{"product_id":"rumi-isbn-9781101908105","title":"Rumi","description":"\u003cb\u003eA beautiful collector’s hardcover of never-before-translated poems by the widely beloved medieval Persian poet Rumi. AN EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY POCKET POET.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRumi (1207–1273) was trained in Sufism—a mystic tradition within Islam—and founded the Sufi order known to us as the Whirling Dervishes, who use dance and music as part of their spiritual devotion. Rumi's poetry has long been popular with contemporary Western audiences because of the way it combines the sacred and the sensual, describing divine love in rapturously human terms. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHowever, a number of Rumi's English translators over the past century were not speakers of Persian and they based their sometimes very free interpretations on earlier translations. With Western audiences in mind, translators also tended to tone down or leave out elements of Persian culture and of Islam in Rumi's work, and hundreds of the prolific poet's works were never made available to English speakers at all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn this new translation—composed almost entirely of untranslated gems from Rumi's vast ouevre—Brad Gooch and Maryam Mortaz aim to achieve greater fidelity to the originals while still allowing Rumi's lyric exuberance to shine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEveryman's Library pursues the highest production standards, printing on acid-free cream-colored paper, with full-cloth cases with two-color foil stamping, decorative endpapers, silk ribbon markers, European-style half-round spines, and a full-color illustrated jacket.\u003ci\u003eForeword b\u003c\/i\u003ey Brad Gooch\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Where is the grace I saw in your face all night? \u003cbr\u003e All flowers seek refuge in this meadow \u003cbr\u003e Today the line between a stranger and me, I do not know \u003cbr\u003e I have lost myself but am longing to lose myself more \u003cbr\u003e No interpreter for my fire \u003cbr\u003e When your love inflamed my heart\u003cbr\u003e Out of love for you, every strand of my hair turned into lines of poetry\u003cbr\u003e Rise up, rise up, I’m an ocean of poetry\u003cbr\u003e Come back! Out of love for you, I turned into a madman\u003cbr\u003e Sing with love, of the pain of loss, speak\u003cbr\u003e My heart is a pen held in the beloved’s hand \u003cbr\u003e Oh voice of the rabab, where do you come from?\u003cbr\u003e Your speech made me silent \u003cbr\u003e Each moment a vision of him stirs my heart \u003cbr\u003e Once again my heart is catching fire\u003cbr\u003e My face is a hundred times brighter when I see your face\u003cbr\u003e One night, wishing to say hello, I knocked on the door of the heart\u003cbr\u003e The beloved shines like the sun\u003cbr\u003e Who says the eternal one is dead? \u003cbr\u003e O Sunshine, fill the house once again with light \u003cbr\u003e Since I am a servant of the sun, I speak of the sun\u003cbr\u003e Sun, riding atop the sky \u003cbr\u003e I learned about love from your perfection \u003cbr\u003e You were silent and I made you a storyteller \u003cbr\u003e Being lost in being lost is my faith \u003cbr\u003e Lovers carry another world within\u003cbr\u003e Last night I was aching with love for Shams al-Din\u003cbr\u003e The rays of his sunlight are spreading farther \u003cbr\u003e You found the hidden king, he wrote \u003cbr\u003e The beloved came to comfort and console me, secretly \u003cbr\u003e I have not come to the alley of your love to go away \u003cbr\u003e Free from the world of water and clay, step into my clay \u003cbr\u003e To see your face in the early morning is my life \u003cbr\u003e I saw my beauty in your beauty \u003cbr\u003e I awoke at midnight but couldn’t find my heart \u003cbr\u003e Your eyes intensely beautiful, your face a rose \u003cbr\u003e Where did the handsome beloved go?\u003cbr\u003e Longing for you, my heart feels more pain every day\u003cbr\u003e You accept me, but rejection is my fear \u003cbr\u003eYou won’t even look at me with a single glance \u003cbr\u003e Young man, what if you fell in love like me?\u003cbr\u003e I try to sit and learn but my anxious heart will never be at peace\u003cbr\u003e Once again you are unkind. Remember \u003cbr\u003e I wish to devote my life to him but I won’t tell you his name\u003cbr\u003e I cure my pain with suffering\u003cbr\u003e I swear to God, I’m not running from the pain of your love \u003cbr\u003e Even if I lose my sight and mind and life, don’t go \u003cbr\u003e My friend, all alone, without a friend, don’t leave me\u003cbr\u003e Since you went away, I am weeping, as you know \u003cbr\u003e I said to the physician, ‘‘Please find a cure.’’ \u003cbr\u003e For Majnun’s health\u003cbr\u003e The physician for incurable pain, where is he? \u003cbr\u003e The tulips bloom in dry soil when they see your face\u003cbr\u003e One day as I was passing by the tavern \u003cbr\u003e Without a cup, without wine, we are happy \u003cbr\u003e Love lured me into the alley of the tavern \u003cbr\u003e What better cure than madness? \u003cbr\u003e When hung over, with a headache, longing for love \u003cbr\u003e When day is done, join the wine drinkers, all night \u003cbr\u003e Send me your soul’s wine as a token of your love \u003cbr\u003e Since you are drunk with me, over a hangover, why worry? \u003cbr\u003e Who am I?What am I thinking? Serve the wine! \u003cbr\u003e He makes my soul drunk without wine.Where is he? \u003cbr\u003e Why is night-blind sorrow wrapping about me?\u003cbr\u003e When I fall into the chaos of night \u003cbr\u003e Tonight sleep ran from my eyes and mind \u003cbr\u003e If you can’t find me, ask the dark night \u003cbr\u003e Sleep follows after you to take away logic and intellect \u003cbr\u003e Moon, on such a night be moonlike. Don’t sleep! \u003cbr\u003e Last night a ravishing moon came to me \u003cbr\u003e Water washed away all my poems and songs \u003cbr\u003e The silver-bodied moon poked his head through the sky \u003cbr\u003e The flame of moonlight moves with grace \u003cbr\u003eYou are a moon that in the sky cannot be held \u003cbr\u003e O Moon, any night you shine, I throw myself at your feet \u003cbr\u003e If the moon that shines in the night veils himself \u003cbr\u003e The sky has never seen such a moon, not even in its dreams \u003cbr\u003e O you, who rose from my soul, where is your house?\u003cbr\u003e From the fire of love, cold grows warm\u003cbr\u003e I pulled you out of one fire \u003cbr\u003e Lovers are aflame within a hidden fire\u003cbr\u003e Only look for warmth from the burning fire inside you \u003cbr\u003e My turban, my robe, and my head, all three together \u003cbr\u003e Sorrow turned the heart into a scholar \u003cbr\u003e Even if you’re not a scholar, study with me \u003cbr\u003e Within love is the alchemy of sunrise \u003cbr\u003e Love can’t be found in science or knowledge, books or paper \u003cbr\u003e As lover nears lover, their chains break apart\u003cbr\u003e If you’re not in love, you’re allowed, sleep on \u003cbr\u003e Sit with lovers and always seek love \u003cbr\u003e I swear by love even if love is full of baits and traps\u003cbr\u003e Why should a lover fear shame or disgrace? \u003cbr\u003e If there’s no trace of love in his heart \u003cbr\u003e Take these breadcrumbs but my soul will never be broken \u003cbr\u003e Tomorrow I visit the shop of the tailor of lovers\u003cbr\u003e Didn’t I tell you last night, ‘‘Your beautiful face is beyond compare’’ \u003cbr\u003e I tested everyone but didn’t find anyone sweeter than you \u003cbr\u003e In all of love has there ever been such a lover as you? \u003cbr\u003e Love, for the longest time, you have been my only friend \u003cbr\u003e Musician, strum the strings of the rabab of my heart\u003cbr\u003e My heart pulled me by my robe to the alley of my friend \u003cbr\u003e Lift up your head, my friend. Behold my pale face \u003cbr\u003e My heart longs for the cries of a clarion trumpet \u003cbr\u003e Looking for you, I return \u003cbr\u003e Jump up! The soul of whirling is rising to its feet \u003cbr\u003e In harmony with your friend, you will never be alone \u003cbr\u003e Everyone is dancing, and, again, the day begins \u003cbr\u003e Wake up, dance for joy. Press yourself against me \u003cbr\u003e Come, come, soul of the soul of the soul of whirling \u003cbr\u003e Last night, without you, was dark and hopeless \u003cbr\u003e I’m your friend, I’m your friend, the friend of your sorrow \u003cbr\u003e How can my soul find peace, my friend? With a touch! \u003cbr\u003e Whirling brings peace to our souls\u003cbr\u003e I am a lover of love, not like every Muslim\u003cbr\u003e At evening prayer when the sun begins to set\u003cbr\u003e You, who have gone on \u003ci\u003ehajj.\u003c\/i\u003eWhere are you? \u003cbr\u003e Congratulations! Here comes the month of fasting! \u003cbr\u003e Today I saw your beauty, blessings upon you\u003cbr\u003e That angelic face is the zenith of both worlds\u003cbr\u003e Don’t let your heart turn, the heart of your beloved knows\u003cbr\u003e Last night I dreamed I was poor \u003cbr\u003e I was a trusted friend of the pilgrims on the road \u003cbr\u003e The scent of the musk of Khotan comes to me \u003cbr\u003e Simorgh takes flight from Mount Qaf again\u003cbr\u003e I’m in love and crazed and driven mad by Damascus \u003cbr\u003e Sometimes you rip my veil, sometimes you sew \u003cbr\u003e On the path of unity, worship or sin \u003cbr\u003e The scent of God comes from every direction\u003cbr\u003e Your glow through the window is our summer\u003cbr\u003e I cry so many cries, my face so pale \u003cbr\u003e Once again my cunning lover found me\u003cbr\u003e What tent did you pitch above the world of eternity? \u003cbr\u003e Without you, I am banished from my life\u003cbr\u003e The day my soul travels to the heavens\u003cbr\u003e If I die, carry me away \u003cbr\u003e When I die and my coffin is carried out\u003cbr\u003e If wheat grows from my soil \u003cbr\u003e What will I do if death comes to take me away? \u003cbr\u003e When you died, your eyes gazed into the world of the spirit \u003cbr\u003e In the book of my life only one page remains \u003cbr\u003e In the clean, pure sea, I dissolved like salt\u003cbr\u003e From a lovely thought, my spirit comes alive \u003cbr\u003e Open your eyes and look. From the body, souls are escaping\u003cbr\u003e From my heart arose the army of the soul \u003cbr\u003e A moon appeared in the dawn sky \u003cbr\u003e Look into the face of the beloved until his hues come alive \u003cbr\u003e Sir, don’t you see this Judgment Day?\u003cbr\u003e Each day, full of joy, seek a new place to live \u003cbr\u003e You’re at peace when you don’t need more or less \u003cbr\u003e Finally you broke away and made your way to the unseen \u003cbr\u003e Caged bird, don’t fly with the bird of paradise! \u003cbr\u003e This happy morning kissed me three times \u003cbr\u003e Fortune made me smile, at last \u003cbr\u003e God gave me wine and gave you vinegar\u003cbr\u003e Whatever you hide from this king, he knows \u003cbr\u003e Because of you, I burn with sorrow, O God \u003cbr\u003e I am a madman and I give birth to madmen\u003cbr\u003e Don’t think! Don’t think! \u003cbr\u003e Yesterday I went to him full of dismay \u003cbr\u003e Traveling from this world, you went away\u003cbr\u003e Sometimes, in my childhood, I was a teacher \u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eAcknowledgments \u003c\/i\u003e\"Offering new insight into the poet’s spiritual life, these poems prove a valuable addition to Rumi’s oeuvre.\" —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003eRUMI was born in 1207 in Central Asia. He founded the mystic Sufi order known to us as the Whirling Dervishes, who use dance and music as part of their spiritual devotion. He died in 1273 and his burial place in Konya, Turkey, remains a shrine to this day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBRAD GOOCH, best-selling author of \u003ci\u003eSmash Cut, Flannery,\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eCity Poet\u003c\/i\u003e, wrote the first popular biography of Rumi, \u003ci\u003eRumi's Secret\u003c\/i\u003e, which was published in 2017 to critical acclaim.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMARYAM MORTAZ is an Iranian-American writer, translator, and author of the short story collection \u003ci\u003ePushkin and Other Stories.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eForeword\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e ‘‘Love speaks a hundred different languages,’’ exulted Rumi. He might well have said the same of his own ardently recited and ecstatically translated poems of love, which have found their way around the world like ‘‘a hundred thousand flames’’ – to use a favorite Rumi image – since his death in the Turkish city of Konya in 1321. A Persian-speaking poet, displaced from Central Asia during the Mongol terrors and winding up with his family in the Seljuk Empire in Asia Minor, after years of traveling through such thriving Muslim cities as Baghdad, Damascus, and Aleppo, Rumi expressed a polyglot civilization in poetry that segues easily among Persian, Arabic (especially the Arabic of the \u003ci\u003eQuran\u003c\/i\u003e), Turkish, and Greek. Over seven centuries he has been translated into dozens of languages and claimed as a ‘‘national’’ poet by Afghans, Iranians, and Turks alike.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The heartbeats of American and English poets and translators have often quickened to Rumi as well, beginning with Ralph Waldo Emerson, who translated an exquisitely mystical poem from the German of Ru¨ckert: ‘‘Of Paradise am I the Peacock, \/Who has escaped from his nest.’’ The Cambridge University professor R. A. Nicholson devoted his life to translating Rumi’s six volume spiritual epic, \u003ci\u003eThe Masnavi\u003c\/i\u003e, often while dressed in Sufi robes and a tall round hat. At a poetry workshop in the United States in the 1970s, Robert Bly presented the young poet Coleman Barks with a volume of the decidedly literal translations of another Cambridge scholar, A. J. Arberry. ‘‘These poems need to be released from their cages,’’ said Bly, and the ensuing flutter of free-verse – almost beat – renditions led to Rumi’s status as the ‘‘best-selling poet in America.’’\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Yet in the decade since I started seeking writings left behind by Rumi, as I researched my biography of his life and times, \u003ci\u003eRumi’s Secret\u003c\/i\u003e, I discovered that wide swathes of the poetry were still lying dormant, mostly unseen and unheard by the English reading public. Crucial to this realization has been my collaborator in the translations in this collection, Maryam Mortaz. An Iranian poet and writer living in New York City, Maryam began as my tutor in her native tongue – Persian, or \u003ci\u003eFarsi – \u003c\/i\u003eeven helping long-distance when I studied in Persian immersion programs at University of Texas at Austin and University of Wisconsin at Madison. As the book expanded so did Maryam’s role, and we jointly translated all the prose and poetry in the biography. When we were stumped by swerves in Rumi’s thought, she would call her friend Qhasem Hasheminejad, a poet, novelist, and scholar in Iran; when I was in Tehran, he visited me in my hotel lobby and fixed me with his wise gaze while edgily wearing a Sufi skullcap in public. (The mystical practices of Sufism are discouraged by conservative and religious leaders, as they were in Rumi’s day.) \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Rumi’s \u003ci\u003eMasnavi \u003c\/i\u003ehas been thoroughly translated into English, first by Nicholson in England and now in an ongoing project by Jawid Mojaddedi at Rutgers. Indeed, many current translations of Rumi’s poetry are excerpts from this epic, with titles added. (Rumi never titled any of his poems.) Yet there remain the lyric ghazals, similar to sonnets in length and impact, often with \u003ci\u003eradif\u003c\/i\u003e, or repeating phrases punctuating line ends. Dizzyingly creative, Rumi wrote more than 3,000 ghazals; of these, only about half have been translated into English directly from Persian. He also wrote about 2,000 robaiyat, the pithy quatrain form made famous in Edward Fitzgerald’s Victorian renditions of Omar Khayyam – an earlier poet whose chill blasts of skepticism likely did not move Rumi. A scholarly translation of all of Rumi’s robaiyat exists, but those in popular circulation number only about 400, leaving the majority of these short haiku-like poems underappreciated.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e An obvious question is why so many poems by a celebrated poet have been overlooked. In part it’s an accident of history. Much translation in the past half-century has consisted of standing on the shoulders of Nicholson or Arberry, whose cumulative two-volume edition included about 500 ghazals. Poets have sprung these cages either by infusing them with more spirit or tracing back to the originals in Persian and producing new versions. Yet Arberry, a formidable scholar of Arabic, Persian, and Islamic studies, had his own preferences. We feel he left out some of the \u003ci\u003epoet’s poet \u003c\/i\u003eworks of lilting beauty – lacking any special messages of wisdom – that gave us pleasure. At the other extreme, many popular recent translations avoid references to Islam or allusions to Persian literature and culture that were perhaps judged too foreign or off-putting. I’ve met fans of Rumi – who had his poems read at their wedding – who were surprised to find out he was not a Buddhist.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e A number of the poems in the quarry we mined have been understandably bypassed over the years: Rumi repeats himself, and some of his uses of the stock imagery of Persian poetry – stars and moons, nightingales and roses – are fresher than others. A few are impossibly mind-bending as Rumi leads us on travels into the ineffable with only broken language and twisting syntax as our guide. (He broke the rules more than any other classical Persian poet.) We tried to include as many of these puzzles as could be solved, as well as a few favorite poems previously translated by others that we could not resist including. We were transported when we found some of our repeating lines faintly evoking the music of the originals or, most certainly, when we came across gleamingworks thatwere as beautiful or philosophically compelling as anything we had ever read of Rumi’s. Our intention was to find a middle way between academic loyalty and wildly inventive freedom, a medium that might articulate both the personal poems of aching human love, to Rumi’s beloved companion and teacher, Shams of Tabriz, and those of divine love, in his hymns to God that soar like Mohammad’s winged horse Buraq.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Rumi cast himself as a reluctant poet. His attitude was a bit like that of Marianne Moore in her poem ‘‘Poetry,’’ which begins, ‘‘I, too, dislike it.’’ Yet his motives were different. Rumi was a religious leader, composing verses as he whirled himself into trances to annihilate ordinary reality and language in a mystical union with love itself. This urgent and sincere spirit is perhaps responsible for the way the voice of this medieval poet shines through all manner of translations, making him, as a publisher once said to me, ‘‘translation-proof.’’ Persian poets often put their signature, or \u003ci\u003etakhallos\u003c\/i\u003e, like a tag in last lines. Rumi occasionally used ‘‘Silence’’ as his tag. For him, the most successful poems were failures, breaking apart in silence. ‘‘Rip this poem apart like an old piece of cloth,’’ he wrote, ‘‘To set meaning free from words, wind, and air.’’We hope this collection will provide fresh glimpses into Rumi’s sublime ‘‘world of silence . . . like a bird’s wing.’’\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e BRAD GOOCH","brand":"Everyman's Library","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299968635109,"sku":"NP9781101908105","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781101908105.jpg?v=1767735969","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/rumi-isbn-9781101908105","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}