My academic training, at Berkeley and Chapel Hill, was in American and twentieth-century literature. I had never even heard Rumi’s name until 1976, when Robert Bly handed me a copy of A. J. Arberry’s translations, saying, “These poems need to be released from their cages.” How any translator chooses to work on one poet, and not on others, is a mysterious thing. Some attunement must be there. I felt drawn immediately to the spaciousness and longing in Rumi’s poetry. I began to explore this new world, rephrasing Arberry’s English. I sent some of the early attempts to a friend who was teaching law at Rutgers-Camden. He, inexplicably, read them to his class. A young law student came up afterward, asked him for my address, and started writing, urging me to come meet his teacher in Philadelphia. When I finally did walk into the room where the Sri Lankan saint Bawa Muhaiyaddeen sat on his bed talking to a small group, I realized that I had met this man in a dream the year before. I can’t explain such an event, nor can I deny that it did happen. Bawa told me to continue with the Rumi work; “It has to be done.” But, he cautioned, “If you work on the words of a gnani, you must become a gnani,” a master. I did not become one of those, but for nine years, for four or five intervals during each year, I was in the presence of one.
Rumi says,
Mind does its fine-tuning hair-splitting,
but no craft or art begins
or can continue without a master
giving wisdom into it.
I would have little notion of what Rumi’s poetry is about or what it came out of if I were not connected to this sufi sheikh. Though it’s not necessary to use the word sufi. The work Bawa did and does with me is beyond religion. “Love is the religion, and the universe is the book.” Working on Rumi’s poetry deepens the inner companionship. My apprenticeship continues, and whatever else they are, these versions or translations or renderings or imitations are homage to a teacher. And yet not as a follower, more as a friend. In some way I am very grateful for, these poems feel as if they come as part of a continuing conversation rather than as language unilaterally produced. I once asked Bawa if what I saw in his eyes could someday come up behind my eyes and look out. He began to talk about the subtle relationship between a teacher and the community, “Not until the I becomes we.”
There was a childhood joke that I did not get until recently. At age six I was a geography freak. I memorized all the capitals of all the countries in the 1943 Rand McNally Atlas. I grew up on the campus of a boys’ school in Chattanooga, and the teachers were continually testing this odd expertise. “Bulgaria!” someone would call out across the quadrangle. “Sophia!” I would answer. I couldn’t be stumped, until the ecstatic trickster, James Pennington, went down in his basement Latin classroom and came up with a country that had no capital, on his map at least: Cappadocia. The look on my face, what I didn’t know, named me. From then on I was called “Cappadocia,” or “Capp.” I almost fell down a few years ago when I remembered the nickname and realized that the central city of that Anatolian area was Iconium, now Konya, where Rumi lived and is buried. Rumi means “the one from Roman Anatolia.” I don’t mean to claim a special relationship with Rumi. Mevlana’s poetry has been a large part of my life for twenty years. It has brought many friends and wonderful opportunities. But a poet of such astonishing range and depth needs many translators and interpreters. Mystical poetry tries to reveal the apple orchard within the mist of language (Rumi’s image). I hope these translations do not thicken that fog; I hope they burn it off! I do love the apples that Rumi loves. The synchronicities that introduced us continue to delight and exfoliate in wonderful ways. This work has involved a kind of emptying out, a surrender (despite the strutting of personal incidents here). That’s how the collaboration has felt. It’s also a form of healing, a way to play and praise, and an unfolding friendship with a teacher. Or just say that all these poems are love poems. Of course, they are, self to deep self, plural to singular, Coleman to Bawa, Rumi to Shams, I to you, Lover-beloved-love, ecstatic universes in synchrony. Rumi is God’s funny family on a big open radio line.
On the more literal level, the texts I work from to produce these poems are unpublished translations done by John Moyne, Emeritus Head of Linguistics at the City University of New York, and the following translations by Reynold Nicholson and A. J. Arberry, the famous Cambridge Islamicists:
The Mathnawi of Jalaluddin Rumi. Translated by Reynold Nicholson. 8 vols. London: Luzac, 1925–1940.
Mystical Poems of Rumi. Translated by A. J. Arberry. Persian Heritage Series, no. 3. Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1968.
Mystical Poems of Rumi. Translated by A. J. Arberry. Persian Heritage Series, no. 23. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1979.
The Rubaiyat of Jalal al-din Rumi: Select Translations into English Verse. Translated by A. J. Arberry. London: Emery Walker, 1949.
John Moyne and I try to be faithful to the images, the tone as we hear it, and the spiritual information coming through. We have not tried to reproduce any of the dense musicality of the Persian originals. It has seemed appropriate to place Rumi in the strong tradition of American free verse, which has the inner searching, the delicacy, and the simple groundedness that also characterize Rumi’s poetry. These are free translations, but I hope they remain true to the essence.
Rumi often speaks of the relationship between teacher and student as that between the cook and the chickpea in the pot. “You think I’m torturing you. I’m giving you flavor, so you can mix with rice and spices and be the lovely vitality of a human being.” Here is a recipe for chickpeas from Kashmir.
4 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 teaspoon whole cumin seeds
1 medium onion, peeled and chopped
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground nutmeg
½ teaspoon ground cloves
½ teaspoon ground coriander
3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
a piece of fresh ginger, about ½ inch square, peeled and grated
2 tablespoons tomato paste
24-ounce can of chickpeas (garbanzos)
salt to taste
½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
2 tablespoons lemon juice
3 tomatoes, quartered
1 medium onion
4 green chilies, or a green pepper sliced
Heat the oil in a large heavy skillet. When hot, put in the whole cumin seeds. As soon as they begin to darken, after a few seconds, put in the chopped onion. Stir and fry for 7 minutes. Turn heat to low and add the cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and coriander. Mix and add the garlic and ginger, stirring for 3 minutes. Add the tomato paste. Open chickpeas and drain out most of the liquid, leaving a couple of tablespoons. Pour this and the chickpeas into the skillet. Add salt, cayenne, and lemon juice. Mix well, cover, and let the flavors combine for about 10 minutes. Stir gently every now and then, taking care not to break the chickpeas. Serve with basmati rice in a bowl lined with quartered tomatoes, raw onion slivers, and either green chilies or slices of green pepper. Serves 4.
1 large onion: chop small
2 chili peppers: chop small
1 small cabbage: chop tiny
5 large potatoes: grate (do not peel)
1 cauliflower: chop into small florets
1 broccoli: chop small
juice of 1 lemon
¼ teaspoon cardamom
2 heaping teaspoons cayenne
1 teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon cloves
4 heaping teaspoons coriander
1 heaping teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon fennel
2 teaspoons garlic
¼ teaspoon ginger
1 heaping teaspoon turmeric
¼ teaspoon cumin
¼ teaspoon fenugreek
¼ teaspoon black mustard
Heat ¼ inch of oil in a large frying pan. Add onion and chilies. Simmer awhile and add the seed spices. Simmer till onions turn clear.
Add the cabbage and potatoes. Mix well. Add cauliflower, 2 teaspoons salt, and a little water to keep the ingredients from sticking. Sprinkle in powder spices and mix well. Add the broccoli. Cover and let simmer, stirring occasionally.
Thirty minutes from the starting time, mix in the lemon juice. Finished. Makes 15 medium servings.
Cooking and the grace of eating together have been important parts of the tradition that descends through Rumi. One can visit his cook’s tomb in Konya. When transformation reaches a certain point, one goes into the kitchen to help fix food for the long table. Bawa Muhaiyaddeen improvised this meal on December 17, 1978.
4 cups lentils
4 cups yellow split peas
4 cups green split peas
1 large onion: chop
1 bunch of leeks: slice thin
4 bell peppers: chop
20 unpeeled medium potatoes: quarter lengthwise and cut into ¼ inch slices.
1 red cabbage: chop small
½ regular cabbage: chop small
1 bunch celery: chop into ¼ inch wide slices
2 bunches watercress: chop
1 bunch broccoli: chop
7 large carrots: grate
3 pounds spinach: chop
juice of 3 lemons
½ tablespoon cardamom
2 tablespoons cayenne
1 tablespoon cinnamon
½ tablespoon cloves
2 very heaping tablespoons coriander
1 very heaping tablespoon cumin
1 tablespoon fennel
3 tablespoons garlic
1 tablespoon ginger
2 tablespoons onion
½ tablespoon black pepper
1 heaping tablespoon turmeric
½ teaspoon cumin
¼ teaspoon fennel
½ teaspoon fenugreek
½ teaspoon black mustard
10-inch stick cinnamon, broken up
Use two separate pots, a skillet, and another 5-gallon main pot.
In one pot cook lentils in a minimum of water till just soft, about 45 minutes. Set aside without draining.
In another pot cook the yellow and green split peas till just soft, about 45 minutes. Set aside without draining.
In the 5-gallon pot heat ¼ inch of oil. Add the seed spices and cinnamon sticks. When the seeds pop, add the onion and the leeks. Mix the powder spices separately in hot water, making a thin gravy.
When the onions turn clear, add the peppers, the potatoes, and the cabbage. Add the spice gravy with 2 cups of hot rinse water. Add the celery, watercress, ¼ of the carrots, and the broccoli. Mix the vegetables from top to bottom, then add the spinach, if it will all fit. Sprinkle 6 tablespoons of salt over the top.
In a large skillet, cover the bottom with oil. Heat and add the carrots and any leftover spinach, with 1 tablespoon of salt.
Simmer till just done. Add to main pot.
Fifty minutes from the starting point, mix in the lentils, the split peas, and the lemon juice. Finished. Five gallons, and rice, serves about 60, with enough to carry some home for those who couldn’t be there.
(literally, “pepper water,” a spicy broth)
3 long red or green chili peppers, sliced small
3 large onions, diced small
5 cloves of garlic, chopped small
3 ounces instant concentrated tamarind paste
Large grocery bag half-full of fresh cherry and Italian tomatoes, chopped small (or equivalent amount of regular tomatoes or canned pureed tomatoes)
1 heaping tablespoon cayenne pepper
¼ heaping tablespoon cinnamon
¼ heaping tablespoon cloves
2 very heaping tablespoons coriander
¾ tablespoon cumin
¾ tablespoon garlic
1 tablespoon onion
½ tablespoon black pepper
¼ heaping tablespoon turmeric
1 inch peeled and chopped ginger
½ teaspoon cumin
½ teaspoon fennel
½ teaspoon fenugreek
½ teaspoon black mustard
4-inch stick of cinnamon
In the largest soup pot you have (4-gallon is not too small), add 1 gallon of hot water or bean stock, the powder spices, and cinnamon stick. Cook for 10 minutes, then add the ginger and half of the onions. Cook another 15 minutes and add the tomatoes. Cook for 25 minutes, stirring occasionally. Meanwhile heat ¼ inch of oil in a heavy frying pan. Add seed spices. When they just begin to pop and turn light brown (don’t let them get too dark), add the chilies, the rest of the onions, and a small amount of broth. Simmer 15 minutes. Add the mix from the frying pan to the soup pot and cook over medium heat for half an hour. Salt to taste. Add 3 ounces of instant concentrated tamarind paste, which can be found in Indian grocery stores. Mix this paste in until it dissolves. This soup is great for using up the extra summer tomatoes. It can be frozen and brought out during the winter whenever a cold threatens. It’s a very healing soup. This amount might be enough for 75 to 100 people.
Early Morning Curry and Sunday Vegetable Curry are from Bawa Muhaiyaddeen’s Tasty Economical Cookbook, vol. 2, available from The Fellowship Press, 5820 Overbrook Ave., Philadelphia, PA 19131. The Rassum recipe is courtesy of Sally Green, who watched Bawa fix it and jotted down notes.