The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

By Omar Khayyam

"Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam" is the title that Edward FitzGerald gave to his translation of a selection of poems, originally written in Persian and numbering about a thousand, attributed to Omar Khayyam (1048–1131), a Persian poet, mathematician and astronomer. A 'ruba'i' is a two-line stanza with two parts per line, hence the word rubáiyát (derived from the Arabic language root for "four"), meaning "quatrains".  As a work of eng literature FitzGerald's version is a high point of the 19th century and has been greatly influential. Indeed, the term "Rubaiyat" by itself has come to be used to describe the quatrain rhyme scheme that FitzGerald used in his translations: AABA.
(Excerpt from Wikipedia)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Otbebookpublishing
• Release date: Dec 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9783956761577

Omar Khayyam

Omar Khayyam (18 May 1048 – 4 December 1131) was a Persian mathematician, astronomer, and poet. He was born in Nishapur, in northeastern Iran, and spent most of his life near the court of the Karakhanid and Seljuq rulers in the period which witnessed the First Crusade. (Wikipedia)

Book preview

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

By Omar Khayyam

Rendered into English Verse by Edward Fitzgerald

Contents

Introduction

Footnotes:

First Edition

Fifth Edition

Notes:

Introduction

Omar Khayyam, The Astronomer-Poet of Persia.

Omar Khayyam was born at Naishapur in Khorassan in the latter half of our Eleventh, and died within the First Quarter of our Twelfth Century. The Slender Story of his Life is curiously twined about that of two other very considerable Figures in their Time and Country: one of whom tells the Story of all Three. This was Nizam ul Mulk, Vizier to Alp Arslan the Son, and Malik Shah the Grandson, of Toghrul Beg the Tartar, who had wrested Persia from the feeble Successor of Mahmud the Great, and founded that Seljukian Dynasty which finally roused Europe into the Crusades. This Nizam ul Mulk, in his Wasiyat—or Testament—which he wrote and left as a Memorial for future Statesmen—relates the following, as quoted in the Calcutta Review, No. 59, from Mirkhond's History of the Assassins.

'One of the greatest of the wise men of Khorassan was the Imam Mowaffak of Naishapur, a man highly honored and reverenced,—may God rejoice his soul; his illustrious years exceeded eighty-five, and it was the universal belief that every boy who read the Koran or studied the traditions in his presence, would assuredly attain to honor and happiness. For this cause did my father send me from Tus to Naishapur with Abd-us-samad, the doctor of law, that I might employ myself in study and learning under the guidance of that illustrious teacher. Towards me he ever turned an eye of favor and kindness, and as his pupil I felt for him extreme affection and devotion, so that I passed four years in his service. When I first came there, I found two other pupils of mine own age newly arrived, Hakim Omar Khayyam, and the ill- fated Ben Sabbah. Both were endowed with sharpness of wit and the highest natural powers; and we three formed a close friendship together. When the Imam rose from his lectures, they used to join me, and we repeated to each other the lessons we had heard. Now Omar was a native of Naishapur, while Hasan Ben Sabbah's father was one Ali, a man of austere life and practise, but heretical in his creed and doctrine. One day Hasan said to me and to Khayyam, It is a universal belief that the pupils of the Imam Mowaffak will attain to fortune. Now, even if we all do not attain thereto, without doubt one of us will; what then shall be our mutual pledge and bond? We answered, Be it what you please. Well, he said, let us make a vow, that to whomsoever this fortune falls, he shall share it equally with the rest, and reserve no pre-eminence for himself. Be it so," we both replied, and on those terms we mutually pledged our words. Years rolled on, and I went from Khorassan to Transoxiana, and wandered to Ghazni and Cabul; and when I returned, I was invested with office, and rose to be administrator of affairs during the Sultanate of Sultan Alp Arslan.'

"He goes on to state, that years passed by, and both his old school- friends found him out, and came and claimed a share in his good fortune, according to the school-day vow. The Vizier was generous and kept his word. Hasan demanded a place in the government, which the Sultan granted at the Vizier's request; but discontented with a

Reviews for The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

[zasmine_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Excellent Luminous Poetry.

[lisamaria_c · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is the poetry of Omar Khayyam, a Persian poet and scientist who lived from 1048-1131. He actually wrote one of the most important treatises on Algebra before modern times. The very name "Ruba'yat" actually comes from an Arab word for "four" and refers to the quatrain structure and was given to a selection of Khayyam's poems by Edward Fitzgerald, who first popularized the poems in the West with his translations into English in editions published from 1895 to 1889. The most famous verses of this translation would be recognized by many:A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and ThouBeside me singing in the Wilderness--Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!However famous though, Fitzgerald's version famously took many liberties. The translation I have on my shelves is by Peter Avery and John Heath-Stubbs, and purports to be as faithful as possible to the original. So the lines above are rendered: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.The Avery/Heath-Stubbs version has the reputation of being more restrained, and I think that's captured in the two quotations. Actually, that does make me want to seek out Fitzgerald's version, even if it's more romantic Victorian than true to the original. But the Avery/Heath-Stubbs was the version through which I became acquainted with this poetry, and I found it beautiful. I picked it up because The Ruba'yat was on a list of "100 Significant Books" in Good Reading only to find myself entranced. It's a very slim volume of 104 pages of 235 quatrains.

[rmmee · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The trouble is that we are all reviewing different versions. Mine is the 75 stanza first edition of Fitzgerald's verse translation, reproduced by the Folio Society in 1955. It is a lovely little book (so little that it only took me 30 minutes to read it). And it has nice 10th century Persian illustrations. But as for the actual poetry, I can't find any major praises to sing about it. It is certainly worth glancing through, but unless you are an afficianado, this is not something I would strongly recommend.

[rhydtybyans · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This translation by Peter Avery and John Heath-Stubbs presents a work very different in tone from that presented by Edward Fitzgerald.The tone of this version is cool, wry, sardonic, self-restrained, self-possessed, and by necessity resigned, whereas for me the tone of the Fitzgerald version is wild, excessive, romantic, unrestrained and, for all the words to the contrary, rebellious.I admire and enjoy both versions, but nowadays I much prefer the Avery and Heath-Stubbs version.I remember, back in the day when I was at varsity and a student in the English III class, a very disparaging, offhand remark made about Fitzgerald's "Ruba'iyat" by a Professor during a lecture: she dismissed it contemptuously as being not worthy to be called poetry. Well, I'm happy to be able to report that her opinion had no effect on me :)

[edwin6gleaves · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is not the Edward Fitzgerald translation of "The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam of Naishapur" but an Iranian production in Persian, English, French, German, and Arabic, with introductory material in the Western languages, including a "Pubishers' Foreward" [sic] in English. The illustrations are tantalizingly lovely and well preserved. A section on "Omar Khayam: The Sage" appears in Persian at the end of the book.

[sashame-485567 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

lots of this is super super beautiful, but the lack of class consciousness and un-critical obsession w alcohol both started to get to me :/

[michael5rimmer · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Having loved Edward FitzGerald's free translation of these verses for many years, I wanted to read a more literal translation, which I got with this edition.

Initially, I wasn't taken: the verses were stark and plain for the most part, and there was no real connection between one quatrain and the next. But I persevered and as the memory of FitzGerald receded somewhat, I was able to enjoy the poems on their own terms. The humour and beauty of the "originals" (as close as a non-Persian speaker can get to the originals, anyway) shone through and won me over.

It was fun, too, to recognise some old friends in new clothes.

The translators' fascinating introduction and appendices were worth the price of the book by themselves, enhancing enjoyment of the verses by giving some context.

I guess I still prefer FitzGerald's translation because it's the one I've grown up with, but I will definitely revisit this edition, too.

[gbill_7 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Omar Khayyam wrote the poems that make up “The Ruba’iyat” over the course of his life about a thousand years ago in what is now Iran (1048-1131). He was an astronomer and mathematician in addition to being a poet; his religious views are subject to debate but it’s clear they were not orthodox. Some see him as a Sufi mystic, others as a humanist skeptic, regardless, his poetry is enjoyable and speaks to me across the centuries. The predominant theme is a recognition of the transience of life; Khayyam tells us to be happy and enjoy ourselves before we pass on, as those who came before us have. This is also a very beautiful edition which includes a large number of Persian paintings in color.Quotes:On happiness in the now:“Go for pleasure, life only gives a moment,Its every atom from a Kaikobad’s or a Jamshid’s dust;The world’s phenomena and life’s essenceAre all a dream, a fancy, and a moment’s deception.”“These few odd days of life have passedLike water down the brook, wind across the desert;There are two days I have never been plagued with regret for,Yesterday that has gone, tomorrow that will come.”“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.”On sleep:“I was asleep, a wise man said to me‘The rose of joy does not bloom for slumberers;Why are you asleep? Sleep is the image of death,Drink wine, below the ground you must sleep of necessity.’”On death:“Though you may have lain with a mistress all your life,Tasted the sweets of the world all your life;Still the end of the affair will be your departure – It was a dream that you dreamed all your life.”On the passing of youth:“When we were children we went to the Master for a time,For a time we were beguiled with our own mastery;Hear the end of the matter, what befell us; We came like water and we went like wind.”On drinking wine:“Oh heart you will not arrive at the solving of the riddle,You will not reach the goal the wise in their subtlety seek;Make do here with wine and the cup of bliss,For you may and you may not arrive at bliss hereafter.”“Drinking wine and consorting with good fellowsIs better than practicing the ascetic’s hypocrisy;If the lover and drunkard are to be among the damnedThen no one will see the face of heaven.”“I drink no wine, but not because I’m poor,Nor get drunk, though not through fear of scandal;I drank to lighten my heartBut now that you have settled in my heart, I drink no more.”On meaninglessness:“What have you to do with Being, friend,And empty opinions about the notion of mind and spirit?Joyfully live and let the world pass happily,The beginning of the matter was not arranged with you in mind.”On the transience of life, wow I love this one:“Every particle of dust on a patch of earthWas a sun-cheek or brow of the morning star;Shake the dust off your sleeve carefully – That too was a delicate, fair face.” As well as this one: “The globe is the image of a ball compacted of our bones,The Oxus, a trickle of our distilled tears;Hell is a spark from our consuming torrents,Paradise, a moment from our space of reprieve.”