Original Ottoman Turkish Text

Metre: Mef‘ûlü mefâ‘îlü mefâ‘îlü fe‘ûlün (hezec-i ahreb)

Olmasa göñül âyinesi pâk ü mücellâ
‘Aks-i ruh-ı yârânda kaçan ola hüveydâ
İt kalbüñi sâf ister iseñ göstere rûşen
Âyîne-i imrûz saña sûret-i ferdâ
Sarsın ten-i hamîdeñi bir köhne pelâsa
Geysün meh-i nev çerhde ko atlas u dîbâ
Ebrûları ‘aksinden idin mıskala yâruñ
Tâ kalmaya jeng âyine-i kalbde aslâ
Çün döndi felek ma‘nide fânûs-ı hayâle
Sen dahı anı eyle bu sûretle temâşâ
Ey baht beni hecr ile korkutma ki zîrâ
Gam ‘âşıka şâdî görinür derd müdâvâ
Çekse saña tîg-ı sitemi yâr Refîkî
Sen kesmeyigör rişte-i peyvendüñi kat‘â

In English

1. If the mirror of the heart were not clean and polished, when would the reflection of the beloved’s face appear in it?

2. Make your heart pure if you wish the mirror of today to show you the image of tomorrow clearly.

3. Wrap your bent body in an old, coarse cloak; leave satin and brocade for the new moon to wear in the sky.

4. Make the reflection of the beloved’s brows your burnishing tool (mıskal), so that no rust ever remains on the mirror of the heart.

5. Since the heavens have in truth turned into a revolving shadow lantern, you too should watch them in this way, as a passing show.

6. O fortune, do not frighten me with separation; for to the lover grief seems joy and pain seems cure.

7. Refîkî, even if the beloved draws the sword of cruelty on you, never cut the thread of your bond.

Literary and Historical Commentary

Mirror, Rust and Burnisher

This ghazal moves less like a love poem than a piece of counsel on the training of the heart. At its centre lies one of the best-known images of Sufism, the heart likened to a mirror: if the mirror is not polished it will not reflect the beloved’s face, and if it has rusted it will not show tomorrow. The fourth couplet completes the image with the language of a craft. A “mıskal” is the curved burnishing tool used by mirror-makers and swordsmiths to remove rust; Refîkî makes the reflection of the beloved’s arched brows into such a tool. The likeness between the curve of the brow and the shape of the burnishing iron keeps the image from being arbitrary.

In the third couplet two bent shapes face each other: the lover’s body, bowed double, and the new moon in the sky. An old, coarse cloak (“pelâs”, the woollen wrap worn by dervishes) suits the body; let the new moon wear satin and brocade. The “fânûs-ı hayâl” of the fifth couplet is a lantern in which paper figures revolve and cast shadows on the wall; likening the world to such a shadow play is common in the poetry of the period. The sixth couplet states the lover’s inverted values: grief seems joy to him and pain a cure, so the threat of separation does not frighten him. With the pen name comes a link between “sword” and “cut” that strengthens the counsel never to break the thread of devotion, even before a sword.

Model and Variant Readings

In Nazmî’s anthology the poem is attached to a model by Ulvî, a ghazal that begins: “Cânâ görinelden gözüme ol ruh-ı zîbâ / Hoş gülşen-i cândur kim olur câna temâşâ.” In the Pervâne Bey Mecmuası, by contrast, the same metre and rhyme are headed by Cemâlî’s ghazal “Açsañ n’ola rāz-i dehenüñ ġonçeye cānā”. In Gıynaş’s edition the poem stands at five couplets; the third (the cloak and the new moon) and the sixth (the address to fortune) of the Mecma‘ are missing there. Where the Mecma‘ text of the first couplet has “yârânda”, the word appears in the Pervâne as “yār anda”; since the sense runs more smoothly with the second reading, the translation follows it.

Bibliography

Online sources