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This is my setting of some of my favourite verses from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. This is a very long philosophical poem all about how drinking, lovemaking, and having a good time is a jolly good idea given the existential situation of humanity. The original language was Persian, and it was translated—not to mention rather freely adapted -- into English by Edward FitzGerald (1809-1883).

Omar Khayyam 1048-1131) was a scientist and polymath from what is now eastern Iran. He was revered in his lifetime for his ground-breaking work in astronomy and algebra. As with other Iranian polymaths like Ibn Sina (Avicenna) Khayyam was also a poet. In his native Iran he is a towering figure and his book of verse is very much a household staple, even though some of it is probably only attributed to him.

Edward FitzGerald rearranged and recombined what were originally disconnected quatrains arranged in arbitrary alphabetical order to create a loose narrative poem about the importance of living in the moment, which has become an English classic in its own right. The resulting poem enjoyed a wide popularity back in the day. Despite the liberties he took in translation, his loose interpretation is said to capture to no small degree the essential spirit of the Rubaiyat and of Khayyam’s weltanschauung.

lyrics

Lyrics

Awake! For morning in the bowl of night
Has flung the stone that puts the stars to flight,
And lo! The hunter of the east has caught
The sultan’s turret in a noose of light.

Dreaming when dawn’s left hand was in the sky
I heard a voice within the tavern cry:
Awake my little ones and quickly fill the cup
Before life’s liquor in its cup be dry.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and sage and I heard great argument
About it and about, but even so
Came out by that same door as in I went.

With them the seed of wisdom I did sow
And with mine own hand I laboured it to grow
And this was all the harvest that I reaped
“I came like water, and like wind I go”

Alas alas! What profit to repeat
How Time that old traitor is slipping neath our feet;
Unborn tomorrow and dead yesterday
Why fret about them if today be sweet.

Tis all a chequerboard of nights and days
Where destiny with men for pieces plays
Hither and thither he moves and mates and slays
Then one by one back in the box he lays.

So leave the wise to wrangle and with me
The quarrel of this old universe let be,
And in some corner of the hubbub coucht
Make game of that which makes as much of thee.

So come along with me and leave the wise
To talk—one thing is certain that life flies;
One thing is certain and all the rest is lies
The flower that once has bloomed forever dies.

Before the phantom of false morning died
Methought a voice within the tavern cried:
When all the temple is ready and prepared
Why lags the drowsy worshipper outside?

The moving finger writes and having writ
Moves on; nor all thy piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line
Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.

And this I know, whether the one true light
Kindle to Love, or wrath-consume me quite,
One fleeting glimpse within the tavern caught
Is better than in the temple lost outright.

And when thyself with shining foot shall pass
Among the guests star-scattered on the grass
And reach the spot where I made one—
Turn down, turn down, turn down an empty glass!

credits

from A Rose From My Mother's Garden, released October 12, 2019
Words Omar Khayyam translated by Edward Fitzgerald, tune Ruth
Cooke

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Ruth Cooke image

Ruth Cooke UK

Wbsite: www.ruthcooke.com
Ruth has been writing and performing songs for many years now but has mostly been too busy living to record anything!
She is mostly to be found at folk clubs and festivals or at small gatherings and round campfires - although she wouldn’t say no to a small stadium!
She loves singarounds wherever they may be and is a regular floor singer at Lewes Saturday Folk Club. ... more

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