First Edition: Quatrain XXXII
There was a Door to which I found no KEY:
There was a Veil past which I could not see:
Some little Talk awhile of ME and THEE
There seem'd--and then no more of THEE and ME.
Second Edition: Quatrain XXXV
There was the Door to which I found no KEY:
There was the Veil past which I could not see:
Some little Talk awhile of ME and THEE
There was--and then no more of THEE and ME.
Fifth Edition: Quatrain XXXII
There was the Door to which I found no KEY:
There was the Veil through which I could not see:
Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE
There was--and then no more of THEE and ME.
The changes seem to affect the tone more, rather than the meaning of the quatrain. What changes were made occurred in the second edition and remained to the end. The fifth edition is, as far as I can tell, identical to the second edition, except for one change: in the second line, the word "past" in the first and second editions becomes "through" in the fifth. Perhaps FitzGerald felt that "through" was more idiomatic in context than "past." Seeing "through" a veil is more common than seeing "past" a veil.
The two changes that occurred between the first and second editions consist of changing the indefinite article "a" preceding "Door" and "Veil" to the definite "the." The somewhat vague "There was a Door" and "There was a Veil" now becomes a more specific and perhaps a more concrete "There was the Door" and "There was the Veil." The other change is the substitution of "There was" in the second and fifth editions for "There seem'd" in the first. I would guess that he wanted a stronger statement. "There seem'd" suggests that there might have been some talk, but "There was" makes it a definite statement: there was talk. There is no room for doubt now.
Doors have appeared in earlier quatrains. For example, in Quatrain III, those who stand before the Tavern Door impatiently shout for the door to be open, for it is closed and time is short. In Quatrain XVI, the "Doorways are alternate Night and Day," and therefore open to all. They also are Life and Death. Quatrain XXVII also features an open door, but one of no significance for the narrator enters and leaves by the same Door, having learned nothing. The Door in XXXII, though, is closed and the narrator has yet to find the Key.
Equally frustrating is the Veil which blocks his vision. The "Door" and the "Veil" in this quatrain suggest that there are things we are not meant to know. But, sound comes through and it appears as though the talk was of us, but then there was "no more of THEE and ME." Is this a suggestion that we owe our existence to those talking behind that Door, and that once we are no longer a topic of conversation, we no longer exist?
Again, the poet's insistence on our ignorance about the perennial questions comes across rather strongly. All we know is that we are here for awhile and that shortly we will be gone, not knowing where we came from nor where we will go nor even why we are here. This is all very different from those today who have all the answers, even to what is in their deity's mind and even what their deity is going to do next. Neither Khayyam nor FitzGerald have made such claims.
Showing posts with label poetry commentary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry commentary. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Friday, August 28, 2009
The Rubaiyat: Quatrain XIV
This quatrain is fairly straightforward, and Edward FitzGerald seems to be quite satisfied with it since I can find only minimal changes over the five versions.
First Edition
Quatrain XIV
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or two--is gone.
Second Edition
Quatrain XVII
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two--was gone.
Fifth Edition
Quatrain XVI
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the desert's dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two--is gone.
The most significant change that I can find, and it's not really that significant, is the change from "is" in the last line in the first edition to "was" in the second edition and then back again to "is" in the fifth edition, thereby going from present tense to past tense to present tense in the final edition. I have, again, no evidence to explain the change, but I could guess that perhaps he felt that it was more consistent if all the verbs in the quatrain were in the present tense.
On the other hand, the fifth edition was published posthumously, so if he had lived another decade or two, we might have had a sixth or perhaps even a seventh edition, for FitzGerald's Rubaiyat has always struck me as being a work in progress.
The theme seems fairly straightforward: regardless of whether people's hopes fail or come true, the results are ultimately the same. One leaves ashes, brief and unsubstantial, while the other, like snow in the desert, lasts only a hour or two, also equally brief and unsubstantial.
This, I think, echoes both the Buddhist and the Taoist teachers who tell us that success and failure are the same and should be viewed in the same light--both are ephemeral and both can quickly become the other. Sophocles suggests something similar at the end of Oedipus Rex when the chorus tells us "let no man be counted blessed in his life/ until he is in the grave."
One last echo is Francois Villon (1431-1489) in his poem, "The Ballad of Dead Ladies," (probably sounds more elegant in French), in which he lists a number of fair and great ladies of the past and ends with a quatrain of his own:
Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,
Where they are gone, nor yet this year,
Save with this much for an overword,--
But where are the snows of yesteryear?"
The brevity of our time here and our dreams has been noted in earlier quatrains and is a persistent theme throughout.
First Edition
Quatrain XIV
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or two--is gone.
Second Edition
Quatrain XVII
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two--was gone.
Fifth Edition
Quatrain XVI
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the desert's dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two--is gone.
The most significant change that I can find, and it's not really that significant, is the change from "is" in the last line in the first edition to "was" in the second edition and then back again to "is" in the fifth edition, thereby going from present tense to past tense to present tense in the final edition. I have, again, no evidence to explain the change, but I could guess that perhaps he felt that it was more consistent if all the verbs in the quatrain were in the present tense.
On the other hand, the fifth edition was published posthumously, so if he had lived another decade or two, we might have had a sixth or perhaps even a seventh edition, for FitzGerald's Rubaiyat has always struck me as being a work in progress.
The theme seems fairly straightforward: regardless of whether people's hopes fail or come true, the results are ultimately the same. One leaves ashes, brief and unsubstantial, while the other, like snow in the desert, lasts only a hour or two, also equally brief and unsubstantial.
This, I think, echoes both the Buddhist and the Taoist teachers who tell us that success and failure are the same and should be viewed in the same light--both are ephemeral and both can quickly become the other. Sophocles suggests something similar at the end of Oedipus Rex when the chorus tells us "let no man be counted blessed in his life/ until he is in the grave."
One last echo is Francois Villon (1431-1489) in his poem, "The Ballad of Dead Ladies," (probably sounds more elegant in French), in which he lists a number of fair and great ladies of the past and ends with a quatrain of his own:
Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,
Where they are gone, nor yet this year,
Save with this much for an overword,--
But where are the snows of yesteryear?"
The brevity of our time here and our dreams has been noted in earlier quatrains and is a persistent theme throughout.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The Rubaiyat: Quatrain XIII
As usual, I'm using the first edition as the base and then turning to the 2nd and 5th editions to see what changes FitzGerald made.
First Edition:
Quatrain XIII
Look to the Rose that blows about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
Second Edition:
Quatrain XV
Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow:
At once the silken tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
Fifth Edition:
Quatrain XIV
Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo,
Laughing, " she says, "into the world I blow,
At once the silken tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
I think there's a sense of the brevity of life here. The Rose comes into the world and "at once" her "Treasure," pollen I assume, is spread about the garden.
FitzGerald changed this quatrain less than any other so far. I can see only one minor word change and several punctuation changes, along with reducing the number of nouns that are capitalized, something which has been consistent so far.
In the first edition, he writes "Look to the Rose that blows about us..." This, in the second and fifth editions, becomes "Look to the blowing Rose about us..." I think the revision flows more smoothly. There's almost a break, a caesura, in the first edition between "Rose" and "that," while the line flows uninterruptedly with "Look to the blowing Rose about us." Perhaps he opted for the more continuous flow.
This stanza gave me, and to some extent, still gives me some problems. The first has been resolved, but the second still raises a question each time I read it.
The first problem was the word "blow" and "blowing" in the first and second lines of the three versions.
"Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow:"
I was reading the word as related to the wind in some way--"the Rose that blows about us" and also describing apparently the way the Rose came into the world, blowing like the wind. Somehow it just didn't fit. I checked the dictionary and found my problem. An old, almost archaic meaning of "to blow" is "to bloom." So, substituting bloom and blooming into the first stanza, it would read
Look to the blooming Rose about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the world I bloom:"
I think this makes better sense than seeing "blow" and "blowing" as related to the behavior of the wind.
The second, and so far unresolved problem, relates to the word "tear" in the last line of the quatrain. The problem is not that it doesn't make sense in the context, but that there is a sense of violence here that doesn't go with either the earlier reference to "Laughing" or to anything else in The Rubaiyat.
"At once the silken tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
Right now, I can't think of any reference to violence in the poem. Death is brought up a number of times, but I never got the sense of violence in any of the quatrains. It stands out. I checked the dictionary for variant or archaic meanings for tear and could find nothing but a suggestion of "haste," as in "tear along a country road."
When I read this stanza, another poem comes to mind, which again seems to convey the sense of violence in a sexual context that seems inappropriate. The poem is Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress," and the reference is to the last lines of the poem. The narrator is urging his love to remember that they will not always be young and should make haste for "...at my back I always hear/ Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near" and "The grave's a fine and private place,/ But none, I think, do there embrace."
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
In this poem, I guess an argument could be made that "tear" is being used in the sense of "making haste." And the "Rose," well, a rose lives only one season, so it has to hurry and spread its pollen quickly before summer is over.
So, I'm leaning toward a sense of "haste" in both poems, tentatively anyway.
Any comments?
First Edition:
Quatrain XIII
Look to the Rose that blows about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
Second Edition:
Quatrain XV
Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow:
At once the silken tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
Fifth Edition:
Quatrain XIV
Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo,
Laughing, " she says, "into the world I blow,
At once the silken tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
I think there's a sense of the brevity of life here. The Rose comes into the world and "at once" her "Treasure," pollen I assume, is spread about the garden.
FitzGerald changed this quatrain less than any other so far. I can see only one minor word change and several punctuation changes, along with reducing the number of nouns that are capitalized, something which has been consistent so far.
In the first edition, he writes "Look to the Rose that blows about us..." This, in the second and fifth editions, becomes "Look to the blowing Rose about us..." I think the revision flows more smoothly. There's almost a break, a caesura, in the first edition between "Rose" and "that," while the line flows uninterruptedly with "Look to the blowing Rose about us." Perhaps he opted for the more continuous flow.
This stanza gave me, and to some extent, still gives me some problems. The first has been resolved, but the second still raises a question each time I read it.
The first problem was the word "blow" and "blowing" in the first and second lines of the three versions.
"Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow:"
I was reading the word as related to the wind in some way--"the Rose that blows about us" and also describing apparently the way the Rose came into the world, blowing like the wind. Somehow it just didn't fit. I checked the dictionary and found my problem. An old, almost archaic meaning of "to blow" is "to bloom." So, substituting bloom and blooming into the first stanza, it would read
Look to the blooming Rose about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the world I bloom:"
I think this makes better sense than seeing "blow" and "blowing" as related to the behavior of the wind.
The second, and so far unresolved problem, relates to the word "tear" in the last line of the quatrain. The problem is not that it doesn't make sense in the context, but that there is a sense of violence here that doesn't go with either the earlier reference to "Laughing" or to anything else in The Rubaiyat.
"At once the silken tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
Right now, I can't think of any reference to violence in the poem. Death is brought up a number of times, but I never got the sense of violence in any of the quatrains. It stands out. I checked the dictionary for variant or archaic meanings for tear and could find nothing but a suggestion of "haste," as in "tear along a country road."
When I read this stanza, another poem comes to mind, which again seems to convey the sense of violence in a sexual context that seems inappropriate. The poem is Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress," and the reference is to the last lines of the poem. The narrator is urging his love to remember that they will not always be young and should make haste for "...at my back I always hear/ Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near" and "The grave's a fine and private place,/ But none, I think, do there embrace."
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
In this poem, I guess an argument could be made that "tear" is being used in the sense of "making haste." And the "Rose," well, a rose lives only one season, so it has to hurry and spread its pollen quickly before summer is over.
So, I'm leaning toward a sense of "haste" in both poems, tentatively anyway.
Any comments?
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
The Rubaiyat: Quatrain XII
First Edition: Quatrain XII
"How Sweet is mortal Sovranty!"--think some;
Others--"How blest the Paradise to come!"
Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest;
Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!
Second Edition: Quatrain XIII
Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the promise go,
Nor heed the music of a distant drum!
Fifth Edition: Quatrain XIII
Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
The changes are mostly aesthetic and involve no major differences in the theme of this Quatrain, which is, briefly stated, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Take what pleasures one can today and don't put them off for dreams of future wealth or glory or paradise.
The reference to the "distant drum" has brought about a variety of interpretations, based mostly on a misunderstanding of what that distant drum signifies. It does not, at least in the explanations that I've seen, mean anything like following one's own dreams or even that different path that Frost refers to. From what I've read, the distant drum signifies that the palace gates are open and that all workers are now expected to come to work. What the narrator therefore tells us is that we should be content with what we have and not strive for future glory or wealth, either in this world or the next. Buddha, Confucius, and Lao Tze all urged us to forgo worrying about the future and the future life and concern ourselves with today.
This quatrain follows the previous one in which Old Khayyam urges us to be content with the simple pleasures of life--bread and wine for the body, poetry for the mind, and human companionship to share these pleasures. That would be Paradise today.
The changes seem to be consistent in the direction of moving away from poetic diction to a more prosaic wording. In the first version, FitzGerald seemingly quotes what many people strive for--"mortal Sovranty" and "the Paradise to come." In the later editions, he drops the presumed quotes for a simple statement of what he thinks others desire.
The "mortal Sovranty" of the first version now has become simply "Glories of This World" in the later editions. Perhaps FitzGerald felt it was better to trade in the poetic diction for more commonplace terms that would be more easily understood.
The second change in the first two lines may be a bit more complex. In the first edition, FitzGerald pairs "mortal Sovranty" with "the Paradise to come." In following editions, this is no longer just "the Paradise to come," but "the Prophet's Paradise to come." Did he add "the Prophet" to make it clear that he was referring to Mohamed's vision or did he simply need two more syllables for the sound of the line?
The third line expresses Khayyam's suggestion that we take the bird in hand and not worry about that other one in the bush. We should "take the cash in hand" and "waive the rest" "or let the promise go" or "let the credit go." Enjoy what we have here and now and forget future promises. This isn't easy for many people to do or understand. I think it was Proust who suggested that "There is a sort of a compulsion in us to value what we lack at the expense of what we have."
The last line of the first edition--Oh, the brave Music of a distant drum--is ambiguous. It is not clear just how the reader is to think about that brave music. Is it included in "the Rest" which should be waived? Is it a temptation--the siren call of that distant drum. Is it something that might lead us or even should lead us to forget about the cash in hand? In the latter editions, FitzGerald make it obvious that we aren't supposed to heed the call of that drum. It is to be ignored just as the Glories of the World or the glories of the Paradise to come.
I mentioned in earlier posts that there are those who insist that this is a religious poem in which wine and other items are really religious in nature. The poem shouldn't be taken literally but must be interpreted in order to tease out the true religious substratum. I expressed my doubts about this in the past, and I think this Quatrain poses some real problems for such an interpretation. This Quatrain seems to be so rooted in living in the present that I don't see how one can see this as advocating a commitment today to some sort of a future life in Paradise.
Any thoughts?
"How Sweet is mortal Sovranty!"--think some;
Others--"How blest the Paradise to come!"
Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest;
Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!
Second Edition: Quatrain XIII
Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the promise go,
Nor heed the music of a distant drum!
Fifth Edition: Quatrain XIII
Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
The changes are mostly aesthetic and involve no major differences in the theme of this Quatrain, which is, briefly stated, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Take what pleasures one can today and don't put them off for dreams of future wealth or glory or paradise.
The reference to the "distant drum" has brought about a variety of interpretations, based mostly on a misunderstanding of what that distant drum signifies. It does not, at least in the explanations that I've seen, mean anything like following one's own dreams or even that different path that Frost refers to. From what I've read, the distant drum signifies that the palace gates are open and that all workers are now expected to come to work. What the narrator therefore tells us is that we should be content with what we have and not strive for future glory or wealth, either in this world or the next. Buddha, Confucius, and Lao Tze all urged us to forgo worrying about the future and the future life and concern ourselves with today.
This quatrain follows the previous one in which Old Khayyam urges us to be content with the simple pleasures of life--bread and wine for the body, poetry for the mind, and human companionship to share these pleasures. That would be Paradise today.
The changes seem to be consistent in the direction of moving away from poetic diction to a more prosaic wording. In the first version, FitzGerald seemingly quotes what many people strive for--"mortal Sovranty" and "the Paradise to come." In the later editions, he drops the presumed quotes for a simple statement of what he thinks others desire.
The "mortal Sovranty" of the first version now has become simply "Glories of This World" in the later editions. Perhaps FitzGerald felt it was better to trade in the poetic diction for more commonplace terms that would be more easily understood.
The second change in the first two lines may be a bit more complex. In the first edition, FitzGerald pairs "mortal Sovranty" with "the Paradise to come." In following editions, this is no longer just "the Paradise to come," but "the Prophet's Paradise to come." Did he add "the Prophet" to make it clear that he was referring to Mohamed's vision or did he simply need two more syllables for the sound of the line?
The third line expresses Khayyam's suggestion that we take the bird in hand and not worry about that other one in the bush. We should "take the cash in hand" and "waive the rest" "or let the promise go" or "let the credit go." Enjoy what we have here and now and forget future promises. This isn't easy for many people to do or understand. I think it was Proust who suggested that "There is a sort of a compulsion in us to value what we lack at the expense of what we have."
The last line of the first edition--Oh, the brave Music of a distant drum--is ambiguous. It is not clear just how the reader is to think about that brave music. Is it included in "the Rest" which should be waived? Is it a temptation--the siren call of that distant drum. Is it something that might lead us or even should lead us to forget about the cash in hand? In the latter editions, FitzGerald make it obvious that we aren't supposed to heed the call of that drum. It is to be ignored just as the Glories of the World or the glories of the Paradise to come.
I mentioned in earlier posts that there are those who insist that this is a religious poem in which wine and other items are really religious in nature. The poem shouldn't be taken literally but must be interpreted in order to tease out the true religious substratum. I expressed my doubts about this in the past, and I think this Quatrain poses some real problems for such an interpretation. This Quatrain seems to be so rooted in living in the present that I don't see how one can see this as advocating a commitment today to some sort of a future life in Paradise.
Any thoughts?
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The Rubaiyat: Quatrain XI
This quatrain is probably the most often quoted, and also, the most often misquoted, quatrain in The Rubaiyat. FitzGerald, again, made some changes, but these apparently were for aesthetic reasons and not for thematic or philosophical issues.
This is the third quatrain of what I consider to be a unit of three quatrains that are closely tied together. In Quatrain IX, Khayyam tells us we should leave the philosophical musings that inevitably arise when one considers the now desolate glories of the past and, in Quatrain X, follow him to the borderland between the desert and the cultivated areas. Then in Quatrain XI, he tells us that there we will escape from the cares of everyday life in order to lose ourselves in the simple pleasures of life--wine and bread and verse and song.
First Edition: Quatrain XI
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
Second Edition: Quatrain XII
Here with a little Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
Fifth Edition: Quatrain XII
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
As you can see, the First and the Second Editions are very similar. In the first line of the first version, we are given "a Loaf of Bread," which becomes "a little Bread" in the second version. I prefer "a Loaf" because it seems stronger, more definite, and fits in with the others--"a Flask," a Book," and "Thou." "Little" seems out of place with a Flask and a Book, whereas a Loaf is a single definite item, as are the others.
The second change--from "And Wilderness were Paradise enow" to "Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!"-- is one I like. The "and" makes it part of the stanza, something that flows naturally, while "Oh, Wilderness" changes it to a comment on the previous three lines. Old Khayyam looks back and exclaims that the Book, the Flask, and the bread creates "Paradise enow."
I'm still not clear as to the effect of the change from "is Paradise" in the first version to "were Paradise" in the second. Perhaps "were" fits in better with the idea that he's looking back and commenting on it since "were" is in the past tense.
The Fifth Edition version contains some interesting changes:
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow.
FitzGerald rearranges the order of the first two lines and moves the Book to the first line and the Loaf to the second line. He also changes "a little Bread" back to "a Loaf of Bread" as it was in the first version. I think restoring the Loaf is a wise decision. And, "beneath" in the first and second versions now becomes "underneath," a minor change, probably for aesthetic reasons.
In addition, it is now a book of "Verses" (the plural form), rather than a book of "Verse" (either singular or plural) as it was in the first and second editions. Perhaps 'FitzGerald made the change because "Verse" sounds a bit choppy or abrupt in comparison to "Verses" which seems to lead more fluidly to the next word.
In the second line, the "Flask" now becomes a "Jug" which seems to substitute a short abrupt word for the longer sounding "Flask." Perhaps FitzGerald felt he needed a shorter sound here. One other possibility is that a flask suggests a small container suitable for carrying around on one's person, whereas a jug would be a much larger container with enough for several people, a size more logical for a picnic with bread, verse, and song.
FitzGerald keeps the third and fourth lines as they were in the second version.
My preference? I would choose either the first or the fifth versions, mainly because that "little" in the second version seems so wrong. Apparently FitzGerald did also since he changed it back to "Loaf." If forced to choose between the first and fifth, then I would go with the fifth. I like "a Jug of Wine" better than "a Flask of Wine." A jug sounds more informal than a flask, or so it seems to me, which would be more in harmony with a picnic on the edge of the Wilderness.
And your preference would be...?
This is the third quatrain of what I consider to be a unit of three quatrains that are closely tied together. In Quatrain IX, Khayyam tells us we should leave the philosophical musings that inevitably arise when one considers the now desolate glories of the past and, in Quatrain X, follow him to the borderland between the desert and the cultivated areas. Then in Quatrain XI, he tells us that there we will escape from the cares of everyday life in order to lose ourselves in the simple pleasures of life--wine and bread and verse and song.
First Edition: Quatrain XI
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
Second Edition: Quatrain XII
Here with a little Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
Fifth Edition: Quatrain XII
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
As you can see, the First and the Second Editions are very similar. In the first line of the first version, we are given "a Loaf of Bread," which becomes "a little Bread" in the second version. I prefer "a Loaf" because it seems stronger, more definite, and fits in with the others--"a Flask," a Book," and "Thou." "Little" seems out of place with a Flask and a Book, whereas a Loaf is a single definite item, as are the others.
The second change--from "And Wilderness were Paradise enow" to "Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!"-- is one I like. The "and" makes it part of the stanza, something that flows naturally, while "Oh, Wilderness" changes it to a comment on the previous three lines. Old Khayyam looks back and exclaims that the Book, the Flask, and the bread creates "Paradise enow."
I'm still not clear as to the effect of the change from "is Paradise" in the first version to "were Paradise" in the second. Perhaps "were" fits in better with the idea that he's looking back and commenting on it since "were" is in the past tense.
The Fifth Edition version contains some interesting changes:
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow.
FitzGerald rearranges the order of the first two lines and moves the Book to the first line and the Loaf to the second line. He also changes "a little Bread" back to "a Loaf of Bread" as it was in the first version. I think restoring the Loaf is a wise decision. And, "beneath" in the first and second versions now becomes "underneath," a minor change, probably for aesthetic reasons.
In addition, it is now a book of "Verses" (the plural form), rather than a book of "Verse" (either singular or plural) as it was in the first and second editions. Perhaps 'FitzGerald made the change because "Verse" sounds a bit choppy or abrupt in comparison to "Verses" which seems to lead more fluidly to the next word.
In the second line, the "Flask" now becomes a "Jug" which seems to substitute a short abrupt word for the longer sounding "Flask." Perhaps FitzGerald felt he needed a shorter sound here. One other possibility is that a flask suggests a small container suitable for carrying around on one's person, whereas a jug would be a much larger container with enough for several people, a size more logical for a picnic with bread, verse, and song.
FitzGerald keeps the third and fourth lines as they were in the second version.
My preference? I would choose either the first or the fifth versions, mainly because that "little" in the second version seems so wrong. Apparently FitzGerald did also since he changed it back to "Loaf." If forced to choose between the first and fifth, then I would go with the fifth. I like "a Jug of Wine" better than "a Flask of Wine." A jug sounds more informal than a flask, or so it seems to me, which would be more in harmony with a picnic on the edge of the Wilderness.
And your preference would be...?
Friday, June 5, 2009
Robert Frost and Thomas Hardy: Design or Hap?
Thomas Hardy was born June 2, 1840, so I began thinking about him and his novels and poetry. One poem that emerged in my reverie was a favorite of mine, "Hap," in which he expresses his reactions to two possible universes, one that might be ruled by "Hap" or chance and one that might be ruled by a plan. This, then, brought up another favorite of mine, Robert Frost's "Design," in which he also brings up the same idea. What I find fascinating is that Hardy is dismayed by a universe in which chance rules while Frost is appalled by design.
HAP by Thomas Hardy
If but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: "Thou suffering thing
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
The thy love's loss is my hate's profiting!"
Then would I bear, and clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased, too, that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.
But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain, And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan...
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.
Hardy begins by saying that he could bear his sufferings if they were caused by a vengeful god, similar, I suppose, to those frequently preached about on TV or in various pulpits. He could endure and even die more easily, strengthened by his anger over his unjust pains and miseries, especially if all was caused by something more powerful than he.
However, Hardy concludes otherwise--"But not so"--that there is no vengeful god behind it all, for what happens is the result of "Crass Casuality" and "dicing Time," that it all happens by chance. There is no grand design or a plan behind it all, for "These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown/Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain."
Design
by Robert Frost
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth--
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth--
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small.
Frost begins with a common ordinary little incident, one that anyone might come across in a garden or a park, or along a roadside or pathway- a spider with its latest meal. As usual, Frost's poem is rooted in the physical natural world, and it is this that has caused many to misread him as simply a poet of nature, and a regional one at that. What many have missed are the terrifying aspects of this seemingly benign nature that he brings out so calmly and matter-of-factly that they go unnoticed.
In this sonnet to death, Frost first sets the scene--a white spider, a white flower, and a white moth, whose wings are outstretched in death like the wings of a kite, a harmless children's toy. Frost focuses on the color white, which also happens to be suggested by his own name, the whiteness of frost. All three are white: the spider, the moth, and, surprisingly, the flower, which is known as a "heal-all" and which is normally blue. Moreover, one does not usually think of spiders as being white, the color of purity or innocence or joy, except for China and Japan where white is the color of mourning. And, Melville's Moby Dick, a terrifying and enigmatic engine of destruction, is also white.
The narrator asks whether this is by chance or by design:
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small.
I don't think the narrator answers the question, but he does conclude that, if this was by design, he would be appalled to think that even such minor and inconsequential incidents are part of a plan. This has a Biblical air about it if one considers that Christ tells his Apostles in Matthew 10 that if a sparrow falls to the ground the Father is there and even the hairs on one's head are numbered. If the plan includes even the very small events, then there's little room for freedom of choice. That, I suspect, is what Frost may find so appalling.
It seems, therefore, that while Hardy would prefer a universe ruled by design, he must unhappily conclude that we live in a universe of chance events. Frost, on the other hand, seems to have left the question unanswered, as he does in many of his poems, but he does say at the end that he would be appalled if design were so complete that it would govern in things "so small."
I wonder if it was by design or hap: Thomas Hardy was 88 years old when he died, and Robert Frost was 89. Both lived many years, and both were productive until the end.
And you--do you live in a universe of chance or one by design?
HAP by Thomas Hardy
If but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: "Thou suffering thing
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
The thy love's loss is my hate's profiting!"
Then would I bear, and clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased, too, that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.
But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain, And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan...
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.
Hardy begins by saying that he could bear his sufferings if they were caused by a vengeful god, similar, I suppose, to those frequently preached about on TV or in various pulpits. He could endure and even die more easily, strengthened by his anger over his unjust pains and miseries, especially if all was caused by something more powerful than he.
However, Hardy concludes otherwise--"But not so"--that there is no vengeful god behind it all, for what happens is the result of "Crass Casuality" and "dicing Time," that it all happens by chance. There is no grand design or a plan behind it all, for "These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown/Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain."
Design
by Robert Frost
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth--
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth--
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small.
Frost begins with a common ordinary little incident, one that anyone might come across in a garden or a park, or along a roadside or pathway- a spider with its latest meal. As usual, Frost's poem is rooted in the physical natural world, and it is this that has caused many to misread him as simply a poet of nature, and a regional one at that. What many have missed are the terrifying aspects of this seemingly benign nature that he brings out so calmly and matter-of-factly that they go unnoticed.
In this sonnet to death, Frost first sets the scene--a white spider, a white flower, and a white moth, whose wings are outstretched in death like the wings of a kite, a harmless children's toy. Frost focuses on the color white, which also happens to be suggested by his own name, the whiteness of frost. All three are white: the spider, the moth, and, surprisingly, the flower, which is known as a "heal-all" and which is normally blue. Moreover, one does not usually think of spiders as being white, the color of purity or innocence or joy, except for China and Japan where white is the color of mourning. And, Melville's Moby Dick, a terrifying and enigmatic engine of destruction, is also white.
The narrator asks whether this is by chance or by design:
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small.
I don't think the narrator answers the question, but he does conclude that, if this was by design, he would be appalled to think that even such minor and inconsequential incidents are part of a plan. This has a Biblical air about it if one considers that Christ tells his Apostles in Matthew 10 that if a sparrow falls to the ground the Father is there and even the hairs on one's head are numbered. If the plan includes even the very small events, then there's little room for freedom of choice. That, I suspect, is what Frost may find so appalling.
It seems, therefore, that while Hardy would prefer a universe ruled by design, he must unhappily conclude that we live in a universe of chance events. Frost, on the other hand, seems to have left the question unanswered, as he does in many of his poems, but he does say at the end that he would be appalled if design were so complete that it would govern in things "so small."
I wonder if it was by design or hap: Thomas Hardy was 88 years old when he died, and Robert Frost was 89. Both lived many years, and both were productive until the end.
And you--do you live in a universe of chance or one by design?
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The Rubaiyat: Quatrain IX
1st Edition: Quatrain IX
But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot
Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot:
Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
Or Hatim Tai cry Supper--heed them not.
2nd Edition: Quatrain X
Well, let it take them! What have we to do
With Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru?
Let Rustum cry "To Battle!" as he likes,
Or Hatim Tai "To Supper"--heed not you.
5th Edition: Quatrain X
Well, let it take them! What have we to do
With Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru?
Let Zal and Rustum bluster as they will,
Or Hatim call to Supper--heed not you.
FitzGerald changed not only the wording, but also the tone and the underlying sense of this quatrain. In the first edition, he poses an invitation--
"But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot"
We should go with old Khayyam and forget the past that he referred to in the previous quatrain. It is gone, and we shouldn't concern ourselves with the transitory glories of the past. The present should be our concern.
The second and fifth editions also tell us to forget the past, but the invitation to join Khayyam is gone.
"Well, let it take them! What have we to do"
Instead, there's disdain or dismissal here--let the past do what it wishes with the glories of the past--"let it take them," for it is of no concern to us. And, the reference to Rustum also changes: the first version's tone is the heroic stance of hand-to-hand combat, which changes to a war cry in the 2nd edition and finally declines to "bluster" in the fifth edition, which is quite derogatory when one considers the tone of the first version.
What's also interesting about the first version is that Khayyam issues an invitation to go with him, but he does not say where. Up to this point, the quatrains have been relatively independent, even though there is some carryover of theme and reference from one to another. This quatrain, to me anyway, doesn't seem to stand alone; something is missing--an invitation to go where?
My thinking is that, particularly in the first edition, Quatrains IX, X, and XI really are one unit and should be read together. Q IX poses an invitation to go somewhere with old Khayyam, Q X tells us Khayyam's destination, and Q XI explains what we will do when we arrive there.
In the second and fifth editions, the link between X and XI is not nearly as strong as is the link between Qs IX and X in the first edition. However, the link between the second and third quatrains in this group are equally strong in all three versions.
My preference is once again for the first edition as it seems to flow much more smoothly from the first to the fourth line of the quatrain. Khayyam invites us to go with him and forget the past in the first--a sense of "do this" and "not do this"-- while the later two versions suggest irritation and dismissal only--"Well, let it take them..." In addition, the first version leaves me unsatisfied with an unanswered question about where Khayyam wishes to go. This pulls me to the next quatrain, hoping the question will be answered. The second and fifth versions suggest a dead end--forget one's concern with the past without hinting at something better to replace it.
It's too bad we can't find out why FitzGerald made these changes; it would be interesting to read about the changes in his thinking that produced the revisions.
Comments?
But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot
Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot:
Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
Or Hatim Tai cry Supper--heed them not.
2nd Edition: Quatrain X
Well, let it take them! What have we to do
With Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru?
Let Rustum cry "To Battle!" as he likes,
Or Hatim Tai "To Supper"--heed not you.
5th Edition: Quatrain X
Well, let it take them! What have we to do
With Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru?
Let Zal and Rustum bluster as they will,
Or Hatim call to Supper--heed not you.
FitzGerald changed not only the wording, but also the tone and the underlying sense of this quatrain. In the first edition, he poses an invitation--
"But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot"
We should go with old Khayyam and forget the past that he referred to in the previous quatrain. It is gone, and we shouldn't concern ourselves with the transitory glories of the past. The present should be our concern.
The second and fifth editions also tell us to forget the past, but the invitation to join Khayyam is gone.
"Well, let it take them! What have we to do"
Instead, there's disdain or dismissal here--let the past do what it wishes with the glories of the past--"let it take them," for it is of no concern to us. And, the reference to Rustum also changes: the first version's tone is the heroic stance of hand-to-hand combat, which changes to a war cry in the 2nd edition and finally declines to "bluster" in the fifth edition, which is quite derogatory when one considers the tone of the first version.
What's also interesting about the first version is that Khayyam issues an invitation to go with him, but he does not say where. Up to this point, the quatrains have been relatively independent, even though there is some carryover of theme and reference from one to another. This quatrain, to me anyway, doesn't seem to stand alone; something is missing--an invitation to go where?
My thinking is that, particularly in the first edition, Quatrains IX, X, and XI really are one unit and should be read together. Q IX poses an invitation to go somewhere with old Khayyam, Q X tells us Khayyam's destination, and Q XI explains what we will do when we arrive there.
In the second and fifth editions, the link between X and XI is not nearly as strong as is the link between Qs IX and X in the first edition. However, the link between the second and third quatrains in this group are equally strong in all three versions.
My preference is once again for the first edition as it seems to flow much more smoothly from the first to the fourth line of the quatrain. Khayyam invites us to go with him and forget the past in the first--a sense of "do this" and "not do this"-- while the later two versions suggest irritation and dismissal only--"Well, let it take them..." In addition, the first version leaves me unsatisfied with an unanswered question about where Khayyam wishes to go. This pulls me to the next quatrain, hoping the question will be answered. The second and fifth versions suggest a dead end--forget one's concern with the past without hinting at something better to replace it.
It's too bad we can't find out why FitzGerald made these changes; it would be interesting to read about the changes in his thinking that produced the revisions.
Comments?
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The Rubaiyat: Quatrain VIII
First Edition: Quatrain VIII
And look--a thousand Blossoms with the Day
Woke--and a thousand scatter'd into Clay:
And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
Second Edition: Quatrain IX
Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
Fifth Edition: Quatrain IX
Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
One obvious difference among the versions is the numbering. FitzGerald inserted another quatrain in the second edition and left it there for the subsequent editions. Since I'm using the First Edition as the foundation for my comments, I won't discuss the inserted quatrain, if at all, until after I finished the First Edition.
In the third and fourth lines, there is only one minor change: "Month" is capitalized in the First edition, but in lower case for the rest of the editions. The significance of this escapes me, except that it now seems to place more importance on "Summer" than on "month." The focus is on the season rather than the month.
The most significant changes in wording occurs in the first two lines:
First:
And look--a thousand Blossom with the Day
Woke--and a thousand scatter'd into Clay:
Second:
Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
Fifth:
Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
The Fifth version seems a refinement of the Second as 'Morning" becomes "Each Morn." I prefer the Fifth over the Second for "Each Morn" seems to flow more smoothly than "Morning" which seems somewhat blunt to me. All three, though, do express the point that while thousands may bloom this morning, just as many die. Life is fleeting and a new generation quickly replaces the old.
The last line of the Second and subsequent editions reminds me of a poem by Francois Villon. I have cut out the second and third stanzas as they are similar to the first one in which he asks about ladies of the past.
The following link will lead you to the complete poem.
http://tinyurl.com/cjbbsz
From the Wikipedia entry:
Jamshed, Jamshid, or Jam is a mythological figure of Greater Iranian culture and tradition.
In tradition and folklore, Jamshid is described as having been the fourth and greatest king of the epigraphically unattested Pishdadian dynasty ( before Kayanian dynasty)
Kaikobad: I couldn't locate anything specific about him? her? Most references were to a composer who lived during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. If anyone has a specific reference about Kaikobad, I would appreciate seeing it.
And look--a thousand Blossoms with the Day
Woke--and a thousand scatter'd into Clay:
And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
Second Edition: Quatrain IX
Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
Fifth Edition: Quatrain IX
Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
One obvious difference among the versions is the numbering. FitzGerald inserted another quatrain in the second edition and left it there for the subsequent editions. Since I'm using the First Edition as the foundation for my comments, I won't discuss the inserted quatrain, if at all, until after I finished the First Edition.
In the third and fourth lines, there is only one minor change: "Month" is capitalized in the First edition, but in lower case for the rest of the editions. The significance of this escapes me, except that it now seems to place more importance on "Summer" than on "month." The focus is on the season rather than the month.
The most significant changes in wording occurs in the first two lines:
First:
And look--a thousand Blossom with the Day
Woke--and a thousand scatter'd into Clay:
Second:
Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
Fifth:
Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
The Fifth version seems a refinement of the Second as 'Morning" becomes "Each Morn." I prefer the Fifth over the Second for "Each Morn" seems to flow more smoothly than "Morning" which seems somewhat blunt to me. All three, though, do express the point that while thousands may bloom this morning, just as many die. Life is fleeting and a new generation quickly replaces the old.
The last line of the Second and subsequent editions reminds me of a poem by Francois Villon. I have cut out the second and third stanzas as they are similar to the first one in which he asks about ladies of the past.
THE BALLAD OF DEAD LADIES
by: François Villon (1431-1489)
ELL me now in what hidden way is - Lady Flora the lovely Roman?
- Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais,
- Neither of them the fairer woman?
- Where is Echo, beheld of no man,
- Only heard on river and mere,--
- She whose beauty was more than human? . . .
- But where are the snows of yester-year?
- . . .
-
- Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,
- Where they are gone, nor yet this year,
- Save with this much for an overword,--
- But where are the snows of yester-year?
The following link will lead you to the complete poem.
http://tinyurl.com/cjbbsz
From the Wikipedia entry:
Jamshed, Jamshid, or Jam is a mythological figure of Greater Iranian culture and tradition.
In tradition and folklore, Jamshid is described as having been the fourth and greatest king of the epigraphically unattested Pishdadian dynasty ( before Kayanian dynasty)
Kaikobad: I couldn't locate anything specific about him? her? Most references were to a composer who lived during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. If anyone has a specific reference about Kaikobad, I would appreciate seeing it.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Rubaiyat: Quatrain VII
This is one of my favorite quatrains.
First Edition: Quatrain VII
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
Second Edition: Quatrain VII
Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
Your Winter-garment of repentance fling:
The Bird of time has but a little way
To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.
Fifth Edition: Quatrain VII
Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.
The changes are minimal in that they do not reflect a radical alteration in the meaning from the first to the later editions.
In the first line, the "Fire" is capitalized in the First Edition only. In subsequent editions, it is lower case. Perhaps that's to focus the reader's attention on Spring. It makes, however, no difference when hearing it, so the change is limited to one reading it.
In the second line, we read "The Winter Garment," in the First Edition only, while from the second Edition on, it is "Your Winter-garment." Substituting "Your" for "The" imparts a stronger feeling that the poet is talking directly to the reader. The change of "Winter-garment" from "Winter Garment" again is visual, for someone listening to a reading would not detect the difference. I would guess that the visual change would be to make "Winter-garment" more of one object or one thing, a closer joining of the two terms in the later versions.
The third line remains the same throughout.
The fourth line is the one that I felt he should have left alone. The revision is much weaker, to me anyway.
First Edition
"To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing."
Subsequent editions
"To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing."
The most significant change is the substitution of "flutter" for "fly." Why this was done, I have no idea. "Fly" works much better than "flutter" in this context, or frankly in any context. One may see a butterfly flutter by, but a bird? A bird may fly or soar or glide or dive or dart or even hover, but flutter? When I think of a fluttering bird, I think it is sick or wounded.
After considering the changes FitzGerald made, I favor the first Edition version. "Flutter" doesn't work for me, and the other changes really add nothing substantial to the quatrain.
Quatrain VII
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
We see again the controversial reference to wine in the first line which goes back to previous quatrains and will appear again in quatrains following this one. The Cup, whether it be of wine or of God's grace, which some commentators prefer, should be filled, and that will fill the drinker with good cheer. Spring is here, and we should give up the winter dreariness of repentance.
This is followed by the warning in the third and fourth lines, again brought forward from earlier quatrains, that time is short and passes quickly--a further repetition of the medieval philosophy of Carpe diem or "Seize the Day." This stanza always reminds me of Andrew Marvel's "To His Coy Mistress,' especially the following lines:
"But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;"
In both, time is short and associated with flight: "time's winged chariot" and "The Bird of Time has but a little way/ To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing."
Many years ago I had read a short story which had the last two lines of this quatrain for an epigraph. It wasn't identified so I thought it probably was written by the author. It was years later that I read The Rubaiyat and discovered its origin. I've always remembered those two lines, but the author, title, and plot details of that story are forgotten, perhaps rightfully so.
First Edition: Quatrain VII
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
Second Edition: Quatrain VII
Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
Your Winter-garment of repentance fling:
The Bird of time has but a little way
To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.
Fifth Edition: Quatrain VII
Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.
The changes are minimal in that they do not reflect a radical alteration in the meaning from the first to the later editions.
In the first line, the "Fire" is capitalized in the First Edition only. In subsequent editions, it is lower case. Perhaps that's to focus the reader's attention on Spring. It makes, however, no difference when hearing it, so the change is limited to one reading it.
In the second line, we read "The Winter Garment," in the First Edition only, while from the second Edition on, it is "Your Winter-garment." Substituting "Your" for "The" imparts a stronger feeling that the poet is talking directly to the reader. The change of "Winter-garment" from "Winter Garment" again is visual, for someone listening to a reading would not detect the difference. I would guess that the visual change would be to make "Winter-garment" more of one object or one thing, a closer joining of the two terms in the later versions.
The third line remains the same throughout.
The fourth line is the one that I felt he should have left alone. The revision is much weaker, to me anyway.
First Edition
"To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing."
Subsequent editions
"To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing."
The most significant change is the substitution of "flutter" for "fly." Why this was done, I have no idea. "Fly" works much better than "flutter" in this context, or frankly in any context. One may see a butterfly flutter by, but a bird? A bird may fly or soar or glide or dive or dart or even hover, but flutter? When I think of a fluttering bird, I think it is sick or wounded.
After considering the changes FitzGerald made, I favor the first Edition version. "Flutter" doesn't work for me, and the other changes really add nothing substantial to the quatrain.
Quatrain VII
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
We see again the controversial reference to wine in the first line which goes back to previous quatrains and will appear again in quatrains following this one. The Cup, whether it be of wine or of God's grace, which some commentators prefer, should be filled, and that will fill the drinker with good cheer. Spring is here, and we should give up the winter dreariness of repentance.
This is followed by the warning in the third and fourth lines, again brought forward from earlier quatrains, that time is short and passes quickly--a further repetition of the medieval philosophy of Carpe diem or "Seize the Day." This stanza always reminds me of Andrew Marvel's "To His Coy Mistress,' especially the following lines:
"But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;"
In both, time is short and associated with flight: "time's winged chariot" and "The Bird of Time has but a little way/ To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing."
Many years ago I had read a short story which had the last two lines of this quatrain for an epigraph. It wasn't identified so I thought it probably was written by the author. It was years later that I read The Rubaiyat and discovered its origin. I've always remembered those two lines, but the author, title, and plot details of that story are forgotten, perhaps rightfully so.
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Rubaiyat: Quatrain VI
From the first edition of Edward FitzGerald's rendering of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam:
And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow cheek of hers to incarnadine.
This quatrain remains the same for all succeeding editions.
This quatrain carries through the theme that began in Quatrain V, that of the disappearance of past glories while nature remains untouched. "David" refers to King David of the Hebrews, while "pehlevi" suggests either the language of ancient Zoroastrian works or a way writing used during the 3rd through the 6th century AD in Persia, or Iran as it is now known. In any case, it was no longer in use during Omar Khayyam's time, which began in the late 11th century and lasted through to the first quarter of the 12th century. David, having died centuries ago, as have others mentioned in earlier quatrains, can no longer can speak or perhaps sing, since he was known as a singer. This suggests that the glories of Israel are gone, while the garden, as represented by the Nightingale and the Rose, are still present, still singing their ancient songs.
The last line is ambiguous, and scholars have debated the meaning of it, especially whose "sallow cheek" is being referred to--the Nightingale's or the Rose's. Nor is it clear as to the meaning of "cries...That sallow cheek of hers to incarnadine." Perhaps the calling suggests excitement which would give color to that sallow cheek, or possibly the wine might bring a reddish hue to one's sallow cheeks.
I mentioned earlier that this quatrain remained the same for all editions. Frankly, considering the ambiguity of the last two lines, I wish that he had revised this quatrain.
And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow cheek of hers to incarnadine.
This quatrain remains the same for all succeeding editions.
This quatrain carries through the theme that began in Quatrain V, that of the disappearance of past glories while nature remains untouched. "David" refers to King David of the Hebrews, while "pehlevi" suggests either the language of ancient Zoroastrian works or a way writing used during the 3rd through the 6th century AD in Persia, or Iran as it is now known. In any case, it was no longer in use during Omar Khayyam's time, which began in the late 11th century and lasted through to the first quarter of the 12th century. David, having died centuries ago, as have others mentioned in earlier quatrains, can no longer can speak or perhaps sing, since he was known as a singer. This suggests that the glories of Israel are gone, while the garden, as represented by the Nightingale and the Rose, are still present, still singing their ancient songs.
The last line is ambiguous, and scholars have debated the meaning of it, especially whose "sallow cheek" is being referred to--the Nightingale's or the Rose's. Nor is it clear as to the meaning of "cries...That sallow cheek of hers to incarnadine." Perhaps the calling suggests excitement which would give color to that sallow cheek, or possibly the wine might bring a reddish hue to one's sallow cheeks.
I mentioned earlier that this quatrain remained the same for all editions. Frankly, considering the ambiguity of the last two lines, I wish that he had revised this quatrain.
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Rubaiyat: Quatrain V
First Edition: Quatrain V
Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.
Second Edition: Quatrain V
Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still a Ruby gushes from the Vine,
And many a Garden by the Water blows.
Fifth Edition: Quatrain V
Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,
And many a Garden by the Water blows.
This quatrain focuses on the brevity of human endeavors--the glories of the past have gone and are almost forgotten. Iram and Jamshyd are no more. Iram, a fabulously wealthy city, has disappeared, and Jamshyd, once the most powerful king in the world, is no more. His cup, the source of immortality and power, is lost. In comparison, the natural world goes on as it always has.
The three versions do differ to some extent, but the main focus is still the same--the transience of human power and glory.
FIRST LINE: The first edition refers to "with all its Rose." This is changed in all subsequent editions to "with all his Rose."
Why the change from the neuter pronoun to the masculine escapes me.
SECOND LINE:
"And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;"
No change through all five editions.
THIRD LINE:
1st Edition: But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
2nd Edition: But still a Ruby gushes from the Vine,
3rd Edition: But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine.
The focus has shifted from the Vine in the first edition to the Ruby in later versions. The meaning of Ruby undergoes some subtle shifts over the various editions. In the first version, the Vine yields the Ruby, which suggests the Vine must give it up. This could suggest that the Ruby could be the grape itself, or perhaps wine.
The second version refers to the Ruby as it gushes from the Vine. The Ruby is now the active element, and it "gushes," suggesting the Vine is a pipeline only. That it "gushes" implies, to me anyway, that FitzGerald is referring to a liquid, which would be the wine, as liquids would be more likely to be seen as gushing than solid objects would be.
The final version is intriguing. The Ruby no longer is yielded by the Vine or gushes from the Vine, but it "kindles in the Vine." "Kindles" can be either active or passive. It can either cause something to break into flame or glow or it can arouse or inspire something, or, on the other hand, it can itself break into flame or glow or become aroused or inspired.
The grape can be seen as something that glows because of its reddish color or even something aflame set against the green of the vine. On the other hand, wine can be seen as glowing or aflame and also that which can inflame or arouse or inspire others.
Rather than decide between them, I shall take the cowardly way out and say that FitzGerald meant to suggest both.
FOURTH LINE:
1st Edition: And still a Garden by the Water blows.
2nd Edition: And many a Garden by the Water blows.
3rd Edition: And many a Garden by the Water blows.
There's clear comparison made in the first version. The past human glories are gone, but "still a garden" blooms. The second version becomes the final version also. It weakens the comparison by removing the word "still" and sort of trails off with "And many a Garden..." To say that there are many of them seems to reduce them to the level of the common and ordinary. Perhaps that was what FitzGerald had in mind, that the singular glories of human endeavors are survived by nature's ordinary and commonplace activities--a grapevine or a garden in bloom.
Notes:
The following is abstracted and paraphrased from Wikipedia entries on Iram and Jamshyd.
Iram was a trading center in the southern part of the Arabian Peninsula. It seems to have existed from 3000 B.C. to the first century A. D. It was a very wealthy city, gaining its riches from trade between the coastal regions and population centers of the Middle-East and Europe. It was later abandoned and eventually felt to be only a myth. However, recent archeological excavations have now shown it to be a real place.Jamshyd, according to various ancient accounts, was the fourth king of the world. He had command over all the angels and demons of the world and had become the greatest monarch the world had ever known. He was also said to have had a magical seven-ring cup, Jam-e Jam which was filled with the elixir of immortality and allowed his to observe the universe. But Jamshid's pride grew with his power, and he began to forget that all the blessings of his reign were due to God. He boasted to his people that all of the good things they had came from him alone, and demanded that he should be accorded divine honors, as if he were the Creator. That, of course, was his downfall. He lost the favor of the Creator and his power diminished and his kingdom vanished into obscurity over time.
Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.
Second Edition: Quatrain V
Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still a Ruby gushes from the Vine,
And many a Garden by the Water blows.
Fifth Edition: Quatrain V
Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,
And many a Garden by the Water blows.
This quatrain focuses on the brevity of human endeavors--the glories of the past have gone and are almost forgotten. Iram and Jamshyd are no more. Iram, a fabulously wealthy city, has disappeared, and Jamshyd, once the most powerful king in the world, is no more. His cup, the source of immortality and power, is lost. In comparison, the natural world goes on as it always has.
The three versions do differ to some extent, but the main focus is still the same--the transience of human power and glory.
FIRST LINE: The first edition refers to "with all its Rose." This is changed in all subsequent editions to "with all his Rose."
Why the change from the neuter pronoun to the masculine escapes me.
SECOND LINE:
"And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;"
No change through all five editions.
THIRD LINE:
1st Edition: But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
2nd Edition: But still a Ruby gushes from the Vine,
3rd Edition: But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine.
The focus has shifted from the Vine in the first edition to the Ruby in later versions. The meaning of Ruby undergoes some subtle shifts over the various editions. In the first version, the Vine yields the Ruby, which suggests the Vine must give it up. This could suggest that the Ruby could be the grape itself, or perhaps wine.
The second version refers to the Ruby as it gushes from the Vine. The Ruby is now the active element, and it "gushes," suggesting the Vine is a pipeline only. That it "gushes" implies, to me anyway, that FitzGerald is referring to a liquid, which would be the wine, as liquids would be more likely to be seen as gushing than solid objects would be.
The final version is intriguing. The Ruby no longer is yielded by the Vine or gushes from the Vine, but it "kindles in the Vine." "Kindles" can be either active or passive. It can either cause something to break into flame or glow or it can arouse or inspire something, or, on the other hand, it can itself break into flame or glow or become aroused or inspired.
The grape can be seen as something that glows because of its reddish color or even something aflame set against the green of the vine. On the other hand, wine can be seen as glowing or aflame and also that which can inflame or arouse or inspire others.
Rather than decide between them, I shall take the cowardly way out and say that FitzGerald meant to suggest both.
FOURTH LINE:
1st Edition: And still a Garden by the Water blows.
2nd Edition: And many a Garden by the Water blows.
3rd Edition: And many a Garden by the Water blows.
There's clear comparison made in the first version. The past human glories are gone, but "still a garden" blooms. The second version becomes the final version also. It weakens the comparison by removing the word "still" and sort of trails off with "And many a Garden..." To say that there are many of them seems to reduce them to the level of the common and ordinary. Perhaps that was what FitzGerald had in mind, that the singular glories of human endeavors are survived by nature's ordinary and commonplace activities--a grapevine or a garden in bloom.
Notes:
The following is abstracted and paraphrased from Wikipedia entries on Iram and Jamshyd.
Iram was a trading center in the southern part of the Arabian Peninsula. It seems to have existed from 3000 B.C. to the first century A. D. It was a very wealthy city, gaining its riches from trade between the coastal regions and population centers of the Middle-East and Europe. It was later abandoned and eventually felt to be only a myth. However, recent archeological excavations have now shown it to be a real place.Jamshyd, according to various ancient accounts, was the fourth king of the world. He had command over all the angels and demons of the world and had become the greatest monarch the world had ever known. He was also said to have had a magical seven-ring cup, Jam-e Jam which was filled with the elixir of immortality and allowed his to observe the universe. But Jamshid's pride grew with his power, and he began to forget that all the blessings of his reign were due to God. He boasted to his people that all of the good things they had came from him alone, and demanded that he should be accorded divine honors, as if he were the Creator. That, of course, was his downfall. He lost the favor of the Creator and his power diminished and his kingdom vanished into obscurity over time.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Rubaiyat: Quatrain III
Quatrain III, from the First Version:
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."
FitzGerald was obviously satisfied with this quatrain, or at least he couldn't come up with a version he liked better, for this one remained unrevised throughout all five versions.
I think the most interesting point to be made is the shift of the speaker from inside the Tavern/Temple to outside. Whereas in Quatrain II, the speaker was inside exhorting those outside to come, here we see the speaker to be among those waiting outside and demanding to be let in. The speakers, however, in both quatrains, inside and outside, concentrate on the issue of time passing.
There appears to be a difference of opinion as to why the worshipers remain outside. Those inside wonder at the delay of those outside, but those outside argue that the door is closed. It's almost as if something appears to be blocking the entrance, but that the inside speaker does not see it. Perhaps a later quatrain will explain.
The speaker in QIII also added further reason for hurry:
"You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."
Life is short and there's no second chance. This appears to be an expression of the philosophy of carpe diem, or "seize the day, sometimes expressed as "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die."
One of my favorite examples is found in Andrew Marvel's "To His Coy Mistress," when the speaker tells his coy mistress that she deserves a long courtship--
But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song:
...
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
A bit of trivia: Peter Beagle wrote a fine short story about two ghosts who fall in love in a graveyard; the title is, of course, "A Fine and Private Place."
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."
FitzGerald was obviously satisfied with this quatrain, or at least he couldn't come up with a version he liked better, for this one remained unrevised throughout all five versions.
I think the most interesting point to be made is the shift of the speaker from inside the Tavern/Temple to outside. Whereas in Quatrain II, the speaker was inside exhorting those outside to come, here we see the speaker to be among those waiting outside and demanding to be let in. The speakers, however, in both quatrains, inside and outside, concentrate on the issue of time passing.
There appears to be a difference of opinion as to why the worshipers remain outside. Those inside wonder at the delay of those outside, but those outside argue that the door is closed. It's almost as if something appears to be blocking the entrance, but that the inside speaker does not see it. Perhaps a later quatrain will explain.
The speaker in QIII also added further reason for hurry:
"You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."
Life is short and there's no second chance. This appears to be an expression of the philosophy of carpe diem, or "seize the day, sometimes expressed as "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die."
One of my favorite examples is found in Andrew Marvel's "To His Coy Mistress," when the speaker tells his coy mistress that she deserves a long courtship--
But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song:
...
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
A bit of trivia: Peter Beagle wrote a fine short story about two ghosts who fall in love in a graveyard; the title is, of course, "A Fine and Private Place."
Monday, November 24, 2008
Fitzgerald's Rubaiyat: Quatrain II
The Second Quatrain in FitzGerald's version of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam also was revised when the second version was published. The revised quatrain then remained throughout the remainder of the five editions. I personally prefer the first version.
Quatrain II-- found in First Edition
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
Quatrain II--Revised and found in Editions 2-5
Before the phantom of False morning died,
Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,
"When all the Temple is prepared within,
Why lags the drowsy Worshipper outside?"
I think the overall distinction between the two is that the first version tends to be more poetic, whereas the second is perhaps more straightforward and more easily grasped. "Dawn's Left Hand" becomes the more familiar "False morning" which hints also of "False dawn." A false morning or dawn refers to the transient appearance of light on the eastern horizon shortly before true dawn begins, perhaps as much as an hour earlier. The True Day has not yet begun.
But, why would FitzGerald select "Left Hand" to suggest the False morning? Perhaps it's a reflection of a prevailing prejudice that exists in some languages against left-handers. I can still remember and I know people who were left-handed and were forced in school to write with their right hands. Perhaps they thought they were trying to help the left-hander adapt to a right-handed world.
But, there is another connotation lurking in the perception of the left-handed or left-sided, one that is considerably more prejudicial. For example, the English word "sinister" is defined as "suggesting an evil force or motive, a sinister smile" or "presaging trouble or ominous." A rare meaning is "on the left side." The word derives ultimately from Latin sinister: "left, on the left, hence evil, unlucky (in augury, the left side being regarded as inauspicious." The American Heritage Dictionary includes, in addition to those merely suggesting use of the left-hand, the following definitions for "left-handed" : "awkward, maladroit" and "obliquely derisive, dubious, insincere, left-handed flattery."
If one considers these meanings found in the dictionary, then to refer to the False morning or False dawn as "Dawn's Left Hand" makes more sense.
Original:
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
Revision:
Before the phantom of False morning died,
Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,
"Dawn's Left Hand" now becomes "the phantom of False morning" which dies, which suggests the transient nature of the false morning. It appears briefly and then disappears into the darkness before the True morning appears.
Moreover, the narrator in the first is dreaming when he heard a voice within the Tavern while the narrator in the second appears to be awake and only thinks he heard a voice. Here we see a change from a dream voice to perhaps a delusion? In both versions though, the Voice comes from within a Tavern, but a phantom, an illusion, more strongly suggests that which doesn't exist. Dreams, on the other hand, in some cultures may be the voice of God or a spirit which takes this method of providing advice or a warning.
Original:
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
Revision:
"When all the Temple is prepared within,
Why lags the drowsy Worshipper outside?"
The first suggests a wise teacher who sees others as students and advises them to drink before it's too late. This punning on Cup and liquor and the body with its life forces or energies or juices is repeated in several quatrains, especially in those taking place in a pottery shop.
In the second, we see a startling transformation, especially for a society whose religion forbids the use of alcohol. The "Tavern" of the second line now becomes "the Temple" and those awaiting the opening of the Tavern now become "Worshippers." Who might the speaker in the revision be? A priest? God?
Both versions do convey a sense of urgency though: the first warns of the shortness of life, while the second cautions one against being a laggard when all is ready for one, a sense of being late for an appointment.
The frequent references to wine and liquor and taverns have brought about two interpretations of the meanings of those terms. One interpretation is that they mean exactly what they are, and this interpretation provides support for a philosophy that can be summed up as "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die." The second is that such references are metaphors for God, the divinity, God's grace or love, and that we should avail ourselves of Divine aid before it's too late.
I think the only way to resolve this is to read FitzGerald's version of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam and make up your own mind.
Or, could both be true?
Quatrain II-- found in First Edition
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
Quatrain II--Revised and found in Editions 2-5
Before the phantom of False morning died,
Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,
"When all the Temple is prepared within,
Why lags the drowsy Worshipper outside?"
I think the overall distinction between the two is that the first version tends to be more poetic, whereas the second is perhaps more straightforward and more easily grasped. "Dawn's Left Hand" becomes the more familiar "False morning" which hints also of "False dawn." A false morning or dawn refers to the transient appearance of light on the eastern horizon shortly before true dawn begins, perhaps as much as an hour earlier. The True Day has not yet begun.
But, why would FitzGerald select "Left Hand" to suggest the False morning? Perhaps it's a reflection of a prevailing prejudice that exists in some languages against left-handers. I can still remember and I know people who were left-handed and were forced in school to write with their right hands. Perhaps they thought they were trying to help the left-hander adapt to a right-handed world.
But, there is another connotation lurking in the perception of the left-handed or left-sided, one that is considerably more prejudicial. For example, the English word "sinister" is defined as "suggesting an evil force or motive, a sinister smile" or "presaging trouble or ominous." A rare meaning is "on the left side." The word derives ultimately from Latin sinister: "left, on the left, hence evil, unlucky (in augury, the left side being regarded as inauspicious." The American Heritage Dictionary includes, in addition to those merely suggesting use of the left-hand, the following definitions for "left-handed" : "awkward, maladroit" and "obliquely derisive, dubious, insincere, left-handed flattery."
If one considers these meanings found in the dictionary, then to refer to the False morning or False dawn as "Dawn's Left Hand" makes more sense.
Original:
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
Revision:
Before the phantom of False morning died,
Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,
"Dawn's Left Hand" now becomes "the phantom of False morning" which dies, which suggests the transient nature of the false morning. It appears briefly and then disappears into the darkness before the True morning appears.
Moreover, the narrator in the first is dreaming when he heard a voice within the Tavern while the narrator in the second appears to be awake and only thinks he heard a voice. Here we see a change from a dream voice to perhaps a delusion? In both versions though, the Voice comes from within a Tavern, but a phantom, an illusion, more strongly suggests that which doesn't exist. Dreams, on the other hand, in some cultures may be the voice of God or a spirit which takes this method of providing advice or a warning.
Original:
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
Revision:
"When all the Temple is prepared within,
Why lags the drowsy Worshipper outside?"
The first suggests a wise teacher who sees others as students and advises them to drink before it's too late. This punning on Cup and liquor and the body with its life forces or energies or juices is repeated in several quatrains, especially in those taking place in a pottery shop.
In the second, we see a startling transformation, especially for a society whose religion forbids the use of alcohol. The "Tavern" of the second line now becomes "the Temple" and those awaiting the opening of the Tavern now become "Worshippers." Who might the speaker in the revision be? A priest? God?
Both versions do convey a sense of urgency though: the first warns of the shortness of life, while the second cautions one against being a laggard when all is ready for one, a sense of being late for an appointment.
The frequent references to wine and liquor and taverns have brought about two interpretations of the meanings of those terms. One interpretation is that they mean exactly what they are, and this interpretation provides support for a philosophy that can be summed up as "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die." The second is that such references are metaphors for God, the divinity, God's grace or love, and that we should avail ourselves of Divine aid before it's too late.
I think the only way to resolve this is to read FitzGerald's version of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam and make up your own mind.
Or, could both be true?
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