{"product_id":"the-mirror-of-my-heart-isbn-9780143135616","title":"The Mirror of My Heart","description":"\u003cb\u003eAn anthology of verse by women poets writing in Persian, most of whom have never been translated into English before, from acclaimed scholar and translator Dick Davis.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA Penguin Classic\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Mirror of My Heart\u003c\/i\u003e is a unique and captivating collection of eighty-three Persian women poets, many of whom wrote anonymously or were punished for their outspokenness. One of the very first Persian poets was a woman (Rabe'eh, who lived over a thousand years ago) and there have been women poets writing in Persian in virtually every generation since that time until the present. Before the twentieth century they tended to come from society's social extremes--many were princesses, some were entertainers, but many were wives and daughters who wrote simply for their own entertainment, and they were active in many different countries - Iran, India, Afghanistan, and areas of central Asia that are now Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, and Tajikistan. From Rabe'eh in the tenth century to Fatemeh Ekhtesari in the twenty-first, the women poets found in \u003ci\u003eThe Mirror of My Heart\u003c\/i\u003e write across the millennium on such universal topics as marriage, children, political climate, death, and emancipation, recreating life from hundreds of years ago that is strikingly similar to our own today and giving insight into their experiences as women throughout different points of Persian history. The volume is introduced and translated by Dick Davis, a scholar and translator of Persian literature as well as a gifted poet in his own right.“In every respect, \u003ci\u003eThe Mirror of My Heart\u003c\/i\u003e is outstanding. Reading it one discovers a whole tradition of love poetry, epigram and elegy, movingly brought into English and then beautifully printed and bound by Washington’s own Mage Publishers. Most important now, this anthology reminds us how much we all share the same joys, the same sorrows.” \u003cbr\u003e­­\u003cb\u003e–Michael Dirda, \u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eDick Davis\u003c\/b\u003e is a translator, a poet, and a scholar of Persian literature who has published more than 20 books. He is currently a professor of Persian at Ohio State University and a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature. His translations from Persian include \u003ci\u003eThe Lion and the Throne\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eFathers and Sons\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eSunset of Empire: Stories from the Shahnameh of Ferdowsi, vols. I, II, III\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cp\u003eRabe'eh\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTenth century\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRabe'eh's family claimed descent from Arabs who had entered Iran during or after the seventh-century conquest of the country. By the time Rabe'eh was born, her father had become ruler of Balkh in what is now northern Afghanistan. Almost no information about her life has come down to us, although the lurid story of her demise is well known: after her father died she is said to have carried on a secret love-affair with a slave or servant at what was now the court of her brother, Hareth. The liaison was discovered, and Hareth cut her throat and left her in a bath-house where she bled to death; her lover then killed Hareth and committed suicide.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe garden shows so many flowers, as though\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMani had painted their resplendent glow\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDawn's breezes never bore Tibetan musk,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHow is the world so musky when they blow?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAre Majnun's eyes within the clouds, that they\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShed Layli's cheeks' hue on each rose below?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLike wine within an agate glass, his tears\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHave filled each tulip with their crimson glow\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRaise up the wine bowl, raise it generously\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSince bad luck dogs deniers who say \"No\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNarcissi glow with silver and with gold\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt's Kasra's crown their shining petals show\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLike nuns in purple cowls the violets bloom\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDo they turn into Christians as they grow?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy hope's that God will make you fall in love\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWith someone cold and callous just like you\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd that you'll realize my true value when\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou're twisting in the torments I've been through.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis love has caught me once again-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI've struggled fiercely, but in vain.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e(Well, sobersides, explain to me\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJust who can swim love's shoreless sea!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTo reach love's goal you must accept\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll you instinctively reject-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSee ugliness as beauty, eat\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFoul poison up and call it sweet.)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI jerked my head to work it loose,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNot knowing all this would produce\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWas further tightenings of the noose.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI'm drunk with love to know my love is here tonight\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd that I'm freed from sorrow and from fear tonight;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI sit beside my love, and earnestly I say,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"God, make the key to morning disappear tonight!\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMahsati\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ec.1089-1159\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMahsati was said to be from Ganjeh, in what is now independent Azerbaijan, and to have sought employment as a scribe at the court of the Seljuk king Sanjar, who ruled from 1118 to 1157. She became known as the writer of a considerable number of short poems, and it is likely that many otherwise anonymous poems from the medieval period that seemed to be by women became attributed to her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs wounded, and caught in your snare-there's no one like me\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs driven by you to despair-there's no one like me\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo many, so eagerly, vie for your love . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs steadfastly faithful I swear-there's no one like me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf you're a hypocrite, and bow your face in prayer-what use is that?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOnce poison's reached into your soul, remedial care-what use is that?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShowing yourself to everyone as though you're virtuous and moral,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf you're all filth within, the spotless cloak you wear-what use is that?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLove makes a lion cower in its lair-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt is a sea of wonders, strange and rare;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt times its kindly ways delight our souls\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt times the smell of blood is in the air.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eO son of Ganjeh's preacher, my advice to you\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIs: \"Take the wine glass in your hand, give joy its due . . .\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYour piety and heresy don't interest God-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSeek pleasure in this world now, while you're able to.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCome, I've prepared a private room where we can meet,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWith precious cloths laid there, to make a snug retreat;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI've grilled kebabs and wine I want to share with you-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe wine is from my eyes, my anguished heart's the meat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wish I were a shining thumb-ring,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                        Such as our archers wear!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEach time he came to shoot an arrow\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                        He'd lean to me with care,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd as the bow-string reached his teeth,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                        I'd steal such kisses there!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou think you'd like to sleep with me?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat's an impossibility!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo dream of yours could bring about\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis idiotic fantasy;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhat makes you think you might? Even\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe winds of heaven can't get to me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGreat king, the heavens have saddled Glory for you-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMore than all other monarchs, they adore you!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTo keep your horse's golden horseshoes spotless\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey've spread a silver carpet out before you.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI said, \"Quick, bring some wine.\" He said, \"Look here,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt's Friday's eve; shouldn't you sleep, my dear?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI said, \"Each week there'll be another Friday-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe roses bloom for us but once a year . . .\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThose nights when I so sweetly slept with you-they've gone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThose pearl-like tears my lashes wept with you-they've gone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou were my heart's peace and my soul's dear friend-you went,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd all the promises I kept with you-they've gone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI knew your promises were feeble-hearted,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI knew you'd break them, long before we parted;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd all the nasty things you did at last-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy friend, I had foreseen them when we started.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe're drunkards, ne'er-do-wells, but kind and civil-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe're not the men for prayers and all that drivel.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur judge thinks wine's a sin; we're petty thieves,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe filches orphans' wealth . . . so who's more evil?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe judge's wife was pregnant, he was furious,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I'm old,\" he cried, \"and this is more than curious!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat whore's no Virgin Mary, and my prick can't stir-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo whose child is it then that's grown so big in her?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI'm drunk, and drunkards are the crowd I follow-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAscetics' claims I find absurd and hollow;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI love that moment when the server says,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"One more . . .?\" and one more's more than I can swallow.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat handsome cobbler when he sews a shoe\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKisses the leather as he bites his thread-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA shoe that's kissed by such sweet ruby lips\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDeserves to crown the sun-in-heaven's head.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt seems, my boy, you went out drinking wine last night\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd thought that kissing someone else would be all right,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut in response, or so I hear, she scratched your face-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen do I get to see what must be quite a sight?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAn old man says we must remain here-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                                    we can't be kept locked up\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn this sad chamber, wracked with pain here,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                                    we can't be kept locked up\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat woman whose tempestuous hair\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                                    is like a wild beast's mane,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eStuck in the house, held by a chain here,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                                    she can't be kept locked up\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGo, tell the bath-house owner that he needn't keep\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis fire alight tonight, that he can go and sleep,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd in the morning I'll be there-my burning heart\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill be the fire, the water all the tears I'll weep.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI saw, dead drunk and stretched out in the lane, a man I know-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI lent a hand and helped him to his feet, and watched him go;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eToday it seems he can't remember this, and looks as though\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe means to say, \"Do I know you?\" It happened, even so.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis face is envied by both jessamine and rose,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis flirting charms both sexes everywhere he goes-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLissome as flowing water, I saw him walking once . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd still within my eyes that gentle water flows.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wish I had the heart\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                        to write a letter and complain;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wish I had the soul\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                        to find the right words for my pain-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI'm so distracted, crazed\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                        with wretchedness, I pick my pen\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd paper up . . . and start to cry . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                        and throw them down again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDear, dry your pointless tears, tears don't suit you-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI'm sad enough, you needn't be sad too;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLook, you're the loved one, crying's not your role-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLet me do what the lover has to do!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou're no great intellect, and men like you don't know\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe usual kindnesses a lover ought to show-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy flighty friend, I'm glad I'm with you here tonight,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI hope I don't regret it in the morning though . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAlthough we don't get on in any way\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI'll be polite to you still, come what may.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"What have I done?\" you ask. Just tell me what\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYou haven't done! My dear, what can I say?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe one your beauty's overthrown\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                                    has come back home;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe one who thirsts for you alone\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                                    has come back home;   \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePrepare the cage again, scatter your seeds\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                                    of kindness there-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLook, broken-winged, the bird you own\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                                    has come back home.   \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA rose that's celebrated everywhere-that's something\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA youngster's shirt disfigured by a tear-that's something\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSweating profusely, crimson-faced, confused with shame\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA mouth that's stuffed with golden coins, I swear-that's something\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnonymous\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTwelfth century or earlier\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNothing is known about this poet, though her poem indicates that she was probably a female musician\/entertainer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBrought to this town's bazaar today, I'll be\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe best \"companion\" here-so who will hire me?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThough I don't care for those who want to have me,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd those I like the look of don't desire me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMotrebeh\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTwelfth century\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMotrebeh is a description of her profession, as it means \"a female musician,\" rather than her actual name, which is unknown. She was a member of the household of Toghan Shah, the ruler of Nayshapur, who died in 1185 or 1186.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI said, \"My heart would like a kiss from you.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"A kiss from me will cost your soul,\" he said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eImmediately my heart poked at my side\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd whispered, \"That's dirt cheap dear, go ahead!\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDaughter of Salar\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEarly thirteenth century\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eReferred to as bint Esfahanieh (\"the woman from Esfahan\"), the poet's given name is unknown. She became famous for a now lost panegyric she wrote to the Seljuk soltan Kay Kavus I, who ruled in Asia Minor in the first quarter of the thirteenth century, and this gives us the approximate period in which she lived. Her panegyric received this encomium: \"The daughter of Hesamaddin Salar sent to his Majesty from Mosul this panegyric, which outdoes the gentle breeze of spring in its graciousness and the waters of Paradise in its flowing limpidity. His majesty gave instructions that she was to be paid a hundred dinars of red gold for every line. As there were 72 lines, 7,200 dinars were dispatched to Mosul . . .\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe more I search myself the more I see\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat longing for your love has ruined me;\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI gaze into the mirror of my heart,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd though it's me who looks, it's you I see.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAysheh Samarqandi\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThirteenth century\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis poet's name is also given as Aysheh Moqrieh, \"Moqrieh\" meaning \"a female singer.\" Apart for the fact that she was from Samarqand and lived as a singer, nothing further is known about her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e*\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI said, \"Bright moon, give my heart back to me-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHow long must I endure love's agony?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe spread a thousand hearts before my eyes\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd said, \"Take yours; which is it? You tell me.\"\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Penguin Classics","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304548552933,"sku":"NP9780143135616","price":17.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780143135616.jpg?v=1767740529","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-mirror-of-my-heart-isbn-9780143135616","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}