Translating from one language to another, unless it is from Greek and Latin, the queens of all languages, is like looking at Flemish tapestries from the wrong side, for although the figures are visible, they are covered by threads that obscure them, and cannot be seen with the smoothness and color of the right side. - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote
Ironic perhaps that I start this review with a quote in translation to critique this book, but allow me to proceed. Translation is always a messy task. There are words and phrases that do not neatly translate from one tongue to another. Something is always lost and there are compromises to be made. Add to this that sometimes translators want to bring the poetry of an earlier time into the modern period, or bring it from one culture to another. I get into all of this in some detail in my reviews of four different translations of Rimbaud that I have read. A good translation can sometimes improve on the original, as some have said of Scott Moncrieff's translation of Proust into English. In most cases, something makes the original work lose something of its magic. In all cases, something is lost (for better or worse).
So it is with Coleman Barks' "translations" of the poetry of Rumi. I put translations into quotes because Barks does not speak or read Persian (Farsi). He instead relies on several other translations to modernize the works of Rumi for the 20th and 21st century U.S. American reader. As if the method itself were not controversial enough, he is also known for de-Islamifying Rumi's works to a great extent.
That said, the translations and commentary are still something of beauty, but more a strange amalgamation of Barks' own words and his readings of various translations of Rumi's poetry. There's something beautiful to be found here, but don't expect to find Rumi, but rather the shadow of his shadow. There is something of Rumi to be found in these pages, no doubt, but it is a passing taste, a fleeting scent, a shadow cast briefly on the wall.
As someone who knows a bit of Persian, I can say: this is not Rumi, this is rather a weird collection of barely coherent free verses and even weirder essays written by the translator. Who didn’t forget to put his nice photo on the cover.
I got into Rumi during the pandemic when I also got into a bunch of spiritual new-age stuff. I’m not into spiritual new-age stuff anymore but I’m still into Rumi.
Since the early phase of my teenager, I started to read Arabic poems & poets and I know that they are something! It just feel so — awful, beautiful, and blissful. I found myself thinking twice — sometimes even more, just to trying get my own perspective regarding those. But ah, this one, so well-translated. I still can feel Rumi’s flavour in every sentences in this book.
One of its breathtaking paragraph: “A thousand half-loves must be forsaken to take one whole heart home. Let the lover be disgraceful, crazy, absentminded. Someone sober will worry about things going badly. Let the lover be. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.”
this book came at such a good time. i’ve tried to pick it up a couple different times but it never stuck. now i would read parts of it and cry and make notes. i remember when it used to be really hard for me to cry but i feel like my hearts cracked open. this made me recognise things about love and god, the grief in loving, the abandon and honesty and courage it takes to love and accept love. the joy in solitude and silence. it made me think of junnade.