● L I T E R A T U R A ●

Ang literatura sa Persiya

Kelileh va Demneh Persian

"Ang galing!" iyon na lamang ang nasabi ko noong nagbabasa ako ng isang tula na galing sa pinakakilalang may-akda na si Khayyám Ney-Shapuri. Marami pang mahuhusay na manunulat na galing sa bansang Persiya. Ang tula, sa kanila, ay tinaguriang "classical works". Ang mga literatura ng mga Persiyano ay kumalat na sa buong mundo at lalong mas naging kilala. Mayroon ding mga manunulat na nagkakaroon ng inspirasyon galing sa kanilang mga literatura, isa na rito ay si Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Masasabi mo talaga na ganoon kagaling sa pag-iimpluwensiya ang mga Persiyano, base pa lamang sa kanilang mga panitikan na sumikat sa iba't ibang sulok ng mundo.



[ Isa sa mga tula ni Khayyám: ]

"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.

But helpless pieces in the game He plays,

 Upon this chequer-board of Nights and Days,

He hither and thither moves, and checks… and slays,

 Then one by one, back in the Closet lays.

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before

 The Tavern shouted— “Open then the Door!

You know how little time we have to stay,

 And once departed, may return no more.”

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,

 A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou,

Beside me singing in the Wilderness,

 And oh, Wilderness is Paradise enow.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent

 Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument

About it and about: but evermore

 Came out of the same Door as in I went.

With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,

 And with my own hand labour’d it to grow:

And this was all the Harvest that I reap’d—

 “I came like Water, and like Wind I go.”

Into this Universe, and why not knowing,

 Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:

And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,

 I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,

 Whereunder crawling coop’t we live and die,

Lift not thy hands to It for help—for It

 Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

I sent my Soul through the Invisible,

 Some letter of that After-life to spell:

And by and by my Soul return'd to me,

 And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell:"