Faiz Ahmed Faiz translations by Michael R. Burch
Faiz Ahmed Faiz (1911-1984) was one of the most famous Urdu poets. In fact, his reputation is such that he has been called "the Poet of the East." His name is often spelled Faiz Ahmad Faiz in English. These are my modern English translations of Urdu poems by Faiz Ahmed Faiz.
Last Night
by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Last night, your memory stole into my heart—
as spring sweeps uninvited into barren gardens,
as morning breezes reinvigorate dormant deserts,
as a patient suddenly feels better, for no apparent reason …
They Eat Good Hot Dogs
They consume hot dogs
Too
Like you
But they don’t eat dogs
Never, ever
They do not eat cats
They do not eat pets
Never, never.
Immigrants eat wild boars, wild hogs
That’s hot Griot
They don’t eat rabbits
But they eat spicy Tassot
And of course, they eat hot dogs.
بول / Bol
بول کہ لب آزاد ہیں تیرے
بول زباں اب تک تیری ہے
تیرا ستواں جسم ہے تیرا
بول کہ جاں اب تک تیری ہے
دیکھ کہ آہن گر کی دکاں میں
تند ہیں شعلے سرخ ہے آہن
کھلنے لگے قفلوں کے دہانے
پھیلا ہر اک زنجیر کا دامن
بول یہ تھوڑا وقت بہت ہے
جسم و زباں کی موت سے پہلے
بول کہ سچ زندہ ہے اب تک
بول جو کچھ کہنا ہے کہہ لے
SOPHOCLES TRANSLATIONS
These are my modern English translations of ancient Greek poems and epigrams by Sophocles, including antinatalist poems and epigrams.
It’s a hundred times better not be born;
but if we cannot avoid the light,
the path of least harm is swiftly to return
to death’s eternal night!
Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), Oedipus at Colonus, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Not to have been born is best,
and blessed
beyond the ability of words to express.
—Sophocles, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Snow
Snowflakes fall on the ground like
Wisdom that needs to be spread.
The fatter ones are the harshest ones,
And those are the ones that need to be said.
The tiniest flakes are the one-liners,
The bits of truths we learn every day
That sprinkle knowledge in my hair.
People avoid harsh truths,
But sometimes the truth is dressed as
A winter wonderland,
And sometimes that makes it
Easier to swallow.
I welcome snow on cold mornings.
It makes coming to life a lot simpler
Snow
Snowflakes fall on the ground like
Wisdom that needs to be spread.
The fatter ones are the harshest ones,
And those are the ones that need to be said.
The tiniest flakes are the one-liners,
The bits of truths we learn every day
That sprinkle knowledge in my hair.
People avoid harsh truths,
But sometimes the truth is dressed as
A winter wonderland,
And sometimes that makes it
Easier to swallow.
I welcome snow on cold mornings.
It makes coming to life a lot simpler
Perfect Person.
You say it to yourself, that wish you dream
Translations Dante - Inferno, Canto XXVI
Florence, rejoice! For thou o'er land and sea
So spread'st thy pinions that the fame of thee
Hath reached no less into the depths of Hell.
So noble were the five I found to dwell
Therein -- thy sons -- whence shame accrues to me
And no great praise is thine; but if it be
That truth unveil in dreamings before dawn,
Then is the vengeful hour not far withdrawn
When Prato shall exult within her walls
To see thy suffering. Whate'er befalls,
Let it come soon, since come it must, for later,
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Two Wishes XI
In the silence of the night Death descended from God toward the earth. He hovered above a city and pierced the dwellings with his eyes. He say the spirits floating on wings of dreams, and the people who were surrendered to the Slumber.
When the moon fell below the horizon and the city became black, Death walked silently among the houses -- careful to touch nothing -- until he reached a palace. He entered through the bolted gates undisturbed, and stood by the rich man's bed; and as Death touched his forehead, the sleeper's eyes opened, showing great fright.
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Two Portraits
You say, as one who shapes a life,
That you will never be a wife,
And, laughing lightly, ask my aid
To paint your future as a maid.
This is the portrait; and I take
The softest colors for your sake:
The springtime of your soul is dead,
And forty years have bent your head;
The lines are firmer round your mouth,
But still its smile is like the South.
Your eyes, grown deeper, are not sad,
Yet never more than gravely glad;
And the old charm still lurks within
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