Original Ottoman Turkish Text

Metre: mefā‘īlün mefā‘īlün mefā‘īlün mefā‘īlün

Firāḳuñdan helāk olmaḳ baña Ḥaḳ ḳılmamış taḳdīr
Ve ger ne hecr-i bī-raḥmuñ senüñ hīç eylemez taḳsīr
Ezel naḳḳaşı bir ḳaṭre şarāb-ı kevs̱ere yazup
Leb-i dilberde cān naḳşın ne şīrīn eylemiş tasvīr
Muḥāl oldı baña ḥālüm yazup dildāra bildürmek
Ki bir ḥarfin ḳomaz eşküm yuyar her ne k’idem taḥrīr
Ḳadeḥ olsam lebüñ öpsem kemer olsam bilüñ ḳocsam
Didüm nāz eyleyüp didi öpüp ḳocmaġa yoḳdur yir
Hevā-yı ‘ışḳ ile göñlüm ṭolubdur pende yir yoḳdur
Ḳo vā‘iẓ zaḥmete girme ki itmez sözlerüñ te’s̱īr
Çekerken bini zencīre eṭibbā tīr-i āhumdan
Delinmişdi dili yir yir iderdi nāleler zencīr
Baña dirlerdi ‘āşıḳlıḳ cünūnlıḳdur melāmetlıḳ
İnanmazdum aña Ca‘fer başuma geldi hep bir bir

In English

1. God has not decreed for me to perish of separation from you; otherwise your merciless absence would spare no effort.

2. The painter of eternity, writing on a drop of the wine of Kevser, has drawn so sweetly the picture of the soul on the beloved's lips.

3. It has become impossible for me to write and tell the beloved my state; for whatever I write, my tears leave not a letter of it and wash it all away.

4. I said, "If only I were a cup and could kiss your lips, a belt and could clasp your waist"; with coyness she said, "There is no room for kissing and clasping."

5. My heart is so full of the desire of love that there is no room for advice; preacher, leave it, do not trouble yourself, your words have no effect.

6. As the physicians put me in chains, the tongue of the chain had been pierced here and there by the arrow of my sighs, and the chain was moaning.

7. They used to tell me that being a lover is madness and disgrace; I did not believe it, Ca'fer, but it has all befallen me one by one.

Literary and Historical Commentary

A Letter Written in Tears

One of the best-loved sad jests of divan poetry turns up in the third couplet: the lover wants to write his state to the beloved, but because he weeps his tears wash away every letter he writes. The letter cannot be written, because the writer's grief spoils the writing. The second couplet, too, holds a scene of writing and painting: the painter of eternity, God, has drawn the picture of the soul on a drop of the wine of Kevser and placed it on the beloved's lips. The lips' being both red as wine and life-giving as the soul meet in this single image. The ghazal has no refrain and rhymes on "-īr": taḳdīr, taḳṣīr, taṣvīr, taḥrīr, yir, te's̱īr, zencīr, bir bir.

The metre of the ghazal is four "mefā‘īlün", and since each line can be divided in the middle it lends itself to internal rhyme. The fourth couplet uses this within a conversation: "Ḳadeḥ olsam lebüñ öpsem kemer olsam bilüñ ḳocsam". The series "olsam, öpsem, olsam, ḳocsam" divides the line into four parts and lines up the lover's wishes one after another. The beloved's coy answer is a single sentence: there is no room for kissing and clasping. In the edition the last foot of the metre line is printed "Mefā‘īün"; "mefā‘īlün" is given here.

A Lover in Chains

The sixth couplet rests on a practice of old medicine: physicians put madmen in chains. The lover too has gone mad with love and been chained; but the arrow of his sigh has pierced the "tongue" of the chain, its links, here and there, and the chain has begun to moan in his place. The rattle of the chain is his moaning. The pen-name couplet closes the ghazal with an everyday confession: he did not believe those who said that being a lover meant madness and disgrace, but it has all befallen him "bir bir", one by one. This idiom of spoken Turkish is the last word of the ghazal.

The variants cluster in the third and fourth couplets. According to Erünsal's thesis, the Paris copy reads "her ne idem" for "her ne k'idem" in the third couplet and "iderek" for "eyleyüp" in the fourth; the Manchester and Cairo copies give "yir yoḳdur" for "yoḳdur yir" in the same couplet. The ghazal is nowhere to be seen in Nazmî's anthology.

Bibliography

Online sources