Nov 20, 2015, 5:01 AM |

Not willing are they to greet you, to say hello

Heads are thrust in collars,
No one dares to raise his head,
To reply and meet his friends,
Eyes can see one’s steps, no more,
The road is slippery and dark, be sure.
And if you stretch out your affectionate hand,
Reluctantly they will stretch out theirs from their side;
For the cold is nipping and wide.
Breath, coming out of warm chamber of breast, is a dark cloud,
And stands before your eyes like a shroud.
Now that breath is so dark and morose,
In vain is your expectation from friends, distant or close.
O, my brave Messiah,
O, the old Christian in the sullied robe,
The weather is so cruelly cold.
May your breath be lively!
And yourself be merry and sprightly!
Return my greeting, open the door mildly!
It is me, me.
Your every night’s guest, grievous and drunken-like.
It is me, the afflicted kicked stone,
It is me, the mean curse of creation, the unpleasant tone.
I am neither white nor black,
But true, of no color.
Come! Open the door! Open!
I am heavy-hearted.
O partner, O host,
Your monthly and yearly guest,
Is trembling like a wave, behind the door with no rest.
No hail, no death,
If a sound you are hearing,
It is the teeth and cold chattering.
Tonight I am here to pay my debt,
To put your sum beside the goblet.
Why are you telling it is ill-timed, dawn is here, here is sunrise?
You are being cheated.
It is not the rosy-hue in the sky after dawn.
O partner!
It is the frost-bitten ear,
The keepsake of winter’s cold slap on the ear,
And the narrow-scope sky candle, dead or alive, is hidden,
In nine-fold, death-plated, sturdy darkness coffin.
O, partner!
The fire of wine, inflame!
Cause day and night are the same.
Not willing are they to greet you, to say hello
Stuffy is the air,
Closed are the doors,
Drooped are the heads,
Hidden are the hands,
Clouds are the breaths,
Heavy and tired are the hearts,
Crystalline skeletons are the trees,
Desperate is the earth,
Low is the sky-ceiling.
Dusty are the moon and the Sol,
It is winter.
Another version of the translation:
Thrusting their heads in their collars,
They won’t greet you back.
No head is raised to greet and meet friends.
As the road is dark and slippery,
The eyes could hardly see.
If you stretch your hands in affection towards someone,
As it is freezing cold,
He will unwillingly take out his hands from his warm pockets.
Exhaled by the warmth of the bosom,
The breath becomes a dark cloud
And rises before your eyes as a wall.
What do you expect your far or close friends to do,
When your breath behaves as such?
My fair Messiah!
Ah, aged Christian in grubby garments!
Oh … it is bitterly cold!
Best wishes and Good luck to you!
Open the door and answer me!
It’s me, your night-guest, a dejected bohemian,
It’s me, an infirm kicked stone,
It’s me, the humble curse of creation, an inharmonious melody.
Neither a Roman nor an African, I’m utterly without bias.
Come and open the door! I’m desolate.
Ah, my companion and host!
Your guest of month and years
Is shivering as ripples
In front of the door.
There is no hail and no death,
If you hear a sound it is the conversation between teeth and chill.
I have come tonight to pay back my debts to you
And clear our accounts.
Do you say it’s too late, it’s dawn, the morn is at hand?
You are deluded, this is not the scarlet after the dawn.
My companion! This is a chill-struck ear,
The memento of winter’s cold smack.
The lantern of the sky, living or dead, is hidden
In the labyrinthine thick coffin of gloom, besmeared with death.
My companion! Go and kindle the light of wine,
Night is indistinguishable from the day.
They won’t greet you back.
The weather is dismal, the doors are closed,
The heads thrust in collars, the hands hidden.
The breath is a cloud, the hearts are heavy,
The trees crystalline skeletons,
The earth is dead-hearted, the sky’s vault low,
The moon and sun are hazy,
It’s winter.
سلامت را نمی خواهند پاسخ گفت

سرها در گریبان است

کسی سر بر نیارد کرد پاسخ گفتن و دیدار یاران را

نگه جز پیش پا را دید، نتواند

که ره تاریک و لغزان است

وگر دست محبت سوی کسی یازی

به اکراه آورد دست از بغل بیرون

که سرما سخت سوزان است

نفس، کز گرمگاه سینه می آید برون، ابری شود تاریک

چو دیوار ایستد در پیش چشمانت

نفس کاین است، پس دیگر چه داری چشم

ز چشم دوستان دور یا نزدیک ؟

مسیحای جوانمرد من ! ای ترسای پیر پیرهن چرکین

هوا بس ناجوانمردانه سرد است ... آی ...

دمت گرم و سرت خوش باد

سلامم را تو پاسخ گوی، در بگشای

منم من، میهمان هر شبت، لولی وش مغموم

منم من، سنگ تیپاخورده ی رنجور

منم، دشنام پست آفرینش، نغمه ی ناجور

نه از رومم، نه از زنگم، همان بیرنگ بیرنگم

بیا بگشای در، بگشای، دلتنگم

حریفا ! میزبانا ! میهمان سال و ماهت پشت در چون موج می لرزد

تگرگی نیست، مرگی نیست

صدایی گر شنیدی، صحبت سرما و دندان است

من امشب آمدستم وام بگذارم

حسابت را کنار جام بگذارم

چه می گویی که بیگه شد، سحر شد، بامداد آمد ؟

فریبت می دهد، بر آسمان این سرخی بعد از سحرگه نیست

حریفا ! گوش سرما برده است این، یادگار سیلی سرد زمستان است

و قندیل سپهر تنگ میدان، مرده یا زنده

به تابوت ستبر ظلمت نه توی مرگ اندود، پنهان است

حریفا ! رو چراغ باده را بفروز، شب با روز یکسان است

سلامت را نخواهند پاسخ گفت

هوا دلگیر، درها بسته، سرها در گریبان، دستها پنهان

نفسها ابر، دلها خسته و غمگین

درختان اسکلتهای بلور آجین

زمین دلمرده، سقف آسمان کوتاه

غبار آلوده مهر و ماه

زمستان است.