A Feather Fell in China
Attarعطار
ابتدای کار سیمرغ ای عجب
The beginning of the Simorgh’s story, how wonderful:
جلوهگر بگذشت بر چین نیمشب
in all his splendour he passed over China at midnight.
در میان چین فتاد از وی پری
In the middle of China a feather fell from him,
لاجرم پرشور شد هر کشوری
and so every land was filled with clamour.
هر کسی نقشی از آن پر برگرفت
Everyone took a pattern from that feather;
هر که دید آن نقش کاری درگرفت
whoever saw that pattern set to some work.
آن پر اکنون در نگارستان چینست
That feather is now in the picture-house of China:
اطلبو العلم و لو بالصین ازینست
‘Seek knowledge, even in China’ comes from this.
گر نگشتی نقش پر او عیان
Had the pattern of his feather not been seen,
این همه غوغا نبودی در جهان
there would not be all this uproar in the world.
این همه آثار صنع از فر اوست
All these works of making come from his glory;
جمله انمودار نقش پر اوست
all of them are a sample of the pattern of his feather.
چون نه سر پیداست وصفش را نه بن
Since describing him has no visible beginning or end,
نیست لایق بیش از این گفتن سخن
it is not fitting to say more than this.
هر که اکنون از شما مرد رهید
Now, whoever among you is a man for the road,
سر به راه آرید و پا اندر نهید
set your heads to the way and step out on it.
A note for readers
The hoopoe’s first account of the Simorgh in The Conference of the Birds. The king of the birds once passed over China at night and let fall a single feather, and every art and craft in the world copies its pattern. The hoopoe turns the saying ‘Seek knowledge, even in China’, traditionally ascribed to the Prophet, into a reference to that feather, then calls the birds to set out.
More poemsشعرهای دیگر
مرغی دیدم نشسته بر باره طوس
در پیش نهاده کله کیکاووس
I saw a bird perched on the ramparts of Tus,
with the skull of Kay Kavus set down before it.
A Bird on the Walls of Tus
یکی قطره باران ز ابری چکید
خجل شد چو پهنای دریا بدید
A drop of rain fell from a cloud;
it was ashamed when it saw the breadth of the sea.
A Drop of Rain
دل فارغ ز درد عشق دل نیست
تن بی درد دل جز آب و گل نیست
A heart free of the pain of love is no heart;
a body without heartache is nothing but water and clay.