His work
The genius of Rūmī is held in few books — but each is an ocean. This section will be enriched work by work.
جَلَال الدِّين الرُّومِي
Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī
1207 — 1273 · Konya
Love as a path. Speech consumed by its own flame. The poet who became, through the ordeal of loss, a mouth for the invisible.
The exile of Khorasan
المَنْفِيّ مِنْ خُرَاسَان
He was born in Balkh, in eastern Khorasan, around 1207. Fleeing the advance of the Mongols, his family took the road of exile — Nishapur, Baghdad, Mecca, Damascus, and finally Konya, capital of the Seljuk sultanate of Anatolia. At the death of his father in 1231, the young Rūmī succeeded him: at twenty-four, he was already a jurist, a respected preacher.
وُلِدَ في بَلْخ، في خُرَاسَان الشَّرْقِيَّة، نَحْوَ سَنَة ١٢٠٧. هَرَبًا مِنْ زَحْفِ المَغُول، أَخَذَتِ العَائِلَة طَرِيقَ المَنْفَى — نَيْسَابُور، بَغْدَاد، مَكَّة، دِمَشْق، وَأَخِيرًا قُونْيَة، عَاصِمَة سَلَاجِقَة الرُّوم. عِنْدَ وَفَاة وَالِدِهِ سَنَة ١٢٣١، خَلَفَهُ الشَّابّ الرُّومِي : في الرَّابِعَة وَالعِشْرِين، صَارَ فَقِيهًا وَوَاعِظًا مُحْتَرَمًا.
The meeting that consumes
اللِّقَاء الَّذي يَحْرِق
In 1244, a wandering dervish arrived in Konya. His name was Shams al-Dīn al-Tabrīzī — the Sun of Tabriz. A rough old man, without school, without diploma, without brotherhood. The meeting was overwhelming. The two men withdrew together for several months — Rūmī forsook everything. Something, within him, was dying.
في سَنَة ١٢٤٤، وَصَلَ دَرْوِيش جَوَّال إِلى قُونْيَة. كانَ اسْمُهُ شَمْس الدِّين التَّبْرِيزِي — شَمْس تَبْرِيز. شَيْخ صَلْب، بِلَا مَدْرَسَة، بِلَا شَهَادَة، بِلَا طَرِيقَة. كانَ اللِّقَاء صَاعِقًا. اِنْعَزَلَ الرَّجُلَان مَعًا — أَهْمَلَ الرُّومِي كُلَّ شَيْء. شَيْءٌ مَا فِيهِ كانَ يَمُوت.
I was raw, I was cooked, then burned to ash.
كُنْتُ نَيِّئًا، صِرْتُ مَطْبُوخًا، ثُمَّ مُحْتَرِقًا.
— Rūmī, after his meeting with Shams
Shams would disappear twice — the second time definitively, around 1247-1248. Rūmī would seek him, would travel as far as Syria to find him again. And he would understand, little by little, that Shams was not external — that he had melted into him, that he had become him. “Why should I seek outside? I am the same as the one I was seeking.”
From this loss poetry would be born. The learned jurist became a torrent of words. He dictated to his disciple Ḥusām al-Dīn, sometimes while walking, sometimes while turning upon himself in a spontaneous trance. The verses sprang forth by the thousand.
The ocean-work
المُؤَلَّف كَالمُحِيط
The Mathnawī Maʿnawī — the work of maturity, dictated during the last years — comprises about 25,000 couplets in six books. A collection of tales, allegories, meditations, commentaries on verses. It became so venerated that it was called “the Persian Quran.”
اَلْـمَثْنَوِيّ المَعْنَوِيّ — مُؤَلَّفُ النُّضْج، أُمْلِيَ خِلَال السَّنَوَات الأَخِيرَة — يَضُمُّ نَحْوَ ٢٥،٠٠٠ بَيْتٍ في سِتَّةِ دَفَاتِر. مَجْمُوع مِنَ الحِكَايَات وَالرُّمُوز وَالتَّأَمُّلَات. غَدَا مُبَجَّلًا حَتَّى لُقِّبَ بِـ « القُرْآن الفَارِسِيّ ».
The Dīvān-i Shams-i Tabrīzī — more than 40,000 verses of odes and quatrains, all signed with the name of Shams. As if Rūmī, in effacing himself, gave back to the other the work that sprang from their union. It is the most burning, the most intoxicated part of his work.
دِيوَان شَمْس التَّبْرِيزِيّ — أَكْثَرُ مِنْ ٤٠،٠٠٠ بَيْتٍ، كُلُّهَا مُمَهَّرَة بِاسْمِ شَمْس. كَأَنَّ الرُّومِي، إِذَا مَحَا نَفْسَهُ، أَعَادَ إِلى الْآخَر العَمَلَ الَّذي تَفَجَّرَ مِنْ وَحْدَتِهِمَا. هَذَا هُوَ الجُزْءُ الأَكْثَرُ نَارًا وَسُكْرًا.
Listen to the reed flute, listen to its lament,
of separations it tells the plaintive song:
“Since from the reed-bed I was cut away,
at my cry men and women have wept…”
بِشْنَو إِزْ نَيْ چُون شِكَايَت مِيكُنَد،
اَزْ جُدَايِيهَا حِكَايَت مِيكُنَد :
كَزْ نَيِسْتَان تَا مَرَا بُبْرِيدَهاَنْد،
اَزْ نَفِيرَم مَرْد وَ زَن نَالِيدَهاَنْد...
— Mathnawī, prologue · “the lament of the reed”
Dance as prayer
الرَّقْصُ كَالصَّلَاة
Rūmī founded no order. The Mevleviyya would be structured after his death by his son Sultan Walad. But the ritual dance that characterises this way — the samāʿ of the whirling dervishes — descends directly from Rūmī himself.
لَمْ يُؤَسِّسِ الرُّومِيُّ طَرِيقَة. اَلْـمَوْلَوِيَّة سَتُنَظَّمُ بَعْدَ وَفَاتِهِ عَلَى يَدِ ابْنِهِ سُلْطَان وَلَد. لَكِنَّ الرَّقْصَ الطَّقْسِيَّ الَّذِي يُمَيِّزُ هَذِهِ الطَّرِيقَة — السَّمَاع دَرَاوِيش المَوْلَوِيَّة — مَوْرُوثٌ مِنَ الرُّومِيِّ نَفْسِه.
Come, come, come... whoever you are, come!
Whether you be unbeliever, idolater or pagan,
our cloister is not a place of despair.
بِيَا، بِيَا، بِيَا... هَرْ آنْچَه هَسْتِي بِيَا !
گَرْ كَافِرِي، بُتْپَرَسْتِي، گَبْرِي بِيَا،
دَيْرِ مَا دَيْرِ نَاأُمِيدِي نِيسْت.
— Rūmī
The night of the wedding
لَيْلَة العُرْس
Rūmī died in Konya on 17 December 1273. He called that night shab-i ʿarūs — “the night of the wedding.” For the Sufi, death is not an end but the union at last consummated with the Beloved. Every 17 December for almost eight centuries, the Mevlevi disciples have celebrated this anniversary in Konya — not through mourning, but through joy.
تُوُفِّيَ الرُّومِيُّ في قُونْيَة في السَّابِعَ عَشَرَ مِنْ كَانُون الأَوَّل ١٢٧٣. سَمَّى تِلْكَ اللَّيْلَةَ شَبْ عَرُوس — « لَيْلَة العُرْس ». عِنْدَ الصُّوفِيّ، اَلْمَوْتُ لَيْسَ نِهَايَةً بَلْ هُوَ الوَحْدَة الكَامِلَة مَعَ المَحْبُوب. كُلَّ سَابِعَ عَشَرَ مِنْ كَانُون الأَوَّل مُنْذُ ثَمَانِيَة قُرُون، يَحْتَفِلُ المَوْلَوِيُّون بِهَذِهِ الذِّكْرَى في قُونْيَة — لَا حُزْنًا، بَلْ فَرَحًا.
Our death is our wedding with eternity.
What is its secret? “God is one.”
مَوْتُنَا هُوَ عُرْسُنَا مَعَ الأَزَل.
مَا سِرُّهُ ؟ « اَللهُ وَاحِد. »
— Rūmī
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