Original Ottoman Turkish Text

Metre: Fâ‘ilâtün Fâ‘ilâtün Fâ‘ilâtün Fâ‘ilün

Kanı bir küstâh-ı sevdâ söyleye kim ey habîb
Var mı ‘âlemde sen tek bir güzel bir dil-firîb
Gülşen-i kûyunda feryâdımladır lezzet bana
O sebebdendir ki bî-feryâd olmaz ‘andelîb
Zulmet-i gamda firâkın kan içirmişdir bana
Hamdü li'l-Mevlâ ki aldım bahr-i cândan bir nasîb
Böyle kim hicrân odı sîne-i sûzânımda var
Ni ‘aceb yanmış karârım târ-mâr olmuş şekîb
Derdim ifrât eylemiş her dem ki efgãn eylerem
İhtiyârımla degül âh ey tabîb vâh ey tabîb
Gör nice bî-‘akldır bilmez ki düşvâr olduğın
Dil-rübâlardan beni döndürmek istermiş rakîb
Sabr kıl âteş kim firkat hücûm itmiş yakar
Perde-i dîdârı ey Seyyid Nigârî ‘an karîb

In English

1. O beloved, where is a daring lover of passion who would say this: is there in the world a beauty, a heart-beguiler like you?

2. In the rose garden of your street my delight lies in my cry; that is why the nightingale is never without its lament.

3. Separation from you has made me drink blood in the darkness of grief; praise be to the Lord, I have taken a share from the sea of the soul.

4. With such a fire of separation in my burning breast, is it any wonder that my composure has burned and my patience been scattered?

5. Because I lament every moment my pain has gone too far; ah, O physician, alas, O physician, it is not in my power.

6. See how witless the rival is, not knowing how hard it is; he wanted to turn me away from the heart-ravishers.

7. O Seyyid Nigârî, be patient; the fire of separation has attacked and burns, but the veil of the face will (be lifted) soon.

Literary and Historical Commentary

The first couplet opens with a question of daring: where is the "küstâh-ı sevdâ", the impudent one of passion, the bold lover who would openly state the beloved's peerlessness? In divan poetry speaking before the beloved is a matter of decorum, and the lover is usually silent. Nigârî speaks as if seeking someone who could break this silence, yet the question itself has already said the word: there is no beauty in the world like the beloved.

The second couplet adds a reason to the image of the nightingale. The nightingale is never without its lament, because the delight in the rose garden lies in the lament itself. So it is with the lover: the taste he takes from the beloved's street lies in his moaning. The third couplet turns pain into a blessing: separation has made him drink blood in the darkness of grief, but the poet praises God because he has taken a share from the "bahr-i cân", the sea of the soul. In couplet five the excess of this pain is told as an excuse; the lover's lament is not in his power. The repetition "âh ey tabîb, vâh ey tabîb" recalls the ghazal with the refrain "ey tabîb" a few pages earlier.

In the sixth couplet the rival is again witless, for he tries to turn the lover away from the beauties. At the close there is consolation: though the fire of separation burns, the veil of the face will be lifted "‘an karîb", soon. This Arabic phrase occurs in another ghazal of this section too, where it said that death would come soon; here it announces the nearness of union. The "-îb" rhyme that starts with habîb in the opening couplet runs unbroken to this final karîb: habîb, firîb, ‘andelîb, nasîb, şekîb, tabîb, rakîb, karîb.

Bibliography

Online sources