1Cademy - بخش ۵۷ - قصه گریستن شاعری که قصیده غرا به حضرت شاه خواند و هیچ کس تحسین نکرد جز جاهلی که به اسالیب سخن عارف نبود / Section 57 - The Tale of the Weeping of the Poet Who Recited a Brilliant Ode to His Majesty the King, and No One Praised It Except an Ignorant Man Who Was Not Familiar with the Styles of Speech

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Haft Awrang

Poem

بخش ۵۷ - قصه گریستن شاعری که قصیده غرا به حضرت شاه خواند و هیچ کس تحسین نکرد جز جاهلی که به اسالیب سخن عارف نبود / Section 57 - The Tale of the Weeping of the Poet Who Recited a Brilliant Ode to His Majesty the King, and No One Praised It Except an Ignorant Man Who Was Not Familiar with the Styles of Speech

Original content

شاعری در سخنوری ساحر
در فن مدح گستری ماهر

بهر شاهی لوای مدح افراخت
پر صنایع قصیده ای پرداخت

مدح شاهان به عقل و شرع رواست
زانکه شاهند و شاه ظل خداست

هست عاید به نزد صاحبدل
مدحت ظل به مدح صاحب ظل

برد روزی یکی نکو خوان را
که رساند به عرض شاه آن را

نظم را حسن صوت می باید
تا ازان حسن او بیفزاید

پای تا سر قصیده را برخواند
حرف حرفش به سمع شاه رساند

در سخن واجب است حسن بیان
حق ازان گفت رتل القرآن

خواندنش چون به آخر انجامید
وز ادای سخن بیارامید

داشت شاعر به اهل مجلس گوش
که به تحسین او کنند خروش

زان هنرمند می کند جانی
کش ستایش کند هنردانی

هیچ کس دم نزد زبان نگشاد
داد تحسین آن قصیده نداد

ناگهان شهره ای به جهل و غرور
بانگ زد از حریم مجلس دور

بارک الله فلان نکو گفتی
گوهر مدح شه نکو سفتی

مرد شاعر چو سوی او نگریست
دست بر رو نهاد و زار گریست

گفت بشکست ازین حدیثم پشت
بلکه تحسین آن خبیثم کشت

ترک تحسین پادشاه و سپاه
روی بخت مرا نکرد سیاه

آفرینی که این مغفل کرد
روز عیش مرا مبدل کرد

هر چه از بوستان بی خرد است
گرچه شاخ قول بیخ رد است

شعر کافتد قبول خاطر عام
خاص داند که سست باشد و خام

میل هر کس به سوی جنس وی است
آنچه پخته ست جنس خام کی است

زاغ خواهد نفیر ناخوش زاغ
چه شناسد صفیر بلبل باغ

جغد نازد به کنج ویرانه
کی پذیرد ز قصر شه خانه

نیست چون دیده سخن بینش
عار می آیدم ز تحسینش

گر تو گویی که میل دل هرگز
نیست خالی ز نسبت جایز

. . . بس دنی علی عالیست
میل چون از مناسبت خالیست

با تو گویم حکایتی دریاب
کز تأمل در آن رسی به جواب

English translation

A poet, a sorcerer in eloquence, Skilled in the art of spreading praise, Raised the banner of praise for a king, Crafted an ode full of rhetorical figures. Praising kings is permissible by reason and religious law, For they are kings, and the king is the shadow of God. To the person of heart, it is evident: The praise of the shadow redounds to the praise of the Master of the shadow. One day he took a sweet-voiced reciter, To present it before the king. Poetry requires a beautiful voice, So that its beauty may be enhanced thereby. He recited the ode from head to toe, Conveying every single letter to the king's ear. In speech, eloquence of expression is obligatory; Therefore, the Truth (God) said: 'Recite the Quran in slow, measured rhythmic tones.' When his recitation came to an end, And he rested from delivering the speech, The poet lent his ear to the assembly, Waiting for them to roar in his praise. For an artist thrives and finds life, When a connoisseur of art praises him. No one breathed a word, none opened their mouth; They did not do justice to praising that ode. Suddenly, one famous for ignorance and pride, Shouted from afar, from the edge of the assembly: 'Bravo! You spoke well, so-and-so; You beautifully pierced the pearl of the king's praise!' When the poet looked toward him, He put his hands to his face and wept bitterly. He said, 'This speech has broken my back; Indeed, the praise of that wretch has killed me! The lack of praise from the king and the army Did not blacken the face of my fortune; But the bravo that this fool uttered Has transformed my day of joy into sorrow. Whatever grows from the garden of the ignorant, Even if it is the branch of speech, its root is rejection. Poetry that falls into the acceptance of the common mind, The elite know that it is weak and raw. Everyone's inclination is toward their own kind; How can what is ripe be the kind of the raw? The crow desires the unpleasant caw of the crow; What does it know of the song of the garden's nightingale? The owl takes pride in the corner of ruins; When would it accept a home in the king's palace? Since he lacks the eye to see true poetry, I feel shame from his praise. If you say that the inclination of the heart is never Devoid of a permissible affinity, ... it is very lowly upon the high, When inclination is devoid of appropriateness. I will tell you a tale, understand it; So that through reflecting upon it, you may reach the answer.'

Updated 2026-07-06

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