One of the things that consistently moved me when I was working on my translations of Saadi was the way in which he felt authorized as a poet to speak in a voice of moral instruction to those in power. Saadi lived at a time, in other words, when poets and poetry had real moral authority and as a poet writing and publishing today that boggles my mind. It’s not that I think the rulers who were Saadi’s patrons necessarily changed their ways because of something the poet wrote–though it is also true that it took courage to write poems that were critical of such patrons–but rather that I find myself envious of a time when there was an official cultural space for the production of poems as political and overtly didactic as the one to which I have given the title “If The King Sleeps Well” and, more, that the ruling class was wiling to pay to have these poems written. A poet who wrote a poem like this today might think that her or his local political leaders ought to read it, might think that they would learn something from reading it, might even send the poem to those local leaders with a note attached; but–just to think in terms of my city, NY–the idea that Mayor Michael Bloomberg might approach me and ask me to write a book of poems for him, part of the purpose of which would be to offer him guidance on how to be a good mayor is so ridiculous that it leaves me almost speechless. One might argue that certain kids of TV programming serves that purpose now–though the comparison would have to be unpacked a good deal more than I am going to do here to be really useful–but I still think there are things that good poetry can do that TV can’t. Anyway, here is “If The King Sleeps Well.”
A man whom other men of wisdom follow
tells the story of Ibn ‘Abd al-‘Aziz,
who owned a ring in which was set a stone
no jeweler could properly assess.
At night, you’d swear it was a rising sun.
By day, it shone with a single pearl’s luster.
One year, by God’s decree, Aziz’s rule
was plagued by drought. He watched his people’s faces
wane from full moons to narrow crescents
and knew the royal comfort he enjoyed,
unshared, would undo his manhood in their eyes.
(When people are pouring poison down their throats,
who would dare drink sweet-water in their sight?)
He sold the stone for silver, giving it all
in just one week to orphans, strangers, the poor
and anybody else he saw in need.
The court gossips pounced, “You’ll never find
a precious stone like that again!” I’ve heard
that when he answered tears poured down his cheeks
like candle wax. “A prince who wears such jewels
in time of drought betrays his people’s trust.
This empty ring looks fine on me. Hunger’s
emptiness enhances no one’s looks.”
Happiness is in providing comfort
to those who need it, not in owning gems
to decorate your hands. Those who cherish
virtue don’t buy joy with others’ sorrow.///
If the shah sleeps well upon his throne,
I doubt the poor sleep easily, but if
the shah lights up the night with watchful eyes,
those he rules will dream deeply, waking
soothed. Praise God! The Atabeg,
Abu Bakr ibn Sa’d, is such a ruler.
The only signs of trouble plaguing Pars
are the women whose lunar beauty turns our heads.A verse from our last party caught my ear:
“I held my moon-faced lover while she slept
and wanted nothing more from life than that,
but the sight of her so fully lost in sleep
moved me. ‘Your slender grace shames the cypress.
Wash this sweet slumber from your narcissus-
eyes, let the rose of your smile bloom
and free the nightingale song of your voice!
Your beauty subverts us all. Wake yourself
and bring the ruby wine you poured last night!’
She opened one indignant eye, ‘You say
I am subversive, and still you choose to rouse me?’”
Under the rule of our enlightened king,
no other subversion dares to stir.
Cross-posted on The Poetry in The Politics and The Politics in The Poetry.
