Ghazal · 17th century

Until a Man Falls Silent

Saeb Tabriziصائب تبریزی

تا آدمی خمش نشود برگزیده نیست

Until a man falls silent he is not among the chosen;

صهبا ز جوش تا ننشیند رسیده نیست

wine is not ripe until it settles from its ferment.

تمکین ز چار موجه طمع داشتن خطاست

It is wrong to look for calm in the clash of four waves,

در قلزمی که آب گهر آرمیده نیست

in an ocean where even the pearl’s water is not at rest.

هر کس نظر به عیب کسان از هنر کند

Whoever turns his eyes from people’s merits to their faults

در پیش صاحبان نظر پاک دیده نیست

is not clear-sighted in the eyes of those who truly see.

بیهوده دست بر دل من می نهد طبیب

The physician lays his hand on my heart in vain:

لنگر حریف کشتی طوفان رسیده نیست

an anchor is no match for a ship caught in the storm.

آواز نیست پای به دامن کشیده را

The one who has drawn his feet beneath his skirt makes no sound;

هر کس که از وصول زند دم رسیده نیست

whoever boasts of having arrived has not arrived.

مشغول جمع کردن تیر فکنده است

The sky is busy gathering up the arrows it has shot;

پشت فلک ز راه تواضع خمیده نیست

its back is not bent out of humility.

مگشای لب به خنده و کوتاه دار دست

Do not open your lips to laugh, and keep your hands to yourself

در عالمی که دست و لب ناگزیده نیست

in a world where no hand and no lip has escaped being bitten.

پیوسته در کشاکش خار علایق است

Always caught in the pull of the thorns of attachment

چون سرو دامنی که درین باغ چیده نیست

is any skirt in this garden not gathered up like the cypress’s.

صائب بود ز درد خطا صاف فکر من

Saeb, my thought is clear of the dregs of error;

در جام من به غیر شراب چکیده نیست

in my cup there is nothing but filtered wine.

From: The Divan of Saeb
Translation: Persiahaus Editors
Source: Draft translation from the Ganjoor text
Persian text: Ganjoor

A note for readers

A complete ghazal. Its opening, that a man is not ‘chosen’ until he falls silent, as wine is not ripe until its ferment settles, is typical of Saeb’s way of pairing a moral with an everyday process. Later couplets picture the curved sky, which stoops not from humility but to pick up its spent arrows, and the upright cypress, whose gathered skirt no thorn can catch. To bite one’s hand or lip is a gesture of regret.