رباعيات خيام

رباعيات خيام

The rubaiyat are a series of poems or 'stanzas' by the famous 12th century Persian atronomer and philosopherThe Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (Persian: ) 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 Khayyám (10481131), a Persian poet, mathematician and astronomer. A ruba'i is a two-line stanza with two parts (or hemistichs) per line, hence the word rubáiyát (derived from the Arabic language root for "four"), meaning "quatrains". (Courtesy: Wikipedia)()

Reviews of the رباعيات خيام

You know how little while we have to stay, And, once departed, may return no more." IV Now the New Year reviving old Desires, The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires, Where the White Hand Of Moses on the Bough Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires. V Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose, And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows; But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine, And many a Garden by the Water blows, VI And David's lips are lockt; but in divine High-piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! VII Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time bas but a little way To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing. VIII Whether at Naishapur or Babylon, Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run, The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one. XIV Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo, Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow, At once the silken tassel of my Purse Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw." XV And those who husbanded the Golden grain, And those who flung it to the winds like Rain, Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd As, buried once, Men want dug up again. XVI The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon, Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face, Lighting a little hour or two--is gone. XXI Ah, my Belov'ed fill the Cup that clears To-day Past Regrets and Future Fears: To-morrow!--Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years. XXXII There was the Door to which I found no Key; There was the Veil through which I might not see: Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee There was--and then no more of Thee and Me. XXXIII Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn; Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal'd And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn. XXXIV Then of the Thee in Me works behind The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find A Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard, As from Without--"The Me Within Thee Blind!" XXXV Then to the lip of this poor earthen Urn I lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn: And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you live Drink!--for, once dead, you never shall return." XXXVI I think the Vessel, that with fugitive Articulation answer'd, once did live, And drink; and Ah! XXXVII For I remember stopping by the way To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay: And with its all-obliterated Tongue It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!" XXXVIII And has not such a Story from of Old Down Man's successive generations roll'd Of such a clod of saturated Earth Cast by the Maker into Human mould? XL As then the Tulip for her morning sup Of Heav'nly Vintage from the soil looks up, Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav'n To Earth invert you--like an empty Cup. XLI Perplext no more with Human or Divine, To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign, And lose your fingers in the tresses of The Cypress--slender Minister of Wine. XLII And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press End in what All begins and ends in--Yes; Think then you are To-day what Yesterday You were--To-morrow You shall not be less. XLIII So when that Angel of the darker Drink At last shall find you by the river-brink, And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul Forth to your Lips to quaff--you shall not shrink. L A Hair perhaps divides the False and True; Yes; and a single Alif were the clue-- Could you but find it--to the Treasure-house, And peradventure to The Master too; LI Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veins Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains; Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and They change and perish all--but He remains; LII A moment guess'd--then back behind the Fold Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd Which, for the Pastime of Eternity, He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold. LIII But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door You gaze To-day, while You are You--how then To-morrow, You when shall be You no more? LVIII And lately, by the Tavern Door agape, Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and He bid me taste of it; and 'twas--the Grape! LXII I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must, Scared by some After-reckoning ta'en on trust, Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink, To fill the Cup--when crumbled into Dust! LXVIII We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show; LXIX But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays. LXXIII With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead, And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed: And the first Morning of Creation wrote What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read. He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well." LXXXIX "Well," Murmur'd one, "Let whoso make or buy, My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry: But fill me with the old familiar juice, Methinks I might recover by and by." XC So while the Vessels one by one were speaking, The little Moon look'd in that all were seeking: And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother!

If you're translating a moving epic love poem, the language model should measure the probability that a string of words is a moving epic love poem. Even requiring a text string to be a sexy joke is a strong constraint. Your optimum tradeoff point is most likely going to have a lowish P(f e), and hence be fairly non-literal. So the optimum tradeoff point will most likely have an even lower P(f e), and hence be even less literal.

You know how little while we have to stay, And, once departed, may return no more." IV Now the New Year reviving old Desires, The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires, Where the White Hand Of Moses on the Bough Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires. V Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose, And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows; But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine, And many a Garden by the Water blows, VI And David's lips are lockt; but in divine High-piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! XIV Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo, Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow, At once the silken tassel of my Purse Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw." XV And those who husbanded the Golden grain, And those who flung it to the winds like Rain, Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd As, buried once, Men want dug up again. XXI Ah, my Belov'ed fill the Cup that clears To-day Past Regrets and Future Fears: To-morrow!--Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years. XXXII There was the Door to which I found no Key; There was the Veil through which I might not see: Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee There was--and then no more of Thee and Me. XXXIII Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn; Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal'd And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn. XXXIV Then of the Thee in Me works behind The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find A Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard, As from Without--"The Me Within Thee Blind!" XXXV Then to the lip of this poor earthen Urn I lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn: And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you live Drink!--for, once dead, you never shall return." XXXVI I think the Vessel, that with fugitive Articulation answer'd, once did live, And drink; and Ah! XXXVII For I remember stopping by the way To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay: And with its all-obliterated Tongue It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!" XXXVIII And has not such a Story from of Old Down Man's successive generations roll'd Of such a clod of saturated Earth Cast by the Maker into Human mould? XL As then the Tulip for her morning sup Of Heav'nly Vintage from the soil looks up, Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav'n To Earth invert you--like an empty Cup. XLI Perplext no more with Human or Divine, To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign, And lose your fingers in the tresses of The Cypress--slender Minister of Wine. XLII And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press End in what All begins and ends in--Yes; Think then you are To-day what Yesterday You were--To-morrow You shall not be less. XLIII So when that Angel of the darker Drink At last shall find you by the river-brink, And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul Forth to your Lips to quaff--you shall not shrink. L A Hair perhaps divides the False and True; Yes; and a single Alif were the clue-- Could you but find it--to the Treasure-house, And peradventure to The Master too; LI Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veins Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains; Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and They change and perish all--but He remains; LII A moment guess'd--then back behind the Fold Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd Which, for the Pastime of Eternity, He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold. LIII But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door You gaze To-day, while You are You--how then To-morrow, You when shall be You no more? LVIII And lately, by the Tavern Door agape, Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and He bid me taste of it; and 'twas--the Grape! LXII I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must, Scared by some After-reckoning ta'en on trust, Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink, To fill the Cup--when crumbled into Dust! LXVIII We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show; LXIX But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays. LXXIII With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead, And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed: And the first Morning of Creation wrote What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read. LXXIV Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare; To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair: Drink! He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well." LXXXIX "Well," Murmur'd one, "Let whoso make or buy, My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry: But fill me with the old familiar juice, Methinks I might recover by and by." XC So while the Vessels one by one were speaking, The little Moon look'd in that all were seeking: And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother!

Outside Iran and Persian speaking countries, Khayyám has had impact on literature and societies through translation and works of scholars.