Omar Khayyam Quotes (Author of ??????? ????)
Interlocking Rubaiyat: Poetic Form
FitzGerald's work at first was unsuccessful commercially. But it was popularised from onward by Whitley Stokes , and the work came to be greatly admired by the Pre-Raphaelites in England. In FitzGerald had a third edition printed, which increased interest in the work in the United States of America. The authenticity of the poetry attributed to Omar Khayyam is highly uncertain. Omar was famous during his lifetime not as a poet but as an astronomer and mathematician. The earliest reference to his having written poetry is found in his biography by al-Isfahani , written 43 years after his death.
The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam presents an interesting challenge to any reader trying to sort through its heavy symbolism and not-so-obvious theme. Another recurring motif throughout the poem is the time-honored act of downing a few drinks. But all of these seemingly transparent references to drinking beg for a deeper analysis. Writing a really great poem about blowing off the next day to get trashed does not get you into the literary canon. There is a parable in the Bible about a woman who, having been married several times out of either lust or financial necessity, goes to the well for water and finds Jesus there, dispensing wisdom in his usual manner. Now a different theme arises from the symbols the author is using. Have drunk their Cup a Round or two.
The Rubai form is more than a thousand years old. Rubaiyat was created by a non-Arab poet by the name Abul Hassan Rodeki. But the rubaiyat form was later taken to glorified heights by Omar Khayyam , a great Persian poet, astronomer, philosopher, and mathematician. Khayyam, lovelorn, became an addict to wine and, inspired by his blossoming delirious muse of memories of his estranged lover, he composed a number of beautiful rubaiyat, filled with love, pain, philosophy, and the panacean benefits of wine. His rubaiyat were translated into a number of languages, including English. But helpless pieces in the game He plays, Upon this chequer-board of Nights and Days, He hither and thither moves, and checks… and slays, Then one by one, back in the Closet lays. You know how little time we have to stay, And once departed, may return no more.