Introduction
What follows is a provisional translation of a Persian poem by Bahá’u’lláh, “Ay Bulbulán” or “O Nightingales,” in which He describes His advent through the various classical motifs of Persian literature. As scholar Julio Savi notes, this poem is attributed to the period when Bahá’u’lláh was residing in Iraqi Kurdistan. Although Juan Cole had previously translated this work (see here), this rendering is distinct in that it specifically reproduces the rhyme and meter of the original in a form familiar in English.
The poem, across various manuscripts and publications, has appeared in several forms, in any one of which a verse or several verses may be either included or absent; a critical edition has not yet been produced. These various sources have been listed in the Phelps Inventory, under entry BH04998. The rendering below features eight verses of a version found, more or less (see the absence of ‘aql in verse seven), in a book called Asráru’l-Áthár, volume 4, pages 200-1. This printing may be found beneath the translation.
“O Nightingales”
Provisional Translation
It is the season of the rose,
O nightingales, O nightingales!
O mystic knowers of the Lord,
The Unseen threw aside His veils!
And the Beloved thus revealed,
—O lovers, lovers—His own face,
And the Desired one became,
O seekers, manifest in grace.
The morn of beauty blazed; the light
Of truth appeared; yet from the snare
Of lowly flesh one must be free,
If e’er to soar upon the air.
That veiléd beauty, that Khosrow of
The highest spheres in heaven’s clime,
Now walks the marketplace and street,
As Joseph did in Pharaoh’s time.
Upon the everlasting mount
Of Qáf, the Unseen dwelt for aye;
Now blazes forth on mount and meadow,
A Sun in splendor of the day.
The marketplace of lovers scatters
Musk from the tresses of His hair;
And from His sugar-ruby lips,
‘Tis though a sweet perfumer’s there.
All reason stood bewildered quite,
As vintage wine from barrels poured,
And poison turned to honeyed balm—
Full was the chalice of the Lord.
To unbelief turned righteousness,
To wind was all hypocrisy!
In love, down streets of tavern wine
The pious walked for all to see.
