hatstuck snarl

theoretically, a hairstyling salon


Fooling around with one of Emerson's retranslations from Hafiz via the German of Joseph von Hammer, I came up with a version of my own.

The first two versions are Emerson's, the second of which surfaces in his essay "Persian Poetry"; the third is my revision of his previous efforts:

In the garden goes now the wind over the water
To file and to polish the cheeks of the pond.
On tulips plays now the reflection of fire
Which plays now no more in chimney and hearth.
He who yesterday withdrew himself from affairs,
Him now desire sets again in activity.


O’er the garden water goes the wind alone
To rasp and polish the cheek of the wave;
The fire is quenched on the dear hearthstone,
But it burns again on the tulips brave.


Wind on the water teases the cheeks of the pond, while
a tulip reflecting a cold flame quivers. He
who yesterday withdrew to the hearth,
today responds to an inner fever.


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