Ghazals
Been reading yet more on ghazals. It's fascinating how a medieval Persian form of poetry (one that continues to this day) has so many similarities with fanfic, in its way. Here are some excerpts of emails I sent to versaphile today, slightly edited.
I have just been reading about iham, the concept of multiple layers of symbolism in Persian poetry.
In Persian and Indian poetry, double meanings are the sign of a great poem. In the West, double entendres are synonymous with dirty jokes and vulgarity, but there, a poem isn't a proper poem unless it can be read in at least two ways and it can reflect several truths (sometimes completely opposite ones). The Sufi love poems are a good example of this, when they can be read as ordinary love songs or symbols of a mystic pining after God. I love how in both Indian and Persian poetry, there's this thing about combining symbols that have lots of associations, an entire web of them, so that by mentioning just one concept, a whole web of concepts and meanings resonates and tinkles when the reader thinks of all the things one word can evoke. So for instance, when a poem is speaking of the monsoon rains, the Indian listener will instantly think of the meeting of lovers (because during that time, men came back from long work trips and other journeys) and love and snuggles indoors. And in Persia, you only have to say the word "gazelle" to make someone think of the beloved.
It's so wonderfully like fanfic. Just how in a Victorian novel, a fobwatch wouldn't have much of a significance. But if someone pulls out a fobwatch in a Doctor Who fanfic, the reader will go O_O.
***
Man, I wish this book I'm currently reading (an anthology on Oriental aesthetics) was in English. One Finnish researcher (Mikko Viitamäki) writes fascinating stuff about ghazals. Like the stuff I emailed you earlier, he keeps repeating that often ghazals are deliberately non-linear, deliberately paradoxical and open to interpretation so they would make people think. That's considered a major strength in the poem--not a linear narrative, but after the introduction of the theme (often by a question being asked) in the first few couplets, the problem is approached from several different POVs. Often these take the form of comparisons and various types of laments and praises (because ghazals focus on emotions of love rather than storytelling) so the poem becomes like a finely cut diamond, reflecting the light of the reader's insight from many different angles as s/he reads it and re-interprets it. It's like a mystery, a meditation, a maze, a mandala or yantra of words where every corner has a new entrance and where there are new, beautiful things painted on the walls and floors and each gives some new insight. That's serious nerdiness right there!
The author even suggests that since these poems are meant to be interpreted in different ways, it's pointless to try and look for the poems' "real" content or meaning as such, as they are meant to be interpreted on at *least* two different levels. Translation itself poses a difficulty since some vowels are omitted in Arabic-based writing systems, so this allows the original writer to play word games with the reader, making the reader sometimes wonder which word is really being meant. So Viitamäki even suggests that when we look at ghazals from this point of view, even the early Orientalists' bowdlerised translations (the sorts that erased, say, homoerotic metaphors) are just as "valid" because the poems are meant to spark interpretation in the reader, a retelling which will happen in the reader's own mind. The reinterpretation is considered incredibly important--especially in Indian literature, it's seen as one of the goals of great writing, to cause transformation in the human mind through the feelings and interpretations the story triggers. So this is incredibly fascinating. Likewise, in order to write a ghazal, a writer would have to know the ghazal tradition's vocabulary and symbolism but not repeat other writers' works--so any writer worth their salt would have to work with old tools but create something new with them, to use them in fresh ways. Talk about pwnage through transformative and derivative works!
So, in the end, there's no such thing as You're Reading It Wrong in a ghazal. Which, let me tell you, is wonderfully refreshing.
I have just been reading about iham, the concept of multiple layers of symbolism in Persian poetry.
In Persian and Indian poetry, double meanings are the sign of a great poem. In the West, double entendres are synonymous with dirty jokes and vulgarity, but there, a poem isn't a proper poem unless it can be read in at least two ways and it can reflect several truths (sometimes completely opposite ones). The Sufi love poems are a good example of this, when they can be read as ordinary love songs or symbols of a mystic pining after God. I love how in both Indian and Persian poetry, there's this thing about combining symbols that have lots of associations, an entire web of them, so that by mentioning just one concept, a whole web of concepts and meanings resonates and tinkles when the reader thinks of all the things one word can evoke. So for instance, when a poem is speaking of the monsoon rains, the Indian listener will instantly think of the meeting of lovers (because during that time, men came back from long work trips and other journeys) and love and snuggles indoors. And in Persia, you only have to say the word "gazelle" to make someone think of the beloved.
It's so wonderfully like fanfic. Just how in a Victorian novel, a fobwatch wouldn't have much of a significance. But if someone pulls out a fobwatch in a Doctor Who fanfic, the reader will go O_O.
***
Man, I wish this book I'm currently reading (an anthology on Oriental aesthetics) was in English. One Finnish researcher (Mikko Viitamäki) writes fascinating stuff about ghazals. Like the stuff I emailed you earlier, he keeps repeating that often ghazals are deliberately non-linear, deliberately paradoxical and open to interpretation so they would make people think. That's considered a major strength in the poem--not a linear narrative, but after the introduction of the theme (often by a question being asked) in the first few couplets, the problem is approached from several different POVs. Often these take the form of comparisons and various types of laments and praises (because ghazals focus on emotions of love rather than storytelling) so the poem becomes like a finely cut diamond, reflecting the light of the reader's insight from many different angles as s/he reads it and re-interprets it. It's like a mystery, a meditation, a maze, a mandala or yantra of words where every corner has a new entrance and where there are new, beautiful things painted on the walls and floors and each gives some new insight. That's serious nerdiness right there!
The author even suggests that since these poems are meant to be interpreted in different ways, it's pointless to try and look for the poems' "real" content or meaning as such, as they are meant to be interpreted on at *least* two different levels. Translation itself poses a difficulty since some vowels are omitted in Arabic-based writing systems, so this allows the original writer to play word games with the reader, making the reader sometimes wonder which word is really being meant. So Viitamäki even suggests that when we look at ghazals from this point of view, even the early Orientalists' bowdlerised translations (the sorts that erased, say, homoerotic metaphors) are just as "valid" because the poems are meant to spark interpretation in the reader, a retelling which will happen in the reader's own mind. The reinterpretation is considered incredibly important--especially in Indian literature, it's seen as one of the goals of great writing, to cause transformation in the human mind through the feelings and interpretations the story triggers. So this is incredibly fascinating. Likewise, in order to write a ghazal, a writer would have to know the ghazal tradition's vocabulary and symbolism but not repeat other writers' works--so any writer worth their salt would have to work with old tools but create something new with them, to use them in fresh ways. Talk about pwnage through transformative and derivative works!
So, in the end, there's no such thing as You're Reading It Wrong in a ghazal. Which, let me tell you, is wonderfully refreshing.