I came across this poem today, just by chance. Isfahan has come up in my reading several times recently, and here it is again (though spelled the Dutch way). The original poem is by the Dutch poet, P N van Eyck (1887-1954); this translation is by Kate Ashton, though I have found many others here, as it was the subject of a translation competition recently.
Death and the Gardener:
In rushed my gardener from this morning's dew,
White as a ghost seeking refuge, "Sir, Sir, a word with you!
Down in the rose arbour, pruning shoot after shoot,
I glanced around and Death behind me stood.
I jumped, and hastened off along the other side,
But yet caught a glimpse of his raised scythe.
Master, your horse, let me forthwith be gone,
Before sunset I shall reach Ispahan!"
This afternoon (he was long galloped thence)
I met Death in the cedar'd park and hence
Asked outright, for silent sentinel stood he, "Pray why
At early light did you my servant terrify?"
With a grimace came his reply, "No vain threat dismayed
Your gardener and forced him flee. I was amazed
At dawn to find still calmly working here this man,
He who this evening I must claim in Ispahan."
It's not the greatest poem in the world, but I like the underlying idea a lot; it reminds me of Borges' Tale of Two Dreamers in A Universal History of Infamy, in which a dreamer finds .. but, actually, I'll let you read it for yourself - it's only a page long! The illustrations today are two miniature paintings I bought in Bokhara, but they come from the Persian tradition, the origin of the story in the poem.


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Posted by: sacred geometry | Friday, 04 March 2011 at 06:55 AM
Thank you, Jodie, for the source of this legend - and Equiano for the suggestion of a place to visit in Boston. I did in fact go there in March, but spent my time in other galleries - as ever, ars longa, vita brevis!
Posted by: Lindsay | Thursday, 06 September 2007 at 03:38 PM
The story originally comes from the tales of Mulla Nasrudin, a legendary Sufi mystic, supposedly born in Anatolia in the 13th century. The stories are told in The Exploits of the Incomparable Mulla Nasrudin, by Idries Shah, but I first came across them when I was growing up and The Guardian published a daily comic strip called Tales of the Hodja by William Papas - family members used to fight to read it first. There's some more about Nasrudin, including links to more stories at http://en.wikibooks.org/wiki/Sufism/Nasrudin
I like this telling of the story too.
Posted by: Jodie | Wednesday, 05 September 2007 at 06:50 PM
Chilling little poem, isn't it? It says so much in such a short space. Very good.
Posted by: Nan | Tuesday, 04 September 2007 at 02:35 PM
This is a famous story (the one told in the poem I mean) though I have no idea where it originates from.
Posted by: Harriet Devine | Tuesday, 04 September 2007 at 10:06 AM
I am a fan of persian miniatures, particularly the shahnama (I hasten to add, a very ignorant fan, I just enjoy them at museums etc and read a bit about them occasionally). If you visit Boston, be sure to visit the Sackler Museum in Cambridge which has a glorious collection of islamic art, the miniatures mostly on loan from the Aga Khan. Lovely!
Posted by: Equiano | Tuesday, 04 September 2007 at 08:55 AM