تا کی غم این خورم که دارم یا نه
وین عمر به خوشدلی گذارم یا نه
درده قدح باده که معلومم نیست
کاین دم که فروبرم برآرم یا نه
Dashti, quatrain 55, p. 254
taa key gham-e in khoram ke daaram yaa na
vin ‘omr be khoshdeli gozaaram yaa na
dardeh qadah-e baade ke ma‘lumam nist
kin dam ke forubaram baraaram yaa na
Why worry whether wealth I have or not,
And life in happiness shall end or not--
Come, fill the cup; for 'tis unknown to me
The breath inhaled shall be exhaled or not.
Saidi, quatrain 80
Shall I still sigh for what I have not got,
Or try with cheerfulness to bear my lot?
Fill up my cup! I know not if the breath
I now am drawing is my last, or not!
Whinfield, quatrain 411
Translation & Discussion of the quatrain:
1. How long shall I be caught up in grief over this: 'I have got or haven't got?' Some this autumn morning are entangled by what they have or haven't got, let's say money; however, for the speaker it's also possible that possessions and a host of other life-sustaining matters as well are meant. "Entangled" (or "ensnared") by worry or sadness conveys the import of غم خوردن/gham khordan. 2. And shall I live this life with hopeful heart or not? I think that خوشدلی/khoshdeli means not so much a happy heart but a heart that has hope. Whinfield's take "Or try with cheerfulness to bear my lot" gives a different interpretation. The speaker asks two simple questions commonly asked, in this first bayt: will I have what I wish or not, and will I be happy or not? The khayyaamic will not hear of these future fears -- never mind that no one could speak to them -- and the speaker now turns in this last bayt to what he can speak to, that is, the present and the uncertainty of the next breath. 3. Give me a cup of wine since it's not clear to me ... درده /dardeh = ده/deh. 4. That the breath I take in I'll let out or not ... the speaker might also remind us (see Dashti, quatrain 57 and this weblog, Quatrain 16):
Life scorns him
who sits sorrowing
over the days of his life.
Let the lyre wail and lament--
you sit and drink a glass of wine
before your glass goes smashing on the rocks.
Consider Hafez (ghazal 160, Khanlari, bayt 8):
مطربا مجلس انس است غزل خوان و سرود
چند گویی که چنین رفت و چنان خواهد شد
motrebaa majles-e onsast ghazal khaan o sorud
chand gui ke chonin raft o chonaan khaahad shod
Poet, the love-gathering is here,
recite a ghazal.
How long will you keep saying,
it happened like this and will happen like that?