As is well known, this poem, which stood in the Anthologia Latina, is preserved in two MSS. only, the Salmasian and the Pithoean , Nos. 10318 and 8071 in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris; ‘the handwriting dates’ the former ‘as written at the end of the seventh or the beginning of the eighth century; the other…is about two hundred years later in date. Modern scholars regard both MSS. as traceable to a common archetype, probably of the sixth century’ . At (...) first sight these MSS. seem quite untrust-worthy, for they differ from each other in more than one hundred words, while the scribe of S copied the refrain incorrectly twice, the scribe of T twice as often. Strangely enough, however, these variations are comparatively unimportant, for most of them disappear when the spelling of the two clerks is assimilated to some recognized usage. Each manuscript in turn corrects the other in many of these passages, and conjecture has successfully emended nearly all of the remainder—the variation S peruiclanda, T peruigila in v. 47 is perhaps the only passage of this kind which still causes anxiety. The grave corruptions of the text are found in passages in which the MSS. are in agreement; they agree exactly in five lacunae, T having an additional one; in two or more misplaced passages; in the placing of the refrain, with all of which matters I deal below; they agree exactly in an error in the title ‘Peruirgilium’ for ‘Peruigilium,’ and in about twelve lines, of which vv. 51 and 79 have almost certainly been preserved in an incorrect form. (shrink)

Hayes & MacEachern’s study of quatrain stanzas in English folk songs was the first application of stochastic Optimality Theory to a large corpus of data.1 It remains the most extensive study of versification that OT has to offer, and the most careful and perceptive formal analysis of folk song meter in any framework. In a follow-up study, Hayes concludes that stress and meter — or more generally, the prosodic structure of language and verse — are governed by separate constraint (...) systems which must be jointly satisfied by well-formed verse. Apart from its convincing arguments for a modular approach to metrics, it is notable for successfully implementing the analysis in OT, a framework whose parallelist commitments might seem philosophically at odds with modularity. (shrink)

This essay does not aim to investigate film-novel relationships per se, although the fact that the two genres now share certain generative procedures may be further evidence that fiction in print and on film lie to a great extent in a unified field not only of diegesis but also of structure. A diachronic or historical approach to the theory of fictional generators would show that, with the shifts which have occurred on present-day aesthetic thought, much of what once was considered (...) to be a static analysis of retrospective rules or established forms could now be regarded as the disguised beginning of generative theory. Aristotle's seemingly static doctrines of dramatic structure, involving such notions as peripeteia, discovery, or unity of action, to the extent that dramatists had consciously or unconsciously followed such doctrines, obviously served the production of their works, as well as their later analysis. In fact, any sort of artistic intentionality constitutes a kind of "generator," as does the deliberate adherence to outward forms as rhyme schemes, stanzas, cantos, or chapters. As we shall see, it is not always easy to distinguish between generative formulas and self-imposed forms or limits, such as the sonnet with its fourteen lines, its quatrains, and its tercets. Although the most advanced practitioners of generative theory, like Jean Ricardou, seem to view their work as a radical break with the past and the discovery of an entirely new domain of fiction, literary history would provide innumerable examples of precedents, from antiquity through the Grands Rhétoriqueurs, the Gongorists and Baroque poets, and many subsequent groups of writers down to and including the pre-modern and modern periods. Bruce Morrissette has published widely on French fiction of the classical period, Rimbaud and the Symbolist movement, the Nouveau Roman and Robbe-Grillet, and on contemporary film. He is the Sunny Distinguished Service Professor and Chairman of Romance Languages and Literatures at the University of Chicago. He translated Alain Robbe-Grillet's "ARTISTS ON ART: Order and Disorder in Film and Fiction" for the Autumn 1977 issue of Critical Inquiry. (shrink)

[…] Open the pages of almost any national journal or magazine, and where ten years ago one found only one or another kind of free verse lyric, one now finds well rhymed quatrains, sestinas, villanelles, sonnets, and blank verse dramatic monologues or meditations.1 In a recent issue of the New Criterion, Robert Richman describes this rekindled interest in formal verse among younger poets as a return to the high seriousness, eloquence, and technical fluency that characterized the best achievements of American (...) poetry forty years ago.2 As Mr. Richman numbers me among the younger poets working in form, I ought to be as cheered by these developments as he is. Yet I am anything but cheered. And not because I don’t want to belong to club that would have me as a member, though this may be a part of it; but because I suspect that what Mr. Richman hails as a development may in fact be nothing but a mechanical reaction, and that the new formalists, in rejecting the sins of their experimental fathers may end up merely repeating the sings of their New Critical grandfathers, resuscitating the stodgy, overrefined conventions of the “fifties poem,” conventions which were of course sufficiently narrow and restrictive to provoke rebellion in the first place. Any reform, carried to uncritical extremes by lesser talents who ignore rather than try to assimilate the achievements of their predecessors, will itself require reformation. If James Wright, say, or Robert Bly, produced more than their fair share of imitators, if they even imitate themselves much of the time, they nonetheless have written poems all of us can and ought to learn from. Maybe we have had too much of the “raw” in recent years. But the answer to the raw is not the overcooked. Besides, it’s dangerous to think we have to choose exclusively between free verse and form. The wider the range of styles and forms that we avail ourselves of, the more enriched, more flexible and inclusive our expressive resources will be. It’s as important for those who work in form to be familiar with the experiments and innovatins of the last hundred years as it is for those who work in looser measures to be familiar with traditional verse forms that go back beyond the twentieth century. Alan Shapiro’s most recent book of poems, Happy Hour, was published this year. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Alcaics In Exile: W. H. Auden’s “In Memory Of Sigmund Freud”Rosanna WarrenOn September 23, 1939, Sigmund Freud died in exile in London, a refugee from Nazi Austria. Within a month, Auden, who had been living in the United States since January of that year, wrote a friend in England that he was working on an elegy for Freud. 1 The poem appeared in The Kenyon Review early in 1940. (...) A stately public ode, the poem mourns not only the death of a publicly significant individual, but the collapse of a world. Hitler had overrun Austria, Czechoslovakia, Poland; assaults on Jews had intensified; England and France had just declared war on Germany. There would be, indeed, many who would have to be mourned:When there are so many we shall have to mourn, when grief has been made so public, and exposed to the critique of whole epoch the frailty of our conscience and anguish,of whom shall we speak?...Someone encountering this poem for the first time, on the page or in the ear, might be pardoned for puzzling over its form. It sounds prosy. It seems to have some recognizable English cadences, pentameters (“[inline-graphic 01]”), tetrameters (“ ”), and even trimeters (“ ”). But the pattern seems unruly, with some [End Page 111] lines stretching out beyond five traditional beats, and ignoring any iambic order: “turned elsewhere with their disappointment as he.” Groping for a more satisfactory principle of organization, a reader with some knowledge of versification may be moved to count syllables. Such a reader will discover that the poem is indeed organized syllabically in lines of 11, 11, 9, and 10 syllables. “Aha,” says the reader, alert to Auden’s intimacy with Classical civilization: “A Horatian ode. Not inappropriate for a formal elegy.” Reflecting further, and leafing through the pages of Horace, that reader will find, or remember, that two thirds of Horace’s odes are in these quatrains, the alcaic stanza. Auden, it appears, has composed his elegy in some version of the meter of Alcaeus, the 7th century b.c.e. Greek poet whose stanza became second nature to Horace. And we cannot enter the world of Auden’s poem without asking, why alcaics? And how do they work here?“In Memory of Sigmund Freud” is sometimes said to be Auden’s first syllabic poem. 2 Others demur, proposing both earlier and later examples. 3 Whatever the spats about dating Auden’s early syllabic practice, scholars conventionally agree that his turn toward syllabic composition reflects his evolving interest in a discursive poetry; in the poet as a private intelligence with a public voice; and in the work, respectively, of Horace and Marianne Moore. Having identified the poem as syllabic, many critics move on to heftier topics like psychoanalysis versus Marxism, Auden more than most poets having laid himself open to an overridingly thematic criticism of Big Ideas. But if, having acknowledged the influence of Horace and Moore in Auden’s refusal of English iambic lyricism here, we stay with the question of meter, we are led back to the older progenitor, Alcaeus, a great poet of exile, whose stanza Auden adopts and adapts. I shall ask how it affects our reading to observe that the stanza itself has a genealogy, and brings its expressive burden to bear on Auden’s poem.“In Memory of Sigmund Freud” relies on a counterpoint of two metrical systems, the largely iambic accentual/syllabic system, traditional in English since Wyatt, and a flattened version of Greek quantitative meter, which was a musical notation of syllable length. For Auden, whose great prosodic facility was almost a handicap, the problem was, “not how to write in iambics but how not to write in them from automatic habit.” 4 Throughout his poetic life, he reached for cadences to interrupt the “natural” iambics, sometimes recalling the Old English alliterative beat, and often turning to ballads and popular tunes for rhythmical variation. By the late thirties, he was not only disillusioned [End Page 112] with the Spanish Civil War and his role as quasi-Socialist bard, but was seeking new compositional principles as well. Free verse was not an alternative: his ear required an evident... (shrink)

In Virgil's seventh Eclogue, Meliboeus relates a singing contest that Corydon and Thyrsis undertook. Upon beginning their songs, Corydon invokes the Libethrian nymphs, and Thyrsis invokes ‘Arcadian shepherds’. Scholars have previously interpreted Thyrsis’ Arcadian shepherds as people, but here I suggest that they should be interpreted as divinities. In support of this assertion, I rely on the expectations of the capping style, Virgil's description of the setting and the characters present, an epigram by Erucius, the Greek and Roman literary tradition (...) that developed especially in relation to gods associated with Arcadia, and Thyrsis’ quatrains, which can be profitably interpreted if we assume that Arcadian gods have heard Thyrsis' prayer and are now inspiring his song. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:On John Hollander’s “Owl”Eleanor CookSuppose we start with grammar, assuming we’ve glanced at the look of “Owl” on the page, as if through the eyes of May Swenson. Here is the way she began to read a poem: “I like to see the poem first as a shut box or package to be opened, within which is an invention whose particular working I hope to discover. Something can be (...) felt about it even before beginning to read: its profile on the page, its regular or irregular pattern of stanzas, length of lines, their symmetry, its wide or thin shape, its look of bulk or lightness.” 1 So here, we observe a one-word title: a noun, no article, and so more like Bishop’s “Sandpiper” than Frost’s “The Oven Bird.” Then quatrains, twenty-four of them, each shorter in its third and more in its fourth line; the pulse iambic and 5 5 4 3 (pentameter twice, tetrameter, trimeter), the rhyme a b a b. Each stanza, in little, looks and listens like an owl, narrowing down to its fourth line, listening to the sounds and silences both—the sounds of the full end-rhymes, assonance, midline rhyming, schematic echoes, and so on; and the silences resonating in the vacant space left by one fewer foot in the third line, then two in the fourth, an effect especially noticeable in the end-stopped lines. This stanza form is (I believe) John Hollander’s own, 2 and it teaches us how to listen better. Owls hunt with their ears as well as their eyes, and with only their ears if necessary.In starting with grammar, I am simply choosing one partner in the dance of grammar, rhetoric, and dialectic that constitutes all writing. I shall touch on lexical questions and two senses of voice, before turning to the heart of the matter, the poem’s figuration and fable, then end [End Page 167] with some remarks on “Owl” as part of all Hollander’s work and also as a poem of our moment.The grammar, then, and first the syntactic variety of the sentences. T. S. Eliot wrote in 1918 that technique is not simply “what may be learned from a manual of prosody. This is making technique easy.... Technique is more volatile; it can only be learned, the more difficult part of it, by absorption. Try to put into a sequence of simple quatrains the continuous syntactic variety of Gautier or Blake....” 3 Something of Hollander’s distinctive voice in both poetry and prose lies in his great command of grammatical structures, including his syntactic variety. “Owl” is strongly predicative in style (note the complex syntax, and the remarkably high use of participles, past and present). The sentences give the effect of generating themselves, especially through their parallel grammatical constructions, where the last term in a double or triple set is likely to be modified by a clause or phrase—the whole sentence ramifying and exfoliating, as if we were watching a zoological or genealogical tree grow under our eyes. [See, for example, the parallel participles in the last line of stanza 4 and stanza 5: “Taking heed... you more than see.” Or consider how one participle leads to another in stanzas 15 through 17, beginning with “Trembling....”]Such syntactic energy gives a quick, vital rhythm to the sentence—a fast pace, given the richness of thought, hints, implications. A pace sometimes slightly nervous, curbing and steadying its own energies, partly through the regular beat of the simple rhyme scheme and quatrain. It seems to me that the forward propulsion of both the grammar and dialectic is steadied, directed, by the rhetorical schemes—that rhetoric here offers what I want to call something like a discipline of simplicity. This is a function we may not associate with rhetorical schemes, those “surface patterns of words” that “carry no meanings per se.” 4 In Roman Jakobson’s terms—and his discussion of parallelism was really the only thing that helped with what I was hearing—what I am hearing is the pull between a regular, simple parallelism of stanza form and a much-varied, complex parallelism of... (shrink)

Grown up as versatile people, Ottoman intellectuals had holistic views towards science, art and literature, and wrote in a variety of disciplines. It was not uncommon for a mathematician to write in philosophy, for a ḥadīth (report of the words and deeds of the Prophet) scholar to write history books, for a statesman to be busy with calligraphy or for a Shaykh al-Islām (the highest ranking Islamic legal authority) to have a “Dīwān” (a collection of poems). However, possibly due to (...) specialization-based scientific understanding of modern researchers, one side of these people generally came to the fore and some capabilities of them remained unknown. Grown up in Istanbul, capital town of Ottoman Empire, in late 16th and early 17th centuries, Okchuzāde Mehmed Shāhī was also one of these personalities called “hezār-fan” (polymath). Mehmed Shāhī served in top level offices of the State, was busy with art and literature, and became known for inshāʾ (composition) kind of works written with elaborate prose. Mehmed Shāhī earned a deserved fame with these capabilities and he was also a poet. Indeed, due to poems he wrote in his early ages, he was noticed by some biography writers about poets and his poems were mentioned in some anthologies. In addition to poetry anthologies, he had some classical works, and some couplets, quatrains and verses included in his prose works. In the present study, a collection and evaluation of poems by Mehmed Shāhī were presented.Summary: Ottoman statesman Okchuzāde Mehmed Shāhī was born in 1562 AD (970 AH) in Istanbul. He was son of Okchuzāde Mehmed Pasha (d. 995 AH/1587 AD) and served as Kātib (scribe), Defterdār (treasurer), Reīs-ul-kuttāb (chief of the scribes), Governor General of Cyprus and Aleppo. His real name was Mehmed, but he was mentioned in different sources by names such as Mehmed Bey, Mehmed Shāh, Mehmed Shāhī, Mir Mehmed Shāhī and Okchuzāde Mehmed Shāhī. Starting at a young age, he was well educated in madrasah (college). With his vibrant character and superior genius, he came to the forefront among his peers. He was educated under the supervision of Māʿlūlzāde Nakīb Efendi (d. 993 AH/1585 AD) and graduated in 988 AH/1580 AD at the age of 18. When Nakīb Efendi became Shaykh al-Islām in the same year, he started his official duty as Dīwān-ı Humāyūn (imperial council) secretary. With the duty of Executive Assistant, he became the secretary of Damad İbrahim Pasha who started to his office in 1004 AH/1596 AD. He worked under the patronage of the Pasha until Pasha’s death in 1010 AH/1601 AD. Mehmed Shāhī succeeded Musa Chelebi as Reīs-ul-kuttāb and Basdefterdar (chief treasurer) in 1005 AH/1596 AD, and was appointed as title deed and cadastre director in 1006 AH/1597 AD. However, he was dismissed from this duty and was included among the officials to join military campaign. He was prosecuted and tried for imprisonment for the accusation of coming to Istanbul without permission. He succeeded Hamza Pasha as Nishanci (high-ranking bureaucrat) in 1007 AH/1599 AD and was assigned to military campaign. Mehmed Shāhī was dismissed from his duty in 1008 AH/1600 AD. Although he was reappointed to his duty in the same year, he was dismissed again in 1010 AH/1601 AD. While Hamza Pasha was reappointed to his office, Mehmed Shāhī was not assigned to any duty. He succeeded Murad Efendi as the Defterdar of Egypt in 1013 AH/1605 AD. After this duty, one of the vassal Sanjak (administrative district) Beyliks (principalities) in Egypt was given to him. When vassal Sanjak Beyliks were abolished by Kara Mehmed Pasha, Beylerbeyi (governor) of Egypt, in 1016 AH/1608 AD, he returned to Istanbul. He was not appointed to an office for a long time. In 1029 AH/1620 AD, he was appointed as title deed and cadastre director in 1029 AH/1620 AD, and became Nishanci again in 1030 AH/1621 AD. He served in military campaign to Poland, but was dismissed from this duty during the campaign. He was appointed as Nishanci for the fifth time during the second reign of Sultan Mustafa (1622-1623). He was dismissed in 1033 AH/1624 AD and retired. In early 1039 AH/1630 AD, he died at the age of 69 in Istanbul. His tomb is near Ekmekchioghlu tomb in the vicinity of Sunbul Efendi.What is known about his family is limited to his son named Vakʿi Ahmed Efendi (d. 1060 AH/1650 AD). Ahmet Efendi learned Naskh, Thuluth and tevkīʿi types of calligraphy styles from his father. He served as anthology writer for Shaykh al-Islām Bahāī Efendi. He died in 1060 AH/1650 AD when he was serving as teacher in Sulaymaniyah Madrasah. His tomb is around Shaykh Vefa tomb.In addition to his administrative duties, Mehmed Shāhī was also interested in poetry, prose, calligraphy, mysticism, ḥadīth and tafsīr (exegesis). Possibly also due to his dismissal of duties many times in his life, he produced many works. Among them are Aḥsan al-ḥadīth, an-Naẓm al-mubīn fī āyāt al-erbaʿīn, al-Maqām al-Maḥmūd, Tarjuma-i Tuḥfa as-ṣalavāt, Jāmiʿ al-ghāyāt, Mukhtār al-akhyār, Qānūn-i Jadīd-i Arāḍi, Munsheat ve Dīwān. Famed for his prose works, the author was also a poet. With his couplets which he wrote under pseudonym of Zaynī, he managed to get on the anthology of Kınalızāde at his twenties. He was celebrated with the expression of “Arrow of word from his bow of soul has reached the target of approval from masters; he is at a young age (at his twenties)”. Subsequently adopting pseudonym of Shāhī, the poet had some poems published within the works of Beyānī, Nevʿizāde and Mustaqimzāde as well as within his own prose works. Mustaqimzāde even mentioned that Mehmed Shāhī had a dīwān. Nevertheless, this work of him has not been found yet. A total of 30 poetry works of Mehmed Shāhī were found in various sources, except for his translations of 40 ḥadīth and 40 Qur’ān verses written in poetry. Of his 30 poetry works, 26 were written in Turkish and 4 in Persian. Various sections of ʿarūḍ (meter) were used in these works written as couplets, quatrains and verses. It could be stated that his poems rich in Persian and Arabic words had a rich rhyme frame. In his poetry works in which religious, literary, historical, legendary and mysticism themes were worked, concepts and figures such as Allah, the Lord, Messiah, Messenger, Risālet (messengership), intercession, Kāfūr al-Ikhshīdī (966-968), Mustaʿsim (d. 656 AH/1258 AD), Ibn Alkamī (d. 656 AH/1258 AD), Naṣīr-i Tūsī (d. 672 AH/1274 AD), Jamshīd, Keyumars, Uftade, Hudāyī, Majūsī, Kizilbash, Bayramī and muftī (jurist capable of giving a formal legal opinion). His poems were about intercession demand from the Messenger (PBUH), sin of serving to Persian, importance of an invention, praise of Uftade Sultan (d. 988 AH/1580 AD), effect of prayer, fate of administrator favoring his relatives, futility of envying the rich, importance of fighting with Zoroastrian, benefits of exhibition of sorrow, value of skillful people, resembling of the world to a bride with a thousand grooms, beauty of eloquence, ignominy of leaving chastity for lust, asking for forgiveness for sins, talent of understanding the words, not giving quarter to enemies, praise of Hz.ʿUmar, humbleness, value of lack of worldly things, sufferance due to the beauty of the beautiful, needing not to wonder why the beloved one is far away, evil of protecting the snot, richness of Arabic language, deeds of Anatolian fāḍils (virtuous), importance of endeavor in succeeding the closeness to God and respectability of ʿAzīz Maḥmūd Hudāyī (d. 1038 AH/1628 AD). Okchuzāde Mehmed Shāhī was an Ottoman statesman who also earned a well-deserved fame for his works written in inshāʾ (composition) genre of elaborate prose. In addition, he also had poetry works. Praised for the poems which he wrote in his early ages by anthology writers who included his poems in their anthologies, the poet also had some couplets and quatrains scattered among his own prose works. His poems in the form of couplets and quatrains within abovementioned works mostly were about religious, literary, legendary, historical and mysticism themes.Mehmed Shāhī was knowledgeable in tafsīr, ḥadīth, mysticism and calligraphy, and had good levels of Arabic and Persian. Writing poems in Persian, Mehmed Shāhī was decorated his prose works with Arabic expressions such as Qur’ān verses, ḥadīths and proverbs. It could be stated that such decorations made the language of his poems more difficult. Nevertheless, his poems are plainer and easier compared to his prose works. The poet who also had lyrical poems generally preferred ḥikamī (sapiential) style and wrote genres such as munacaat (prayer to God), shafaatnāme (intercession epistles), historical quatrain, medhiye (panegyric) and hicviye (epigram). His poems in anthologies were lyrical, those in Aḥsan al-ḥadīth and an-Naẓm al-mubīn were didactical and those in Munsheat were epic. Based on an evaluation of these poems, it could be stated that he was a poet with a style, though not a poet of first class. (shrink)

Qaside-i Khamriyya (meaning Wine Eulogy) of sufi poet Ibn-i Fārıḍ, in which he explained divine love through the metaphor of wine, attracted great attention in Islamic world and was translated into Arabic, Persian and Turkish. Scholars such as Davud-i Qayseri (d. 751 AH/1350 AD), Kemal Pashazāde (d. 940 AH/1534 AD), Abdulghani an-Nablusi (d. 1143 AH/1731 AD), Ibn Acibe (d. 1224 AH/1809 AD) explained this eulogy in Arabic, while poets such as Ali b. Shihābiddin al-Hamadāni (d. 786 AH/1385 AD), Molla Cāmi (...) (d. 898 AH/1492 AD), Idris-i Bitlisi (d. 926 AH/1520 AD) wrote commentaries in Persian. On the other hand, authors such as Abdussalam b. Numan b. Khalil (d. 1000 AH/1592 AD [?]), Ismail Anqaravi (d. 1041 AH/1631 AD), Abdulmacid-i Sivasi (d. 1049 AH/1639 AD), Qara Musṭafa Khulūsi (d. 1344 AH/1926 AD), Meḥmed Naẓım (d. 1345 AH/1926 AD) and Ṭahir al-Mavlavi (d. 1371 AH/1951 AD) translated the eulogy into Turkish. One of the authors who translators of this eulogy was Mehmed Said Efendi, sheikh of Uskudar Salimiya Takka, who lived in the 19th century. His work named Ṭarab-angiz (meaning Pleasure-provoking) is a condensed commentary with ornate prose of Qaside-i Khamriyya. In previous studies, Ṭarab-angiz was partly examined, and there was no mention about the identity and personality of the author. In the present research, the life and personality of Meḥmed Said Efendi is explained and the text of his work is examined.Summary: In Turkish literature which developed under the influence of Islam, translations and commentaries have important a place along with original texts. Coming within the sphere of Islam in early 10th century, Turks embarked on translating the texts immediately in order to learn their new religion and to perform its practices and continued to do so since then. Because they lived in the same culture and civilization climate, Turks learned Islam from Persians and were influenced by Persian language. However, adherents of this new religion also made direct translations from Arabic texts. The translations initially were made from religious works, but in time social, cultural and literary works, such as Persian classics and major eulogies of Arabic Literature, were also translated into Turkish by Turkish scholars. Qaside-i Burde by Ka‘b b. Zuheyr’in (d. 24 AH/645 AD), Qaside-i Nūniyye by Ebu’l-Fetḥ Busti’nin (d. 400 AH/1010 AD), Qaside-i Ṭanṭarāniyye by Ṭanṭarāni’nin (d. 485 AH/1092 AD), Qaside-i Münferice by Ibnu’n-Naḥvi’nin (d. 513 AH/1119 AD), Qaside-i Emāli by Ali b. Othman al-Ushi’nin (d. 575 AH/1179 AD) and famous eulogy named Qaside-i Bur’e by Muḥammed b. Said al-Buṣiri’nin (d. 695 AH/1296 AD) were among such works.Qaside-i Khamriyya by sufi poet Ibn-i Fārıḍ (d. 632 AH/1235 AD), also called sultan of minstrels, in which he explained divine love through wine attracted great attention in Islamic world and was translated into many languages and many commentaries were written on it. One of the commentary writers about this eulogy is Meḥmed Said Efendi, a 19th century sufi. His work entitled Ṭarab-angiz is a condensed commentary with ornate prose of Qaside-i Khamriyya.Studies conducted so far has partly dealt with the Ṭarab-angiz and identity and personality of Meḥmed Said Efendi have never been mentioned. Ṣarac mentioned, “It is a printed work but its writer, printing date, and the place was not found on the printed work”, while Yıldırım used the expression of “a work whose writer and production date is not known.” In his Ph. D. thesis entitled Translation and Commentary Tradition in Classical Turkish Literature in Anatolia, Ṣadık Yazar noted that the work belongs to Meḥmed Said, which was later cited by Aqdag. The final statement on this issue was made by İnce in his work entitled Arabic, Persian and Turkish commentaries of Qaside-i Khamriyya by Ibnu’l Fārıḍ. He examined a total of 18 commentaries and stated that no information is available about the life of Meḥmed Said although he mentioned Ṭarab-angiz.The birth date and place of Meḥmed Said Efendi are unknown. He is grandchild of Ali Behjet Efendi (d. 1238 AH/1823 AD), one of sheiks in Salimiya Dervish Lodge in Uskudar and son of Meḥmed Hidāyetullah Efendi (d. 1288 AH/1871 AD). Following the death of his father, Meḥmed Said Efendi himself served as the head dervish of this dervish lodge for 25 years and became a famous figure. He died in 1313 AH/1896 AD and was buried in the cemetery of the Salimiya Dervish Lodge.Meḥmed Said Efendi was the sixth sheikh of Salimiya Dervish Lodge. In many sources, he was mentioned as a venerable, righteous, devoutly religious, virtuous, polite and scholarly man. Meḥmed Said Efendi is thought to be a member of Mavlavi lodge of Naqshbandi Ṭariqa. He had successors such as Naqshi sheikh Uskudari Balabani Ḥasan Ḥusnu Efendi (d. 1347 AH/1928 AD) and Ismail Efendi (d. after 1307 AH/1890 AD). The poet had a commentary named Ṭarab-angiz in prose form and had a quatrain within the praising eulogy of Sheikh Ḥāmil Efendi (d. 1322 AH/1904 AD), head sheikh of Beylerbeyi Bedevi Dervish Lodge.It is clear from the expression, “A work by Meḥmed Said, the Imam of Central Dervish Lodge of Sultan Salim III,” at the beginning of Edition no: 450 in Suleymaniye Library, Pertev Pasha Collection and from the record of “Work: Ṭarab-angiz, Author: Ibnu’l-Fārıḍ, Translator and postscript writer: Meḥmed Said” in Edition no: 7350 of Marmara University Faculty of Theology Library that this work belongs to Sheikh Meḥmed Said Efendi. However, exact production date of this printed work is not known. The work consisted of 28 pages and in some editions a two-page correct-false chart was added.As usual, the work starts with an introduction section with expressions of “By the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful,” “Praise be to God,” and “Peace be upon Prophet Moḥammad.” This section also includes a praise for followers of Prophet Moḥammad, “Who made sphere of prophecy an eternal rose garden through the holy light of their enjoyed manners in addition to making the Shari’a candle shined and and converting them to great flowers of service with their strong inspiration torchs.” The commentator then embarked on praising Qaside-i Khamriyya, mentioning that the men of ability became helpless in explaination of beauty, charm and freshness of unique expression richness and refined allegory blossoms of the eulogy and that reaching the shore of rhetoric could be possible through diving into the guided wisdom of sea. In fact, according to commentator, the men of literature should be aware of the difficulty of translating this unique eulogy into Turkish language. However, everyone should dive into the sea of insight as a knowledge diver, collect its share in pearls of utterance and in emeralds of wits, arrange and put them in the string of prose”. Therefore, he wrote the commentary about the eulogy as a service to humanity and as a contribution to his own stock of comfort in the present and afterlife as much as he could, no matter how little it could be, and named it Ṭarab-angiz. Like most commentators of Qaside-i Khamriyya, Meḥmed Said Efendi commented on only about 33 couplets of the eulogy which contained a total of 41 couplets, and did not cover couplets from 23 to 30 in his work. The commentator used couplet-by- couplet translation method and started with praising for Ibn-i Fārıḍ and his couplets. Then, he gives the Arabic originals of the couplets and starts commentary with the expressions such as “couplets of great intuition, imagery couplets, product of couplet, enlightenment of couplet and concept of couplet.” In preface section of the work, the commentator, who usually quoted hadith texts in Arabic and poems, does not use them in his commentary. He only uses some lines of Arabic prayers and a quatrain of Molla Cāmi (d. 898 AH/1492 AD). This is a quatrain rubāi in Persian language meaning that “If you want no sorrow and no grief of the destiny, drink wine in a pub, because swirling of the goblet and worries of the world do not share the same place just as the tune and the sorrow do not coincide.” The lack of touching on the meaning of words, etymological structure and grammar rules in couplets makes it different from others, except the translation of Aḥmed Ṣāfi Bey. (shrink)

In CQ 34 , 167–74, Janet Fairweather makes the interesting suggestion that the elegiacs by Gallus on the Qasr Ibrim papyrus should be understood as ‘a fragment of an amoebaean song-contest’. This hypothesis, as she notes, might explain why the papyrus' quatrains are set apart by spaces and by an odd type of symbol, and treat ‘separate, indeed discrepant, topics’, yet show ‘unmistakable verbal and thematic connections’. Fairweather's discussion is thorough, but overlooks one small piece of evidence for Gallan amoebaean (...) verse. (shrink)

This article links Konstantin Batiushkov's poem Elysium to the tradition of poetic imitations of Janus Secundus's Basium II. A French equivalent for this poem's pythiambic distichs was invented by Ronsard, who used cross-rhymed quatrains with regular alternation of dodecasyllabic and hexasyllablic lines. However, the French translators of Basia of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries could not use this metre, because its semantic aura was drastically changed by Malherbe's Consolation à Monsieur du Périer. Batiushkov's Elysium as well as its Latin (...) and French sources are poems about a delightful death and the union of lovers in the afterlife; yet the metre, which was used in Malherbe's poem, was for more than two centuries a metre of mournful elegiac stanzas about eternal separation. The question of a metrical prototype for Batiushkov's poem still remains undetermined. His "anacreontic" trochaic tetrameter does not have analogues in the Latin original or its French translations, but coincides with the metre of G. A. Bürger's Die Umarmung from 1776, and finds parallels in some eighteenth-century Russian imitations of Basium II which were most likely forgotten by the beginning of the nineteenth century. (shrink)

This article links Konstantin Batiushkov’s poem Elysium (1810) to the tradition of poetic imitations of Janus Secundus’s Basium II. A French equivalent for this poem’s pythiambic distichs was invented by Ronsard (Chanson, 1578), who used cross-rhymed quatrains with regular alternation of dodecasyllabic and hexasyllablic lines. However, the French translators of Basia of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries could not use this metre, because its semantic aura was drastically changed by Malherbe’s Consolation a Monsieur du Perier (1598). Batiushkov’s Elysium as (...) well as its Latin and French sources are poems about a delightful death and the union of lovers in the afterlife; yet the metre, which was used in Malherbe’s poem, was for more than two centuries a metre of mournful elegiac stanzas about eternal separation. The question of a metrical prototype for Batiushkov’s poem still remains undetermined. His “anacreontic” trochaic tetrameter does not have analogues in the Latin original or its French translations, but coincides with the metre of G. A. Burger’s Die Umarmung from 1776 (of which Batiushkov was hardly aware in 1810), and finds parallels in some eighteenth-century Russian imitations of Basium II which were most likely forgotten by the beginning of the nineteenth century. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:On John Hollander’s “Owl”Eleanor CookSuppose we start with grammar, assuming we’ve glanced at the look of “Owl” on the page, as if through the eyes of May Swenson. Here is the way she began to read a poem: “I like to see the poem first as a shut box or package to be opened, within which is an invention whose particular working I hope to discover. Something can be (...) felt about it even before beginning to read: its profile on the page, its regular or irregular pattern of stanzas, length of lines, their symmetry, its wide or thin shape, its look of bulk or lightness.” 1 So here, we observe a one-word title: a noun, no article, and so more like Bishop’s “Sandpiper” than Frost’s “The Oven Bird.” Then quatrains, twenty-four of them, each shorter in its third and more in its fourth line; the pulse iambic and 5 5 4 3 (pentameter twice, tetrameter, trimeter), the rhyme a b a b. Each stanza, in little, looks and listens like an owl, narrowing down to its fourth line, listening to the sounds and silences both—the sounds of the full end-rhymes, assonance, midline rhyming, schematic echoes, and so on; and the silences resonating in the vacant space left by one fewer foot in the third line, then two in the fourth, an effect especially noticeable in the end-stopped lines. This stanza form is (I believe) John Hollander’s own, 2 and it teaches us how to listen better. Owls hunt with their ears as well as their eyes, and with only their ears if necessary.In starting with grammar, I am simply choosing one partner in the dance of grammar, rhetoric, and dialectic that constitutes all writing. I shall touch on lexical questions and two senses of voice, before turning to the heart of the matter, the poem’s figuration and fable, then end [End Page 167] with some remarks on “Owl” as part of all Hollander’s work and also as a poem of our moment.The grammar, then, and first the syntactic variety of the sentences. T. S. Eliot wrote in 1918 that technique is not simply “what may be learned from a manual of prosody. This is making technique easy.... Technique is more volatile; it can only be learned, the more difficult part of it, by absorption. Try to put into a sequence of simple quatrains the continuous syntactic variety of Gautier or Blake....” 3 Something of Hollander’s distinctive voice in both poetry and prose lies in his great command of grammatical structures, including his syntactic variety. “Owl” is strongly predicative in style (note the complex syntax, and the remarkably high use of participles, past and present). The sentences give the effect of generating themselves, especially through their parallel grammatical constructions, where the last term in a double or triple set is likely to be modified by a clause or phrase—the whole sentence ramifying and exfoliating, as if we were watching a zoological or genealogical tree grow under our eyes. [See, for example, the parallel participles in the last line of stanza 4 and stanza 5: “Taking heed... you more than see.” Or consider how one participle leads to another in stanzas 15 through 17, beginning with “Trembling....”]Such syntactic energy gives a quick, vital rhythm to the sentence—a fast pace, given the richness of thought, hints, implications. A pace sometimes slightly nervous, curbing and steadying its own energies, partly through the regular beat of the simple rhyme scheme and quatrain. It seems to me that the forward propulsion of both the grammar and dialectic is steadied, directed, by the rhetorical schemes—that rhetoric here offers what I want to call something like a discipline of simplicity. This is a function we may not associate with rhetorical schemes, those “surface patterns of words” that “carry no meanings per se.” 4 In Roman Jakobson’s terms—and his discussion of parallelism was really the only thing that helped with what I was hearing—what I am hearing is the pull between a regular, simple parallelism of stanza form and a much-varied, complex parallelism of... (shrink)

In the fourth section of Goethe’s Zahme Xenien we find the quatrain from which I have taken the theme of such an old and new controversy, which, as I hope, concerns both Germanic studies and the other humanities: “What was it that kept you from us so apart?” I always read Plutarch again and again. “And what was the lesson he did impart?” “They were all human beings—so much is plain.”1 In the very years when Goethe wrote these lines, (...) that is in the 1820s, Hegel repeatedly gave his lectures on the philosophy of history. Right at the beginning he formulated the opposite view which I should like briefly to characterize as “cultural relativism.”Every age has such peculiar circumstances, such individual conditions that it must be interpreted, and can only be interpreted, by reference to itself…. Nothing is shallower in this respect than the frequent appeal to Greek and Roman example which so often occurred among the French at the time of their Revolution. Nothing could be more different than the nature of these peoples and the nature of our own times.2 What is at issue here is not, of course, Hegel’s assertion that ages and peoples differ from each other. We all know that, and Goethe, the attentive reader and traveler, also knew, for instance, that the Roman carnival differed in its character from the celebrations of the Feast of Saint Rochus at Bingen, both of which he had described so lovingly. What makes the cultural historian into a cultural relativist is only the conclusion which we saw Hegel draw, that cultures and styles of life are not only different but wholly incommensurable, in other words that it is absurd to compare the peoples of a region or an age with human beings of other zones because there is no common denominator that would justify us in doing so. 1. ‘Was hat dich nun von uns entfernt?’ Hab immer den Plutarch gelesen. ‘Was has du den dabei gelernt?’ Sind eben alles Menschen gewesen.’ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Sämtlich Werke. Jubiläums-ausgabe in 40 Bänden 4:73; with commentary.2. See Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Vorselungen über die Philosophie der Geschichte, Werke, 20 vols. , 12:17. E. H. Gombrich was director of the Warburg Institute and Professor of the History of the Classical Tradition at the University of London from 1959 to 1976. His many influential works include The Story of Art, Art and Illusion, Meditations on a Hobby Horse, The Sense of Order, Ideals and Idols, The Image and the Eye, Tributes, Aby Warburg, and New Light on Old Masters. His previous contributions to Critical Inquiry include “The Museum: Past, Present and Future” , “Standards of Truth: The Arrested Image and the Moving Eye” , and “Representation and Misrepresentation”. (shrink)

ABSTRACT“Time-consciousness” constitutes the core of Edmund Husserl’s phenomenology. Extending from a project of reviving the comparative method, we develop Husserl’s phenomenological analysis of time as a method of literary comparison. Three views of time set the stage: the quatrain “Luán’s Fall” by the eighth-century Chinese poet Wang Wei, a stanza from the poem “Etched off‌” by Paul Celan, the quintessential post-war poet in German language, and the haiku “Walking, on and on” by the Japanese itinerant monk and free-verse haiku (...) pioneer Santoka Taneda. What makes these poems relevant is not merely their superficially shared theme of time, but an intrinsic affinity, manifested in different poetic “time-objects”, to the very notion of time-consciousness. Through poetic analysis in the context of Husserl’s philosophy of time-consciousness, these poetic experiences, embodied in a phenomenological concept of “walking,” emphasize time as being. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:On John Hollander’s “Owl”Eleanor CookSuppose we start with grammar, assuming we’ve glanced at the look of “Owl” on the page, as if through the eyes of May Swenson. Here is the way she began to read a poem: “I like to see the poem first as a shut box or package to be opened, within which is an invention whose particular working I hope to discover. Something can be (...) felt about it even before beginning to read: its profile on the page, its regular or irregular pattern of stanzas, length of lines, their symmetry, its wide or thin shape, its look of bulk or lightness.” 1 So here, we observe a one-word title: a noun, no article, and so more like Bishop’s “Sandpiper” than Frost’s “The Oven Bird.” Then quatrains, twenty-four of them, each shorter in its third and more in its fourth line; the pulse iambic and 5 5 4 3 (pentameter twice, tetrameter, trimeter), the rhyme a b a b. Each stanza, in little, looks and listens like an owl, narrowing down to its fourth line, listening to the sounds and silences both—the sounds of the full end-rhymes, assonance, midline rhyming, schematic echoes, and so on; and the silences resonating in the vacant space left by one fewer foot in the third line, then two in the fourth, an effect especially noticeable in the end-stopped lines. This stanza form is (I believe) John Hollander’s own, 2 and it teaches us how to listen better. Owls hunt with their ears as well as their eyes, and with only their ears if necessary.In starting with grammar, I am simply choosing one partner in the dance of grammar, rhetoric, and dialectic that constitutes all writing. I shall touch on lexical questions and two senses of voice, before turning to the heart of the matter, the poem’s figuration and fable, then end [End Page 167] with some remarks on “Owl” as part of all Hollander’s work and also as a poem of our moment.The grammar, then, and first the syntactic variety of the sentences. T. S. Eliot wrote in 1918 that technique is not simply “what may be learned from a manual of prosody. This is making technique easy.... Technique is more volatile; it can only be learned, the more difficult part of it, by absorption. Try to put into a sequence of simple quatrains the continuous syntactic variety of Gautier or Blake....” 3 Something of Hollander’s distinctive voice in both poetry and prose lies in his great command of grammatical structures, including his syntactic variety. “Owl” is strongly predicative in style (note the complex syntax, and the remarkably high use of participles, past and present). The sentences give the effect of generating themselves, especially through their parallel grammatical constructions, where the last term in a double or triple set is likely to be modified by a clause or phrase—the whole sentence ramifying and exfoliating, as if we were watching a zoological or genealogical tree grow under our eyes. [See, for example, the parallel participles in the last line of stanza 4 and stanza 5: “Taking heed... you more than see.” Or consider how one participle leads to another in stanzas 15 through 17, beginning with “Trembling....”]Such syntactic energy gives a quick, vital rhythm to the sentence—a fast pace, given the richness of thought, hints, implications. A pace sometimes slightly nervous, curbing and steadying its own energies, partly through the regular beat of the simple rhyme scheme and quatrain. It seems to me that the forward propulsion of both the grammar and dialectic is steadied, directed, by the rhetorical schemes—that rhetoric here offers what I want to call something like a discipline of simplicity. This is a function we may not associate with rhetorical schemes, those “surface patterns of words” that “carry no meanings per se.” 4 In Roman Jakobson’s terms—and his discussion of parallelism was really the only thing that helped with what I was hearing—what I am hearing is the pull between a regular, simple parallelism of stanza form and a much-varied, complex parallelism of... (shrink)

The elegiac lines in PQasrlbrim inv. 78–3–11/1 , first edited and ascribed to Gallusby R. D. Anderson, P. J. Parsons and R. G. M. Nisbetin 1979, raise a number of major problems of interpretation yet to be resolved. As is now well known, the papyrus fragment contains nine fairly well-preserved lines: first a pentameter, followed by two quatrains each composed of two elegiac couplets; the two quatrains are carefully marked off from each other and from the lines which preceded and (...) followed them by a pair of signs which have defied interpretation; another such sign can be seen to have marked a similar separation between groups of lines in the next column of the papyrus. One might think that the sets of lines thus marked off were quite separate epigrams, or perhaps excerpts from longer poems, for they are concerned with separate, indeed discrepant, topics – the naughtiness of Lycoris, the morale-boosting effects of Caesar's forthcoming successes, the love-poet's fearless stance before his critics – and they do not seem prima facie to follow logically after one another. However, various unmistakable verbal and thematic connections between them have rightly been pointed out by Nisbet. So what is this sequence of related verses and why is it set out in this way? (shrink)

This article analyzes the figure of Omar Khayyam by looking at his famous quatrains or rubayat,focusing on the reception and review of the Arab philosophies of his time, and the defense that he makes of Persian Archaic, Zoroastrian, Mazdean and Manichean culture and philosophy.

This paper reconsiders certain questions about Ausonius’ two incomplete works on historical themes, Fasti and Caesares, with particular attention to points raised in a recent article by R. W. Burgess. Of the Fasti we have only a few tantalizing snippets, the packaging and not the core: what did the work look like when it left Ausonius? What was its coverage? was it in verse or prose? The Caesares as we have it breaks off in mid-quatrain, at line 139: did (...) it go beyond Elagabalus? What of the evidence in Giovanni Mansionario that Ausonius treated certain imperatores from Decius to Diocletian? (shrink)

This paper reconsiders certain questions about Ausonius’ two incomplete works on historical themes, Fasti and Caesares, with particular attention to points raised in a recent article by R. W. Burgess. Of the Fasti we have only a few tantalizing snippets, the packaging and not the core: what did the work look like when it left Ausonius? What was its coverage? was it in verse or prose? The Caesares as we have it breaks off in mid-quatrain, at line 139: did (...) it go beyond Elagabalus? What of the evidence in Giovanni Mansionario that Ausonius treated certain imperatores from Decius to Diocletian? (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:BOOK REVIEWS 347 Anoelus Silesius, le POlerin ChOrubinique. By Eugene Susini. (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1964. 2 vols.) "II a fallu pratiquement attendre le vingti~me si~cle pour que ffit donn~e sa vdritable place Angelus Silesius (de son vrai nom Johannes Scheffier) tomb~ dans l'oubli ou presque pendant plus de deux cents ans," ~crit M. Eugene Susini, Professeur en Sorbonne, dans son introduction au P$lerin Ch~rubinique. Mais si les (...) travaux consacr~s ~ ce podte mystique sont ddj~ nombreux, on n'avait jusqu'~ present ~ditd en France que quelques fragments, ~parpill~s dans des anthologies. Depuis l'ouvrage de M. Henri Plard (1943), il n'y avait pas eu d'ddition qui present ~t ~ nouveau le texte original et une traduction en regard. C'est maintenant chose faite, et M. Susini fair plus que combler cette lacune. En effet, les textes d'Angelus Silesius (16241677 ) sont prdcddds d'une introduction historique, biographique et litt~raire, dtude substantielle sur le milieu off v~cut Angelus Silesius, et sur son itin~raire spirituel. L'originalitd profonde de ce catholique converti se ddgage de cette dtude, dont l'ampleur et la concision forcent l'admiration. Ce n'est pas tout. Ace premier volume un second fait suite, consaer~ ~ d'abondantes notes (178 p.) relatives aux distiques et aux quatrains; ces derni~res s'~elairent les unes les autres, et grace ~ une minutieuse critique interne et externe, ces vers sont replaces dans un contexte plus vaste que le prdsentateur a pris soin d'~clairer par de constantes r~f~rences ~ des passages d'autres oeuvres mystiques, ou des Ecritures elles-mdmes. Enfin, un index alphabdtique complete tr~s utilement ces notes (p. 179 s 257). On ne salt ce qu'il convient d'admirer le plus, le travail de l'~rudit et de l'historien, ou celui du traducteur. La t~iche n'dtait pas aisde; il fallait rendre en alexandrins ce qui avait dt~ compos~ de m~me, afin de laisser aux sentences non seulement leur saveur, mais aussi leur forme d'dpigrammes-proverbes. I1 faut dire que la r~ussite est totale. Le P~lerin Ch~rubinique est en m~me temps un ouvrage ddfinitif, car on ne volt pasce que pourrait apporter une nouvelle traduction, une prgsentation du texte original different, ou un nouveau recueil de notes--ces derni~res ~tant ici d'une grande ampleur. C'est un ouvrage important, non seulement pour le germaniste, mais aussi pour l'historien des litt~ratures, et celui des religions. ANTOINE F~IVRE The Sense oj Decadence in Nineteenth-Century France. By Koenraad W. Swart. (Archives Internationales d'Histoire des Idles, 7; The Hague : M. Nijhoff, 1964. Pp. xi + 272. Gld. 27.50.) "Seek and ye shall find!" Scholars have generally followed this injunction and found in history pretty much what they set out to discover. For a long time, the nineteenth century was seen as an age of progress, its own self-image seeming to bear this out. More recently our own concern with decadence has led us to discover similar views in earlier times. After A. E. Carter, 1 Professor Koenraad Swart has given us The Sense o] Decadence in NineteenthJCentury France (The Hague : 1964), the seventh volume to appear in Martinus Nijhoff's International Archives of the History of Ideas. This is a broader chronicle than Carter's. It presents the antecedents of the idea of decadence from antiquity to the French Revolution, its modern forms rooted in a diversity of romantic reactions, its fin-de-si~cle culmination and its (temporary) waning before the brief affirmative revival that preceded World War I. In terms of present preoccupations, this is a timely book. A solid concluding chapter sketches "the foreign perspective," in which French developments appear as part of a broader context. The study provides a mine of information, a convenient companion and counterindicator to Bury's Idea o] Progress. Why, then, is it a dull and unsatisfactory book? In the first place because, having suggested the existence of another dimension to the histoire de grand-papa, the history of ideas cannot be written as, simply, another version of the serial chronicle of events. It... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:The Heart of Islamic Philosophy: The Quest for Self-Knowledge in the Teachings of Afdal al-Din KashaniKiki Kennedy-DayThe Heart of Islamic Philosophy: The Quest for Self-Knowledge in the Teachings of Afdal al-Din Kashani. By William C. Chittick. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001. Pp. 360. Hardcover.Are you tired of feeling that the scientifically quantifiable world is not all there is, but that most books about philosophy are airy-fairy or (...) pie-in-the-sky? Then The Heart of Islamic Philosophy: The Quest for Self-Knowledge in the Teachings of Afdal al-Din Kashani by William C. Chittick has something to say to you. Chittick succinctly analyzes the limitations of scientism in his preview of the ends of Islamic philosophy (especially pp. 34-37). One could not make a better argument for exploring the Real beyond appearances than Chittick does.As we look around ourselves in the wreckage of the world-abuse at Abu Ghraib prison, "ghost" prisoners at Guantanamo Bay, tens of thousands of refugees at Darfur-we may feel that the world could use more philosophy. Since traveling in our current direction is leading to spiritual bankruptcy in our souls, perhaps a solid spiritual understanding of the universe would help?The author's stated goals are to introduce the major themes of Islamic philosophy and to introduce the Persian philosopher Afdal al-Din Kashani in English translation. The book consists of two parts: part 1 an overview of Islamic philosophy and part 2 the writings of Baba Afdal. In part 1 Chittick moves from the particular to the general, here from Afdal al-Din Muhammad ibn Hasan Kashani (d. A.H. 610 / A.D. 1213-1214) to the perspective of Islamic philosophy and the perspectives of philosophy in general. Chittick sketches al-Kashani's life, moving from his tomb in Maraq, Iran, to recalling highlights of the philosopher's life. When one considers the near-contemporaries of al-Kashani they are so illustrious as to make one's head spin: Ibn Rushd, Ibn al-'Arabi, and Nasir al-Din Tusi. More than any other details, these scholars place al-Kashani in the intellectual major leagues. Chittick also mentions that al-Kashani believes in philosophy as a praxis, a way of life to be implemented as well as an exercise of reasoning. He sees philosophy as training the soul with the knowledge of the mind.Chapter 2 forms an excellent introduction to Islamic philosophy for the curious reader. He begins by nailing some of the current problems in studying Islamic thought. He mentions everything from considering the dogmas of religion beneath [End Page 180] study to the refusal to accept what philosophers say at face value. Basically it is our own prejudices and views that prevent us from being able to understand their perspectives. The specific issues of Islamic philosophers that Chittick discusses are understanding God, the meaning of prophecy, and the "Origin and Return"-how the world came to be and our return to God after death.Chittick also provides a much-needed antidote to the tendency of many modern scholars to over-Hellenize Islamic philosophy, while at the same time, failing to refer to either the Qur'an or Islamic civil society. He locates the problem with modern thought in an inability to grasp any notion that refers to quality rather than quantity. (This can be seen even more vividly in recent attempts by American economists to give a dollar value to happiness on the success chart.) While quantification is necessary in analytic science, it stifles thought in symbolic, metaphorical, or religious discovery.In part 2, the Writings section actually begins with relevant background texts, including Aristotle, pseudo-Aristotle (The Treatise on the Apple), Hermes, and Ghazali (The Alchemy of Felicity). Then we move on to the Baba Afdal's own writings, including quatrains, essays, letters, and others. These writings show the range of Afdal al-Din Kashani's interests: moving from the practical (chapter 5) to the theoretical (chapter 6). Among the writings in chapter 5 we find his letter to Majd al-Din. It shows al-Kashani's clear-sighted understanding of human nature when he says... (shrink)

This weighty volume, both literally and figuratively, is an illustrated collection of quatrains in the style and tone of Fitzgerald's Omar. Though Iranian, the author writes a fluent English.--S. M. F.