Elizabeth T. Gray Jr.

About the Author
Khwája Shams ud-Dín Muhammad Háfiz-i Shírází (d. 1389) is acknowledged to be the urivalled master of the classical Persian ghazal, a brief and strict lyric form. Throughout the Persian-speaking world one hears his verses recited or sung in the bazaar, on the radio, and at spiritual gatherings. His Díwán, or collected works, is held in such high esteem that, like the Qur'án, it is used for divination and augury. Nevertheless, about Háfiz's life we have legends but few facts. We do not even have an authentic text of his Díwán.

About the Translator
elizabeth-t-grayElizabeth T. Gray, Jr. studied classical Persian and the poetry of Háfiz-i Shírází at Radcliffe College, Harvard University, the University of Isfahan, Iran, and with teachers and scholars in the United States, Middles East, and South Asia. At Radcliffe her focus was on writing and translating poetry, where she worked with Elizabeth Bishop, Robert Lowell, and Robert Fitzgerald. A graduate of Harvard Law School, Ms. Gray lives in New York City with her husband, step-daughter, hybrid macaw, Amazon parrot, while she blends writing with corporate advisory work.
Western scholars of classical Persian poetry have frequently felt humbled before the grand ocean of allusions and historical references, stock phrases and metaphors, ever-recurring images and figures, tantalizing integration of rhythm and rhyme and world-play and meaning, from all of which leaps forth the ghazal — ghazal, the hard-as rock genre of Persian poetry, of which Háfiz of Shiraz is the unparalleled master. To be sure, the very form of this genre is unique to its own milieu: ghazal is a single poem containing within itself a whole multiplicity of vibrating small poems: for each verse of the ghazal, the bayt, is an integral whole, related to other bayts only — at least apparently — by a meter that is fixed and by a rhyme that reappears.

Remember the day of union with the friends.
Remember those times, remember.

From bitter sorrow my mouth became like poison.
Remember the revelers’ cry of “Drink!”

The friends are free of the memory of me
although I remember them a thousand times.

I was overtaken in these bonds of calamity.
Remember the efforts of those who serve the truth.

Although there are always a hundred rivers in my eye
remember the Zindehrud, and those who plant gardens.

After this Hafiz’s secret will remain unspoken.
Alas, remember those who keep the secrets.

~ The Green Sea of Heaven

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