Customer Reviews

The Ruba'iyat of Omar Khayyam (Penguin Classics)

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"The Ruba'iyat of Omar Khayyam" translated by Peter Avery and John Heath-Stubbs is available in two Penguin editions. This edition (ISBN 01400595447) comes in a larger format with 32 beautiful colored illustrations of Persian miniature paintings from the 16th and 17th century, and an essay on the history of the miniatures that points out the influence of Chinese painting on Persian graphic arts (an interesting subject in itself). The other edition is the Penguin Classics edition (ISBN 0140443843), which is identical to this edition but lacks the illustrations and the essay on Persian graphic arts. The illustrated, larger sized edition is definitely worth the slightly higher price, in my opinion.

A reader who is familiar with FitzGerald's classic "re-creation" - "translation" is a term that is too weak in this context - will be surprised at the defiant materialism of Omar Khayyam's quatrains in Avery's literal translation stripped of the poetic spark of FitzGerald's work.

For example, while the Victorian gentleman Edward FitzGerald chose to translate Omar Khayyam's praise of simple joys and poetry in his famous "A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, / A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread - and Thou / Beside me singing in the Wilderness - / Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!", Peter Avery gives us not only a more literal translation (#98) but also a much more worldly (and spicy) version of the same theme:

If chance supplied a loaf of white bread,
Two casks of wine and a leg of mutton,
In the corner of a garden with a tulip-cheeked girl
There'd be enjoyment no Sultan could outdo. (#234)

In his introduction, Peter Avery points out that the ruba'i (quatrain) was the favorite verse form among intellectuals, "those philosophers and mystics in eleventh- and twelfth-century Persia who were in some degree non-conformists opposed to religious fanatism, so that they have often been called Islam's free-thinkers." And a free-thinker Omar Khayyam was. He did not believe in the cardinal Muslim tenet of the resurrection of the body after death, and he suggested that drinking wine was better than worrying about abstruse religious theories and dogmas. In an instance that must have been particularly enraging for orthodox Muslims he turned the argument for future rewards in paradise on its head by thinking it through to its logical end:

They promise there will be Paradise and the houri-eyed,
Where clear wine and honey will flow:
Should we prefer wine and a lover, what's the harm?
Are not these the final recompense? (#88)

(the "houri-eyed" are beautiful girls, by the way)

In another slyly funny (and self-critical) quatrain, Omar Khayyam pushes his skepticism and blunt honesty even further:

A religious man said to a whore, "You're drunk,
Caught every moment in a different snare."
She replied, "Oh Shaikh, I am what you say,
Are you what you seem?"(#86)

Peter Avery's translations stress the worldly, materialistic side of Omar Khayyam, which is rooted in his conviction that nothing lasts but the joys experienced in the present moment. What I missed in Peter Avery's translations, though, was the joy Omar Khayyam must have felt when he created a new quatrain to remind himself to seize the day, to change his state of mind (that's a polite way of describing "to get drunk") or just to invent a polished metaphor or rhyme. FitzGerald captured this redeeming poetic beauty of Omar Khayyam's work so well that his rendition of the Rubaiyat remains a benchmark true to the spirit if not the letter of the Persian poet:

And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die,
Lift not your hands to It for help - for It
As impotently moves as you or I.

(while Avery translates with the intention "to give as literal an English version of the Persian originals as readability and intelligibility permit":)

The good and evil that are in man's heart,
The joy and sorrow that are our fortune and destiny,
Do not impute them to the wheel of heaven because, in the light of reason,
The wheel is a thousand times more helpless than you. (#34)

Buy this edition for the invaluable introduction, for the contrast to FitzGerald's rendition, and quite simply to get a feeling for Omar Khayyam's blunt honesty; but do buy a book with FitzGerald's version, preferably the out-of-print edition with English novelist A.S. Byatt's introduction ("Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam", ASIN 0965231240).

And lest anyone should think Omar Khayyam was only a frivolous, inebriated hedonist, here are two of my favorite quatrains from Peter Avery's and John Heath-Stubbs's book:

If the heart could grasp the meaning of life,
In death it would know the mystery of God;
Today when you are in possession of yourself, you know nothing.
Tomorrow when you leave yourself behind, what will you know? (#5)

It is we who are the source of our own happiness, the mine of our own sorrow,
The repository of justice and foundation of iniquity;
We who are cast down and exalted, perfect and defective,
At once the rusted mirror and Jamshid's all-seeing cup. (#211)

(Avery explains that to the Persian culture hero Jamshid or Jam was attributed a magic cup in which he could see time past, present and future and all the world, and by which like Joseph with his silver cup, he could divine (Genesis xliv, 4-5).)

I first read this work of art a month ago, and many times after that. My parents were surprised that I, being 14 years of age, liked it, although I think anyone with a bit of an understanding towards life would enjoy it. Being Persian myslef, and knowledgable towards the history of Omar Khayyam and his time,I read this book in Persian, English and French. Although I think that without doubt anyone who is able to should read the Persian edition, the English translation did not lose the touch and certain charm of the works. Don't underestimate your children either. I mean hey, give it a shot, they might like it!

It is somewhat ironic (one might say "tragic") that Amazon chooses to lump reviews of multiple translations into each version of a book; in the case of the Rubaiyat, the two prevailing translations--FitzGerald's, and Avery and Heath-Stubbs'--could not be more different. As a general reader not terribly knowledgeable about Persian literature, I struggled before deciding on which version to read; influenced by the leading reviewer on this page, I read the FitzGerald version with illustrations by Dulac and the introduction by Byatt.

As a reader and occasional translator of a foreign language myself (although Japanese, not Persian) I was hesitant to read a version (one hesitates to call it a "translation") this old and this famously derided for its looseness with the original work by Omar Khayyam. And yet after comparing the two translations, I am glad that I read FitzGerald, for two main reasons.

First, true to his intention, FitzGerald accentuated the spirit of the original over the literal translation/transliteration of the original. The delightful impishness of Khayyam and the melancholy ephemerality of his Rubaiyat is wonderfully captured. FitzGerald made this artistic choice consciously, stating that "better a live sparrow than a stuffed eagle" ... although this modesty downplays the beautiful lyricism and Victorian elegance of his version.

Second, for better or for worse, this is the version that most captivated--and influenced--the world outside of Persia, including writers from Browning and Tennyson to O. Henry and Borges to Agatha Christie and Stephen King. Even the person who has not heard of Khayyam or the Rubaiyat and could not even locate Iran on a map has heard of "a jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou". It is hardly an overstatement to credit FitzGerald for this.

That said, I completely sympathize with those who view FitzGerald as an unfaithful artist unworthy of the title 'translator' and who view his version of the Rubaiyat as an abomination. Indeed, it is advisable to read his version in concert with a more faithful translation such as Avery and Heath-Stubbs'. That said, for the general reader with an open mind, FitzGerald's version is more likely to be the more captivating, the more likely to tickle the imagination and captivate the spirit. Warts and all, FitzGerald's "live sparrow" has survived the generations for a reason.

Regardless of whether the translations are "perfect" or not, (and translations rarely are!) this book is truly a work of art, for its simplicity, the illustrations, the binding, and the beauty of the verses. From the first page to the last, the reader is guided through the life of a man from birth, young manhood, adulthood, middle age, old age, and finally, physical death. An enchanting evening read. I recommend this book to those who appreciate class and beauty

Checking out of a supermarket recently with only a newspaper, a bottle of wine, and a long loaf of French bread, I remarked to the clerk, "All we need is thou sitting beside me in the wilderness." She looked at me as if I had either lost my mind or was suggesting an indecent proposal. Can our education have slipped so far that high schoolers no longer sigh over this marvelous book? These four line verses contain a wealth of thoughts and revealations which can be found no where else in literature. No home should be with out Omar the Tentmaker, who has, after all, been advising us since 1151 and still beats the sindicated columnists.

The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam is a classic poem, which sings to the better angels of the human spirit. Far from a paen to drinking, the poem is a deep spiritual meditation. Look deeply into Omar the tentmaker's poem, with your mind open to the spirit underlying the poem, and you will find the "one true Light." This edition is particularly good, because it contains two of Fitzgerald's five translations. The second edition is mature and somewhat darker than the first. I highly recommend this poem to anyone open to beautiful poetry and Truth.

One should be wary when purchasing or reading a copy of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. The various translations are VERY different. They are based on different original manuscripts, which do not contain exactly the same material. The FitzGerald translation is much more of an interpretation of Khayyam than a translation, although it is a wonderful piece of work in and of itself, it is victorian baroque romanticism not Sufism. From my own personal experience (I've read much of three of the translations, the ones by FitzGerald in the 1850s, by a professor from Cambridge made in the mid 1900s, and by Robert Graves in the 1960s) I would suggest that you go with the most modern translation (which is no longer the translation by Graves). The Graves translation definately is a work of both deep philosophical ideas and of beautiful poetry.

Omar Khayyam (1048-1131) was a Persian mathematician whom we in the West know primarily as the poet of the Rubaiyat (literally: quatrains). In fact most people only know Omar Khayyam for the 101 individual quatrains translated and arranged by Edward Fitzgerald in 1859. Fitzgerald's work was more than an ordinary translation, one critic wrote, it was so inspired that some people believed it was an English poem with Persian allusions.

Omar Khayyam writes about the fragility and transience of life,

Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
One thing at least is certain - this Life flies;
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies. (#63)

and about the inspiration to be found in wine and friendship:

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread - and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness -
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow! (#12)

In his best moments he rises above what some critics saw as cynical lament and reaches an appealing state of amused resignation:

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same Door where in I went. (#27)

The world of Omar Khayyam - Islamic Persia in the eleventh century - demands some explanation to fully appreciate the poetry. Unfortunately, my edition (Peter Pauper Press, White Plains, NY, 1991) did not contain footnotes to the quatrains and only the shortest of introductions. Scholarly comment is often indicated for key words in poetry. Take the word "wine", for example. It is interesting to be reminded that the subject of wine was inflammable because wine and drunkenness were prohibited by the principles of Islamic law. However, "wine" can also be interpreted as a metaphor referring to spiritual or romantic intoxication.

Bottom-line: I recommend to enjoy this book with a glass of full-bodied Italian red wine of the sort the Italians like to call "wine for meditation."

Omar Khayyam was a 11th century Persian astronomer/mathematician who is better known today for his small poems, or rubaiyats. His rubaiyats were made famous by Edward FitzGerald in the 19th century. The rubaiyats themselves are pretty good and were essentially renewed Persian interest after the FitzGerald translations.

And it's free - what's not to like?

These verses, which we anglophones have come to intone as though they were scripture, are not those of Omar Khayyam (meaning Omar the tentmaker in Farsi), but those of a less celebrated Victorian poet, Edward FitzGerald. Our affection for the rhyme scheme, the aliteration, the meter, the very image the words evoke, is not for Omar, but for his tranlator, Edward FitzGerald. It was not Omar who wrote, "oh, but the long, long while the world shall last," but FitzGerald. FitzGerald translated this Twelfth Century poetry in the very early years of the Nineteenth Century, seven hundred years after Omar. It is FitzGerald to whom we should be grateful.

FitzGerald's verse is literally accurate only to the extent of its a, a, b, a rhyme scheme; and even so, the final combination of phonics comprising the cadence in each line is constructed in our language, not in Omar's. Only in the figurative meaning of the verse is the translation from Farsi accurate. What we anglophones think of as Omar's verse is not at all Farsi and not at all Twelfth Century. It sounds much more familiar to our ears because FitzGerald has cut the time gap by seven centuries and the language barrier to nothing.

But don't take my word for it; speak to any Iranian (if you permit them to speak for their ancestral Persians) and they will tell you that Omar is known principally for astrology and alchemy. Some will say he was a mathmetician, but no evidence remains to support that claim. Omar is never quoted as a poet by his ancestral Iranians. I have asked a dozen university-educated Iranians to recite a single verse of Khayyam and none have been able to do so. Not one.

One explanation for this omission is Omar's obsession with hedonism in general and wine in particular, which is now so stridently verboten by his militantly muslim ancestors. FitzGerald drew inspiration only from Omar, and that inspiration has positioned him in an orbit around Omar's star. Our current affection for Omar Khayyam's verse is not remotely due to the accuracy of FitzGerald's translation, but rather to his own creativity and originality.

The reason for the historical coincidence making blood-brothers of Omar and FitzGerald is the shocking nature of their verses. Omar's rebellion against the muslim propriety of his age paralleled FitzGerald's rebellion against the Elizabethian propriety of his age. Yet even to us these verses still sounds racy, and as long as they do they'll titillate our sensibilities, irrespective of their authorship.

"Perplext no more with human or divine,

Tomorrow's tangle to the winds resign,

And lose your fingers in the tresses of

The cypress-slender minister of wine."