kurdish poet Baba Tahir (ca. 1000-1060 AD) of Hamadan (Hemedan, Ekbatan in Median era) is one of the very first poets in the East to write rubaiyats. Little is known of the circumstances of Baba Tahir's birth and death. Baba Tahir’s rusticity and mastery of both Kurdish (Lekí dialect), Persian (and Arabic) have rendered his works unusually dear to the common people of both nations.Lak or lek is one of the ethnicities of Kurd.And Laki is one of the dialects of Kurdish. His particular poetic meter is perhaps a legacy of the pre-Islamic poetic tradition of southeastern and central Kurdistan, or the celebrated "Pehlewíyat/Fehlewíyat," or more specific the "Ewranet" style of balladry. Many Yarisan (Yaristan) religious works and Jilwa, the holy hymns of the Yezidi prophet Shaykh Adi, are also in this Pehlewíyat style of verse. Baba Tahir himself has now ascended to a high station in the indigenous Kurdish religion of Yarisanism as one of the avatars of the Universal Spirit.
Baba Tahir Oryan's mysticism, philosophy, and sentiments are captured in quatrains of simple and uniform metre.He was considered by his contemporaries as one of the most eminent, erudite mystics and sentimentalists of his time.
It was reconstructed in 1970. Baba Tahir, living in the first half of the 11th centuray A.D. was one of the great gnostics of Yaristan to which the gnostics dynesty of Kurdistan such as Eyn-ol-Quzat Hemedaní, also a gnostic, belonged. Songs and maxims of Baba Tahir was originally read in Pehlewí (Pahlawi), kurdish taken their present form in the course of time. Baba Tahir's hand written manuscript still remained and preserved in the library of Konya in Turkey. It is obvious since the manuscripts are written in Persian (modified Arabic) alphabet, many rewritten attempts of Baba Tahir's by none expertise of Kurdish Lekí dialect resulted in the mispronunciations of verses. Here is the translation of one of Baba Tahir's
Tomb of Baba Tahir.
Poetry
Baba Tahir poems are recited to the present day all over Iran accompanied with setar, three stringed viol or lute.The quatrains of Baba Tahir have a more amorous and mystical connotation rather than philosophical.Baba Tahir's poetry is the basis for Dastgahe Shoor and in particular Gooshe of Dashtestani, Choopani and Deylaman.[citation needed]
Writing
Attributed to him is a work by the name Kalemat-e qesaar, a collection of nearly 400 aphorisms inArabic, which has been the subject of commentaries, one allegedly by Ayn-al-Qozμat Hamadani.[4] An example of such a saying is one where Baba Tahir ties knowledge with gnosis: Knowledge is the guide to gnosis, and when gnosis has come the vision of knowledge lapses and there remain only the movements of knowledge to gnosis”; “knowledge is the crown of the gnostic, and gnosis is the crown of knowledge”; whoever witnesses what is decreed by God remains motionless and powerless.Histomb is located near the northern entrance of the city of Hamadan in Western Iran, in a park, surrounded by flowers and winding paths. The structure consists of twelve external pillars surrounding a central tower. It was reconstructed in 1970.
Sample Poetry
Original in Persian or kurdish languge alphabet:
...poet
Translation:
Art thou a lion or leapoard, O Heart, O Heart,
That thou warres ever with me, O Heart, O Heart?
Fall thou into my hands; I'll spill thy blood,
To see what colour it is, O Heart, O Heart!
Original:
...
Translation:
Lord! who am I, and of what company?
How long shall tears of blood thus blind mine eyes?
When other refuge fails I'll turn to Thee,
And if Thou failest me, whither shall I go?
Original:
...
Translation:
I am that sea and have come into a bowl;
I am that dot and have come into a letter;
in every thousand one straight-as-an-alef (alef-qadd) appears;
I am that straight one, for I came in a thousand
Original:
...
Translation:
Grieving for thee my heart is ever sad,
A brick my pillow, and my couch the earth:
My only sin is loving thee too well:
Surely not all thy lovers suffer so?
Original:
...
Translation:
More than a thousand hearts has thou laid waste,
More than a thousand suffer grief for thee,
More than a thousand wounds of thine I've counted,
Yet the uncounted still are more than these.
Original:
...
Translation:
Black is my lot, my fortune's overtuned,
Ruined are my fortunes, for my luck is brought low;
A thorn, a thistle I, on the Mountain of Love,
For my heart's sake. Drown it in blood, O Lord!
Original:
...
Translation:
My Beautiful! thou hast my heart and soul,
Thou hast mine inner and mine outer self;
I know not why I am so very sad,
I only know that thou hold'st the remedy.
Original:
...
Translation:
My heart is dainty as a drinking cup,
I fear for it whene'er I have a sigh;
It is not strange my tears are as blood,
I am a tree whose roots set in blood.
Original:
...
Translation:
Thy tangled Curls are scattered o'er thy face,
Mingling the Roses with the Hyacinths;
But part asunder those entangled strand
On ever hair thou'lt find there hangs a heart. (Translation by: Edward Heron-Allen)
Original:
...
Translation:
Briar and thorn beset thy way, o Heart
Beyond the Dome of Heaven is thy road;
If thou art able, then thy very skin
Cast off from thee, and lighten thus thy load
Original:
...
Translation:
Beneath the tyranny of eyes and heart I cry,
For, all the eyes see, the heart stores up:
I'll fashin me a pointed sword of steel,
Put out mine eyes, and so set free my heart
Original:
...
Translation:
O heart of Stone, Thou burnest not for me,
That stone burns not, is not, indeed, so strange
But I will burn till I inflame thy heart.
For fresh-cut logs are difficult to burn alone.
Original:
...
Translation:
When thou’rt away, mine eyes o’erflow with tears,
Barren the Tree of Hope when thou’rt away:
Without thee, night and day, in a solitary corner,
I sit, till life itself come to an end.
Original:
...
Translation:
Without-Thee in the Garden, Lord, may no rose bloom,
Or, blooming, may none taste its sweet perfume,
So, should my heart expand when Thou art not nigh,
T were vain! my heart's grief nought could turn to joy
Original:
...
Translation:
What blundering Moth in all the World like me?
What madman like me in the Universe?
The very Serpents and the Ants have nests,
But I—poor wretch - no ruin shelters me.
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