Ghiyāth
al-Din Abū al Fath ’Umar ibn Ibrāhīm
al-Khayyāmī,
who is known to us as Omar Khayyam, was born and died at Nīshāpur, which in the
eleventh century AD was one of the four
mighty cities of the great eastern province of Khurasān.
Omar Khayyam, who in Europe and America is
generally regarded as a poet with an essentially hedonistic attitude to life,
was in fact the profoundest scholar of his day. He was probably the most learned
mathematician, and was certainly the most celebrated astronomer of medieval
times, and although he was by no means a prolific writer – probably preferring
to devote himself to teaching rather than to the written word – the titles of
such of his books as have survived the intervening eight-and-a-half centuries
give an inkling of the majestic sweep of his wisdom and knowledge. They are:
Mathematics:
“A Treatise on Algebra”, and “On Euclid’s Axioms”.
Physics:
“A Short Treatise on Physics”, “Researches into the Specific Weight of Silver
and Gold”, “On Methods of Ascertaining the Value of Jewelry Sets with Precious
Stones”.
Geography:
“On Methods of Determining the Cause of the Different Climates of Various
Countries”.
Philosophy:
“On Being and Obligation”, and “On Existence”.
Diwāns: Persian and Arabic poetry.
Furthermore, Omar Khayyam,
assisted by a small committee of learned men, compiled the Astronomical Tables,
which enabled a new Calendar to be introduced in the realms of Sultan Jalāl al-Dīn
Malik Shāh at Nawrūz (New Year’s Day) the 15th March, AD 1079. This
Calendar is more accurate than which was introduced by Pope Gregory XIII in A.D.
1582. In the Gregorian Calendar, an error of one day occurs during a period of
3,330 years, whereas in the Jalālī Calendar the error is one day in
approximately 5,000 years. Omar’s Calendar is, in fact, the most accurate yet
devised.
I have paid tribute in my Introduction to “A New
Selection from the Rubā‘iyyāt of Omar Khayyam” to the wit, the beauty, the profound philosophy, and the extraordinary
variety of the poetry of Omar Khayyam. As his first English interpreter, Edward
FitzGerald, wrote: “He sang, in an acceptable way, it seems, of what all men
feel in their hearts but had not had exprest in verse before.”
For scattered petals never sigh,
Nor for Tomorrow vainly cry,
By happy now, Dear Heart, and do not fear
That any moment of our love can die
The Mullah to a harlot said:
When you entice men to your bed,
Do you not in your heart repine
To live a slave to lust and wine?’
But she upon his words broke in;
I am adept in every sin:
’Tis my career – can you profess
To follow yours with like success?’
The arch is broken and the splendour fled
Where every aspect once was brave and fair,
This Palace none inhabits save the dead
Whose ivory bones the desert breezes stir.
The Hall of Audience desecrated lies –
Though Princes came to make obeisance here –
And from a ruined tower an owlet cries:
‘The glory is departed – where? where? where?’
The winds that wanton in the vale
Have suddenly grown colder;
The errant clouds which by us sail
Weep on the green hill’s shoulder;
But we, whatever griefs or fears
Make other men repine,
Will drink, in spite of April’s tears,
The red, the sun-warmed wine.
(Extracted from “Poems from The Persian”)
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