T. Tagirdzhanov believes that the poet’s father either belonged to the clergy or was an educated man. Drawing his attention to the fact that by the age of eight Rudaki knew the Koran by heart, he suggests that the poet began to learn the holy book at the age of 5-6, since learning a book in an unknown language by heart is “quite difficult.” In all likelihood, it was necessary to read to him for several hours every day, and this could be done either by the child’s parents or by one of the residents of the village or its imam[12].
Blindness?
500 Tajik somoni with the image of Rudaki
Since the end of the 10th century, there have been statements in literature that Rudaki was blind from birth[13]. According to the writer and scientist of the late XII - early XIII centuries. Muhammad Aufi, who noted the poet’s congenital blindness, “he was so capable and receptive that at the age of eight he memorized the entire Koran and learned to read, began to compose poetry and express deep thoughts.”
[8]. Following M. Aufi, his statements were repeated by the authors of subsequent anthologies. This same opinion was shared by many Soviet researchers of Rudaki’s work until 1958. H. Ethe was the first to doubt this, followed by J. Darmesteter, I. Pizzi, E. Browne, W. Jackson and A. Krymsky [14].
The French orientalist J. Darmsteter, without denying the poet’s blindness, at the same time notes that “Rudaki’s gaze saw so clearly that sometimes we question the veracity of the legend, because colors play an unexpectedly large role in those poems that remained from him... and we He seems to forget his blindness too much."
[13].
Kh. M. Mirzo-zade draws attention to the fact that if the poet was blind from birth, then it seems unlikely that he would be accepted as a court poet by the Samanid court. Moreover, he notes that from the realistic descriptions in Rudaki’s works it follows that “he was a poet who had the opportunity to observe life phenomena with his own eyes”
[15]. According to the prominent Soviet anthropologist M. M. Gerasimov, who restored the sculptural portrait of the poet from his remains, Rudaki was blinded in adulthood: his eyes were burned out[16]. Analyzing the condition of Rudaki’s skeleton, he finds that “Rudaki was blinded by a piece of red-hot iron,” and “the eyeball is not affected and, probably, not even deformed.” Since no signs resulting from the removal of the eyes were found, M. M. Gerasimov believed that Rudaki was blinded “only from the outside through a burn”[17].
At the Samanid court
According to the assumption of Kh. M. Mirzozoda, Rudaki, having left his native village, headed to Samarkand, the main city of the Zarafshan valley, which was the second center of the political, economic, scientific and literary life of the Samanid state of the 10th century. He draws attention to the fact that Rudaki spoke Arabic, “which could only be studied in theological schools of large centers...”[18]. S. Nafisi believes that Rudaki went to Bukhara from Samarkand Rudak[12]. In one of his poems, Rudaki says that he arrived in Bukhara as a mature poet and wealthy man:
| Your servant from a long journey, on horseback, came to you young and rich, thinking about your good, desiring your good[19]. |
According to Sam'ani, Rudaki transmitted hadiths from the words of the Qadi of Samarkand Ismail ibn Muhammad ibn Aslam and his teacher Abdallah ibn Abu Hamza of Samarkandi. From here S. Nafisi concludes that Rudaki, before going to Bukhara, arrived in Samarkand to study and studied hadiths here from the qadi of the city[20].
It is unknown when Rudaki was brought to the Samanid court. All sources agree that he was a contemporary of the Samanid emir Nasr ibn Ahmed, who ruled in 913-943.[21] A. Krymsky, S. Nafisi, M. I. Zand and A. M. Mirzoev suggested that the poet ended up at the Samanid court in the 890s, back in the reign of Ismail Samani [22] Circumstances of bringing Rudaki to the court of Emir Nasr ibn Ahmed is also unknown. According to Aufi’s story, the poet became fabulously rich at his court: “Emir Nasr ibn Ahmed Samanid was the ruler of Khorasan, he brought him (that is, Rudaki - approx.) very close to his person, so that his affairs went uphill, and his wealth and treasures reached their limit . They say that he had two hundred slaves and four hundred camels in his caravan. After him, no poet had such power and happiness.”
[23].
