Two Poets, Eight Centuries, One Poetic Masterpiece
Edward Fitzgerald's translation of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam is one of those books that some scholars love to be snotty about. Literary critics of a certain stamp dismiss it as bad poetry, apparently on the grounds that people love it who don't otherwise read poetry.* Persian linguists rightly point out that Fitzgerald's translation really isn't a translation so much as a re-imagining--a complaint that seems to miss the point. Me, I'm a long-term fan.
But while I've always been fascinated by the idea of the mathematician-poet,** I hadn't given two thoughts to Edward Fitzgerald until I picked up Robert D. Richardson's Nearer the Heart's Desire, a dual biography of the eleventh-century Persian polymath and the nineteen-century British literary dabbler whose lives are inextricably bound together in a single poetic work.
The book is divided into two unequal and fundamentally different sections. The first third of the book is as much a portrait of Seljuq Persia as of Khayyam himself. Richardson untangles the myths that have grown up around the historical Khayyam and places him firmly in the world of the Seljuq court, with its political struggles, religious controversies, and scientific curiosity. In the second section of the book, Richardson introduces Edward Fitzgerald, the "bohemian scholar-gypsy masquerading as a Victorian gentleman" whose loose translation of Khayyam's ruba'i*** ensured the earlier poet's fame centuries after his lifetime.
In both sections, Richardson focuses on the relationship between poet and poetry. He considers the ruba'i as a verse form and the contested authorship of Khayyam's poetry. He describes Fitzgerald's unconventional and sometimes heavy-handed editorial process of abridgement, re-arrangement, and revision. And he celebrates the successful marriage of the two in Fitzgerald's The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, "the quiet thunderbolt of a translation that is also a poetic masterpiece."
Richardson does a fine job of bringing the two poets to life for a modern audience for whom they are probably unfamiliar, but Nearer the Heart's Desire is ultimately a biography not of the poets but of their shared poetry.
Pretty dang fascinating.
*Since its original publication in 1859, Fitzgerald's version of the Rubaiyat has been translated into at least fifty-four languages and appeared in more than 1300 editions.
**Lewis Carroll, another favorite of mine, also falls into this category. Anyone else come to mind?
***It's a poetic form with rules. Like a sonnet. Or maybe a limerick.
The illustrations are by Edmund J. Sullivan, who illustrated a 1913 edition of The Rubaiyat. Since they're the illustrations in the first copy I ever owned, they're also the illustrations in my head.
Much of this review previously appeared in Shelf Awareness for Readers. Among other changes, I have re-inserted Oxford commas.
My Gettysburg Address
WARNING: SELF-PROMOTION ALERT
Let me say it flat out: next Saturday, July 2, at 9:30 am I'm going to be the first speaker at this year's Gettysburg Sacred Trust Talks and Book Signing at Gettysburg National Military Park. I'm thrilled! So thrilled that I'd put an entire row of exclamation points at the end of the sentence if it weren't the punctuation equivalent of squealing.
Don't expect an immortal two-minute flash of brilliance. Each speaker has 40 minutes to speak, with time for questions at the end. I suspect the organizers would be annoyed with Lincoln himself if he didn't fill his slot.*
You can see all the details of the program here: Sacred Trust Program
If you're in the area, I'd love to see you. If you're not in the area, but are interested in hearing me--or one of the other speakers--the program is going to be live-streamed at http://www.gettysburgfoundation.org/236/sacred-trust-live-streaming You can even tweet your questions in real time to @VisitGettysburg using the hashtag #SacredTrustTalks
Oh, what the heck. Dignity is overrated. !!!!!!!!! SQUEEE!
*On the other hand, they probably have a hook ready to pull anyone off the stage who tries to emulate Edward Everett's** two hours of erudite oration.
**The famous speaker who was the headliner who Lincoln blew off the stage. Not the American character actor. That's Edward Everett Horton.
In Memoriam: Eleanor Zelliot and Gujurati Special Railway Tea
When people ask me what led me to study South Asian history, the first thing I always tell them I fell in love with Rudyard Kipling's Kim when I was eight. The second thing I tell them is that I had a wonderful professor at Carleton who inspired me.
Eleanor Zelliot's memorial service is today. I can't be there in person. Allow me to share this memory with you:
Masala chai--milky, sweet, and rich with spice--was once an Indian restaurant treat. Now it is offered as an exotic alternative in coffee shops and is available as a concentrated syrup on grocery shelves. But for anyone who studied South Asian history at Carleton College in Northfield, Minnesota, between 1969 and 1997, chai is not a product, it’s a memory--eternally linked to Saturday morning classes at Eleanor Zelliot’s house.
I was introduced to Eleanor’s “Special Masala Gujurati Railway Tea” the winter term of my freshman year. I grumbled about the idea of a Saturday class, but I signed up for her History 12 seminar on imperialism anyway, driven by my love for Kipling's Kim, which was part of the curriculum. When I learned that we would meet at Eleanor’s house on Saturdays, I grumbled even more.
Minnesota’s winter had been an unhappy surprise when I came back from the Ozarks after Christmas break. Nothing in my past had prepared me for a wind chill of 40 below and snow that didn’t melt after two days. It was bad enough walking across campus. The thought of walking two blocks off-campus to Eleanor’s little green house was hellish. I pictured a weekly battle against biting wind, knee-deep snow and the uncertainties of walking on icy sidewalks
All my complaints were forgotten as soon as I stepped inside on the first Saturday of the term. Eleanor’s house was a revelation of warmth and comfort, full of deep chairs, Indian art, books, and enthusiastic houseplants. A fireplace took up most of the interior wall and that morning the fire in it was as cheerful as Fezziwig. A row of brightly-colored coffee pots stood warming on the hearth, filling the room with glorious smells of hot cider and something I couldn’t identify. If I hadn't been confused by the unexpected coziness and blinded by my fogged-over glasses, I might have chosen the recognized pleasure of hot cider. Instead, I blindly accepted the mug of chai that one of my classmates thrust into my hands. The unfamiliar drink combined the warmth of Eleanor’s house and the exotic world of Kipling’s India in a mug. It was as innocent as hot cocoa and as sophisticated as mulled wine. I was hooked.
I drank quarts of Eleanor’s chai over the ten weeks of that cold winter term and during the years that followed. Twenty-five years later, chai remains one of my favorite winter treats. I love to recreate that moment of discovery with the welcome of a small fire and a thermos of Eleanor’s chai after a walk on a snowy afternoon. I occasionally buy a cup of coffee shop chai, but I’m always revolted disappointed. The commercial version, made from syrup, is too sweet and too shallow, without the spiced complexity of the real thing. And so I return to Eleanor’s recipe for “Special Masala Gujurati Railway Tea”, with its memories of a cold winter and the beginning of the warmest of friendships.
Eleanor Zelliot’s “Special Masala Gujurati Railway Tea”
(makes 4 teacups or two mugs)
2 cups water
2 cups milk
4 teaspoons black tea
2 cinnamon sticks
12 or more whole cloves
6 or more cardamom pods
2 tablespoons sugar, or to taste
Bring two cups of water to a boil; add tea and half the spices. Steep for 15-20 minutes, until very strong. Meanwhile, heat the milk over a low flame with the remaining spices. Strain the tea into the milk. Heat gently. Remove from stove, stir in sugar to taste, and relax.