This translation changes god to "Christ" with all the accompanying errors. ( )

Try as I might, I just couldn't get into these poems. Between the frustrating and childish layout and the fact that the obsession with god lacks explanation for why the poet is obsessed with god. Didn't do it for me and I gave up. ( )

mystical poems of Persian poet

“I am
A hole in a flute
That the Christ’s breath moves through—
Listen to this
Music.”

These few lines made me buy this book. Hafiz is a loving and cherished spiritual guide for humanity. In various cultures for centuries, he has been referred to as the “Tongue of the Invisible,” because he still sings passionate, wild love songs to God. He asks us to join him in praising the many wonderful things in life. With every flag, chapel sound, tomb, masjid, and politician's brain being served, I vote for inscribing these words of Hafiz on every one: Dear ones, let's depose this earth with dance!

A collection of 250 poems from the Sufi master Hafiz, who lived in the 14th century in what is now Iran. Unfortunately the vast majority of his output was destroyed by clerics and rulers who did not approve of it, and in what survives we can get glimpses of why that happened, since he wrote about enlightenment in a way that transcended the usual dogma. The sense of seeing God in everyone and everything, of delighting in life’s pleasures, and of using spiritual discipline to overcome our baser instincts all come through. I think the book’s length begins to work against it a little bit, as even with breaks, it begins to be repetitive, and I found my response to them was pretty uneven. They are ambiguous in the way that Rumi’s poems are which is lovely, but there is often a sense of Hafiz proclaiming himself to be the true spiritual teacher to listen to, which I didn’t care much for.

The translation from Ladinsky is certainly heartfelt, but I also disliked the occasional use of modern phrases (though he does provide an explanation for his thought process in the preface). I found his explanation for the number of chapters in the introduction off-putting (“Well, would it make sense if I said that I felt Hafiz didn’t want anything to get sore. That is, some honeymooners could benefit with a room-service waiter knocking now and then…”). It kind of gave the impression of one moved by the poet, but less scholarly in his approach. The result of it all was a mixed bag – certainly worth reading, but it fell a little short of being something I’d recommend without reservations.

Here’s one of the poems I liked the most:

Where is the door to God?
In the sound of a barking dog,
In the ring of a hammer,
In a drop of rain,
In the face of
Everyone
I see.

Here’s another:

Where does the real poetry
Come from?

From the amorous sighs
In this moist dark when making love
With form or
Spirit.

Where does poetry live?

In the eye that says, “Wow wee,”
In the overpowering felt splendor
Every sane mind knows
When it realizes – our life dance
Is only for a few magic
Seconds,

From the heart saying,
Shouting,

“I am so damn
Alive.” ( )