Some time ago I came across a slightly tattered book in a second-hand bookstore nearby my house. It was published by the Peter Pauper Press and though old and not in mint condition held me strangely captivated almost directly. The title was nothing more but an explanation of its genre; the “Rubaiyat” of Omar Khayyam. A Rubaiyat is a form of poetry, a collection of small poems having only four lines which were originally written in the Persian language. This particular edition was named by Edward Fitzgerald whose English translation of selected ruba’i by the poet Omar Khayyam was popularised from 1860 onwards. As a poetic collection it is all about enjoying life and pleasures to the extend of seeming materialistic. Nevertheless in its themes of regret, doubt and fear one can discern deep existential questions.
The edition which reached my hands follows Fitzgerald’s first edition and connects the separate epigrams into a connected poem. It begins with a call directed perhaps to an unsuspecting reader to awake and direct his attention towards the beauties of the world. The natural flow from night to day, the voices coming from taverns summoning people to a pleasure-seeking life since life is short and once one has lost it may never return to enjoy it. The poet seems to find the meaning of life in a cup of wine which contains the fire of youth which fast departs and leaves us bitter if we haven’t drunk it fully, rich and poor alike.
Paradise is not to be found in another dimension of existence, nor is it a metaphysical state. It is but the food we enjoy, alcohol to make us susceptible to a light-hearted mood and “a Book of Verse” to satisfy the hungry mind in the wilderness of this world in the here and now. Music and laughter and to forget the worries of the present day, not thinking of the days to come because “To-morrow? To-morrow [one] may be [one’s]self with Yesterday’s Sev’n Thousand Years”. Even the loves we had have come to be things that have crept to rest before ourselves; saints and saints and evil-doers as well.
Is then the poem nihilistic? In my opinion, no. It just directs attention to the moment, not focusing on what is to come, something akin to mindfulness, making one who follows its advice more present and detached. People interested in poetry shall enjoy it greatly, especially taking into consideration that it is something almost exotic to the eyes of Westerners. There are classics worth reading outside the scope of European or American perspectives and the Rubaiyat is among them.
