Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ROMANCERO: BOOK 1. HISTORIES: THE POET FERDUSI, by HEINRICH HEINE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ROMANCERO: BOOK 1. HISTORIES: THE POET FERDUSI, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Men of gold, and men of silver
Last Line: That the dead ferdusi bore to his tomb.
Subject(s): Courts & Courtiers; Death; Heroism; Poetry & Poets; Royal Court Life; Royalty; Kings; Queens; Dead, The; Heroes; Heroines


1.

MEN of gold, and men of silver
When a fool about a thoman
Talks, of silver he is speaking,
And he means a silver thoman.

In a prince's mouth, however,
Or a shah's, a thoman's always
Golden, for a shah will only
Given and take in golden thomans.

Worthy people have this notion,
And Ferdusi thought so also,
The composer of the famous
And immortal work Schah Nameh.

This divine heroic poem
At the Shah's command composed he,
Who for every verse a thoman
Promised to bestow upon him.

Seventeen times bloom'd the roses,
Seventeen times did they wither,
And the nightingales sang sweetly
And were silent seventeen times, --

And meanwhile the bard was sitting
At the loom of thought, composing
Day and night, and nimbly weaving
His sweet numbers' giant-carpet, --

Giant-carpet, where the poet
Interwove with skill his country's
Chronicles from times of fable,
Farsistan's primeval monarchs,

Fav'rite heroes of his nation,
Knightly deeds, adventures wondrous,
Magic beings, hateful demons,
Intertwined with flowers of fable.

All were blooming, all were living,
Bright with colours, glowing, burning,
With the heavenly rays illumin'd
From the sacred light of Iran,

From the godlike light primeval,
Whose last pure and fiery temple,
Spite of Koran and of Mufti,
In the poet's heart flam'd brightly.

When at last the work was finish'd,
Then the manuscript the poet
Sent to his illustrious patron,
E'en two hundred thousand verses.

It was in the public bath room,
In the bathing place at Gasna,
That the Shah's black messengers
Found at last the bard Ferdusi.

Each a bag of money carried,
Which before the poet's feet he
Kneeling placed, to be the guerdon
To reward his minstrel labours.

Hastily the poet open'd
Both the bags, his eyes to gladden
With the gold so long kept from him, --
When he saw with consternation

That the bags contain'd within them
Silver only, silver thomans,
Some two hundred thousand of them; --
Bitterly then laugh'd the poet.

Laughing bitterly, the money
He divided in three equal
Portions, and a third part gave he
To the two black messengers,

Each a third, to be his guerdon
For the message, and the third part
Gave he to the man who waited
On his bath, as drinking-money.

Then his pilgrim staff he straightway
Grasp'd, and left at once the city,
And before the gate the dust he
From his very shoes rejected.

2.

"HAD he been, like other men,
"Heedless of his words once spoken,
"And his promise merely broken,
"I had not been angry then.

"Suffer this? I never will!
"His deceit my heart amazes,
"Both his double-meaning phrases,
"And his silence, falser still.

"He was noble, fair to see,
"Proud his gestures were, and stately;
"Other men excell'd he greatly,
"Every inch a king was he.

"Firelike did his glance once meet me,
"As the sun in yonder heaven
"He, truth's haughty image even --
"And he yet hath deign'd to cheat me."

3.

SHAH Mahomet full well has dined,
And his soul to be merry is fully inclined.

In the garden at twilight, on purple seat
He sits by the fountain. Its splashing sounds sweet

With looks respectful his servants stand:
His fav'rite Ansari's amongst the band.

From marble vases a fiery gush
Of luxuriant flowers appears to rush.

Like Odalisques with graceful arms
Stand fanning themselves the slender palms.

The cypresses stand with branches unfurl'd,
As if dreaming of heaven, forgetting the world.

But sudden to strains of the lute ere long
Is heard a gentle mysterious song.

The Shah sprang up, as if sorely perplex'd:
"Who wrote of this song the charming text?"

Ansari, from whom he sought to know it,
Replied: "'Tis the work of Ferdusi the poet."

"Ferdusi! -- exclaim'd the prince in dismay, --
"Where is he? How fares the poet, O say!"

"Ansari gave answer: "In poverty great
"He has lived full long in a mournful state

"At Thus, the native town of the bard,
"Where he in his garden works full hard."

Shah Mahomet paused, and presently said:
"Ansari, a thought has come in my head.

"To my stables make haste, and with hands unthrifty
"Take a hundred mules, and camels fifty.

"And lade them all with every treasure
"That fills the heart of a mortal with pleasure,

"With splendid articles, rich and rare,
"With costly dresses and furniture fair

"Of sandal wood and ivory white,
"With gold and silver tissues dight;

"With precious-handled goblets and pots,
"And leopard-skins, all cover'd with spots,

"With carpets and shawls and the richest brocade
"That in my kingdom has ever been made.

"And don't forget to pack with the rest
"Some glittering arms, and of housings the best,

"As well as drinks of every kind
"And eatables such as in pots we find,

"And almond cakes and sweetmeats Egyptian,
"And gingerbread of every description.

"And also add a dozen steeds
"As swift as arrows, of Arab breeds,

"And likewise a dozen slaves, black as coals,
"With bodies of steel, and sturdy souls.

"Ansari, when all these things thou hast got,
"Thou must start on thy journey, and linger not,

"Thou must take them all with my kind regard
"To Thus, to Ferdusi, the mighty bard." --

Ansari fulfill'd his lord's behest,
And loaded the camels and mules with the best

And costliest presents, the value of which
Was enough to make a whole province quite rich.

In propria persona he left at last
The palace, when some three days had past,

And with a general's banner red
In front of the caravan he sped.

At the end of a week to Thus came they;
The town at the foot of the mountain lay.

The caravan the western gate
With shouts and noises entered straight.

The trumpets sounded, the loud drums beat,
And songs of triumph rang through the street.

"La Illa Il Allah!" with joyous shout
The camel drivers were calling out.

But through the East gate at the farther end
Of Thus, at that moment chanced to wend

The funeral train so full of gloom,
That the dead Ferdusi bore to his tomb.





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