1Cademy - بخش ۱۷ - در تنبیه سخنوران هنرپرور بر آنچه دربایست شعر است تا مقبول طباع و مطبوع اسماع افتد / Section 17 - On Admonishing Art-Cherishing Poets Concerning the Requisites of Poetry so That It May Be Accepted by Temperaments and Pleasing to Ears

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Haft Awrang

Poem

بخش ۱۷ - در تنبیه سخنوران هنرپرور بر آنچه دربایست شعر است تا مقبول طباع و مطبوع اسماع افتد / Section 17 - On Admonishing Art-Cherishing Poets Concerning the Requisites of Poetry so That It May Be Accepted by Temperaments and Pleasing to Ears

Original content

قافیه سنجان چو در دل زنند
در به رخ تیره دلان گل زنند

روی چو در قافیه سنجی کنند
پشت بر این دیر سپنجی کنند

تن بگذارند و همه جان شوند
کوه ببرند و سوی کان شوند

جان کنی و کان کنی آیینشان
صیرفی چرخ گهر چینشان

ای که درین کان جگری خورده ای
گوهر رنگین به کف آورده ای

گوهر این کان همه یکرنگ نیست
لؤلؤ عمان همه همسنگ نیست

گوهر و لعل از دل کان می طلب
هر چه بیابی به ازان می طلب

هر که به خس کرد قناعت خسیست
به طلبی کن که به از به بسیست

ناشده از خوی بدت دل تهی
کی رسد از نظم تو بوی بهی

هر چه به دل هست ز پاک و پلید
در سخن آید اثر آن پلید

جیفه چو بندد دهن جوی تنگ
آب روان گیرد ازو بوی و رنگ

چون گره نافه گشاید نسیم
غالیه بو گردد و عنبر شمیم

نظم که نسبت به گهر باشدش
به ز گهر باشد اگر باشدش

لفظ جهان گشته و معنی غریب
لیک نه بیگانه ز فهم لبیب

قافیه کم یاب چو دیبای چین
وزن سبک سنگ چو ماء معین

نی رقم کلک تکلف بر او
نی کلف داغ تصلف بر او

یافته از صنعت و دقت جمال
لیک نه بیرون ز حد اعتدال

شاهد پرورده به صد عز و ناز
بیش به مشاطه ندارد نیاز

بر رخش از غالیه مشک سای
خوب بود خال ولی یک دو جای

خال که از قاعده افزون فتد
بر رخ معشوق نه موزون فتد

حال جمالش به تباهی کشد
روی سفیدش به سیاهی کشد

این همه گفتیم ولی زین شمار
چاشنی عشق بود اصل کار

عشق که رقص فلک از نور اوست
خوان سخن را نمک از شور اوست

جامی اگر در سرت این شور نیست
خوان سخن گر ننهی دور نیست

مرد کرم پیشه کجا خوان نهد
تا نه ز آغاز نمکدان نهد

English translation

When the weighers of rhyme strike upon the heart, They plaster up the door against the dark-hearted. When they turn their faces toward the weighing of rhymes, They turn their backs upon this transient tavern. They leave the body behind and become entirely soul; They cleave the mountain and make their way to the mine. Toil of the soul and digging of the mine is their custom; The assayer of the heavens is their jewel-gatherer. O you who have consumed your liver in this mine, And have brought a colorful gem into your hand: The gems of this mine are not all of one color, The pearls of Oman are not all of equal weight. Seek gems and rubies from the heart of the mine; Whatever you find, seek something better than that. Whoever is content with worthless weeds is himself worthless; Seek that which is better, for there is much that is better than the good. As long as your heart is not emptied of your bad nature, How can the fragrance of goodness come from your poetry? Whatever is in the heart, of both the pure and the defiled, Its effect will become manifest in the speech. When a carcass blocks the mouth of a narrow stream, The flowing water takes on its odor and color. When the breeze unties the knot of the musk-gland, It becomes scented with civet and fragrant with ambergris. A poem that is compared to a gem, Is better than a gem, if indeed it exists as such. The words should be renowned throughout the world, and the meaning rare, Yet not alien to the understanding of the wise. A rare rhyme, like Chinese silk, And a light meter, like flowing water. Neither the mark of the pen of affectation upon it, Nor the blemish of the brand of pretension upon it. Having attained beauty from artistry and precision, Yet not exceeding the bounds of moderation. A beloved nurtured with a hundred honors and charms Has no further need of a makeup artist. Upon her face, made of musk-rubbing cosmetic, A beauty spot is lovely, but only in one or two places. A beauty spot that exceeds the proper rule, Does not fall harmoniously upon the beloved's face. The state of her beauty turns to ruin; Her fair white face is drawn into blackness. We have said all this, but of all this accounting, The seasoning of love is the essence of the matter. Love, from whose light is the dance of the heavens, The salt of the table of speech is from its passion. Jami, if this passion is not in your head, It is no wonder if you do not set the table of speech. Where does a generous man lay out a feast, Without first placing the salt-cellar?

Updated 2026-07-19

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