Two Poems by Mushrifuddin Sa’dī Translated by A. Z. Foreman

Ghazal to the Camel Driver

Oh camel-driver, slow your pace. That's my soul's peace that goes away.
The heart I had now leaves with her, a piece of me she stole away.

Parted against my will from her, helpless and weak and ill for her, 
Feelings run deeper still for her, like blades to chip my bones away.

I hoped that spells and sorcery could hide the gaping wound in me.
They didn't. Blood drips publicly across my sill and flows away.

She goes, skirt drawn up proud and tall. I drink the poison of withdrawal.
Seek not a trace of life at all in me. It all has flown away.

Oh camel driver, hold your place and do not let the camels race.
Love for her sexy flowing grace may just have flown my soul away.

For all her reign of tyranny and baseless promises to me,
My heart must hold her memory or on my tongue it rolls away.

Come back! Just be before my eyes, my love. End these unholy cries.
From here on earth the tortured skies can hear me roil and groan away.

She up and passed me proudly by, left me unwell with her goodbye.
I like a flaming censer lie with hot head spewing smoke away.

At night I do not sleep till dawn or take advice from anyone.
It's not the path I planned upon. I have no reins to hold a way.

I would have wept a rainy flood to bog her camel down in mud.
I would have, but I lack the blood, now that my heart has roamed away.

Much has been said of how and why souls leave our bodies when we die
But I have seen it with my eye. I watched my soul just go away.

"It's inappropriate, Sa'di, to moan so uncontrollably!"
You faithless thing. This misery is more than I could moan away.

Ghazal of a Morning Too Early For Lovers:

Did they tap the untimely drum 
of dawn more speedily tonight? 
　　　Or did the morning bird by some 
　　　mistake not get its timing right?
Was it one moment or all night
sacked from our lives against our will?
　　　Here we still are, lips pressed on lips,
　　　and much desire left to fulfill!
I now turn smiling, now turn shy,　　　
now full of joy, now choked with rue.　
　　　I fail to even intimate
　　　the message I intend for you. 
If your foot deigns to touch my neck　　　
you honor me by standing close.　　　
　　　But for my low-laid head I've no
　　　welcome to offer steps like those.
But now that luck has finally come
to terms with us, fear no harangue.
　　　The trashy men who liked to talk
　　　trash about us can all go hang.
Saadi's a marked man now. Tell men,　
mystics and masses, near and far:
　　　I'm an idolator! But, then,
　　　how goddesslike my idols are!

ی ساربان آهستَه ران کآرامِ جانم می‌رود 
 وآن دل که با خْوَد داشتم با دلستانم می‌رود
من ماندَه‌ام مهجور از او بیچارَه و رنجور از او
گویی که نیشی دور از او در استخْوانم می‌رود
گفتم بَه نیرنگ و فسون پنهان کنم ریشِ درون
 پنهان نمی‌ماند که خون بر آستانم می‌رود
محمل بدار ای ساروان تندی مکن با کاروان
کز عشقِ آن سروِ روان گویی روانم می‌رود
او می‌رود دامن کَشان من زهرِ تنهایی چَشان
دیگر مپرس از من نِشان کز دل نِشانم می‌رود
برگشت یارِ سرکَشم بُگذاشت عیشِ ناخْوَشم
چون مجمری پرآتَشم کز سر دخانم می‌رود
با آن همَه بیدادِ او وین عهدِ بی‌بنیادِ او
 در سینَه دارم یادِ او یا بر زبانم می‌رود
بازآی و بر چَشمم نشین ای دلستانِ نازنین
کآشوب و فریاد از زمین بر آسمانم می‌رود
شب تا سحر می‌نغنوم و اندرزِ کس می‌نشنوم
وین ره نه قاصد می‌روم کز کف عنانم می‌رود
گفتم بگریم تا ابل چون خر فروماند بَه گل
وین نیز نتوانم که دل با کاروانم می‌رود
در رفتنِ جان از بدن گویند هر نوعی سخن
من خْوَد بَه چَشمِ خویشتن دیدم که جانم می‌رود
سعدی فغان از دستِ ما لایق نبود ای بی‌وفا
طاقت نمی‌آرم جفا کار از فغانم می‌رود

امشب سبكتر مى زنند اين طبلِ بى هنگام را
يا وقتِ بى دارى غلط بودست مُرغِ بام را
يک لحظه بود اين يا شبى كز عمرِ ما تاراج شد
ما همچنان لب بر لبى نابرگرفته كام را
هم تازەرويم هم خجل هم شادمان هم تنگدل
كز عهده بى رون آمدن نتوانم اين پيغام را
گر پای بر فرقم نهى تشريفِ قربت مى دهى
جز سر نمى دانم نهاد از عذرِ اين اقدام را.
چون بختِ نيک انجام را با ما بكلى صلح شد
بگذار تا جان مى دهد بدگوى بد فرجام را
سعدى علم شد در جهان، صوفى و عامى گو بدان
ما بتپرستى مى كنيم آنگه چنين اصنام را

Mushrifuddin Sa’dī (ca. 1200-1292) is widely recognized as one of the greatest masters of the classical Persian literary tradition. He was born in Shiraz, enjoyed a warm relationship with the Salghurid court, and seems to have traveled widely for many years before returning to the city some time around 1257 and spending the final decades of his life there. In his own time he was famous for his Bostan (a moralizing verse work), his Golestan (a prosimetrum consisting of various anecdotes on assorted subjects) and for his lyric ghazals. Beyond that, little of his life is known with certainty. His own writings purportedly contain autobiographical anecdotes (many of them quite improbable) which are not generally given much credence by modern scholarship.

A. Z. Foreman is a literary translator, poet and language teacher currently working on a doctorate in Near Eastern Languages at the Ohio State University. He received his B.A. in Linguistics from the University of Chicago, and his M.A. in Arabic Language from the University of Maryland. His translations from Arabic, Chinese, Occitan, Irish, Russian, Ukrainian and Yiddish have appeared in e.g. Asymptote, ANMLY, Brazen Head, Metamorphoses, Ilanot Review and two people’s tattoos. He also writes his own poems if things get extreme enough. He divides his time between the bedroom, the bathroom and the kitchen. Most importantly, if you have a dog, he would very much like to pet it.

23 April 2025