Okhouan

A mole shows black
Between her mouth and cheek.

As if a negro,
Coming into a garden,
Wavered between a purple rose
And a scarlet camomile.

From the Arabic.

Edward Powys Mathers

Edward Powys Mathers was an English translator and poet, best known for translating the French Orientalist J.C. Mardrus's translation of 'The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night' in 1923. In addition to translations, Powys Mathers was an influential figure in the realm of cryptic crosswords, devising some of the most challenging puzzles for 'The Observer'. His translations have been lauded for their literary beauty and for introducing English-speaking audiences to classic Persian, Arabic, and Turkish poetry.

Edward Powys Mathers

An Orange Sleeve

Edward Powys Mathers, Simple Poetry

Hearts Of Women

Edward Powys Mathers, Simple Poetry

The Lost Lady

Edward Powys Mathers, Simple Poetry

Micra

Edward Powys Mathers, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Perturbation At Dawn

Day comes....

And when she sees the withering of the violet garden
And the saffron garden flowering,
The stars escaping on their black horse
And dawn on her white horse arriving,
She is afraid.

Against the sighing of her frightened breasts
She puts her hand;
I see what I have never seen,
Five perfect lines on a crystal leaf
Written with coral pens.

From the Arabic of Ebn Maatuk (seventeenth century).

Edward Powys Mathers

Distich

Your face upon a drop of purple wine
Shows like my soul poised on a bead of blood.

From the Turkic of Hussein Baikrani.

Edward Powys Mathers

Moallaka

The poets have muddied all the little fountains.

Yet do not my strong eyes know you, far house?

O dwelling of Abla in the valley of Gawa,
Speak to me, for my camel and I salute you.

My camel is as tall as a tower, and I make him stand
And give my aching heart to the wind of the desert.

O erstwhile dwelling of Abla in the valley of Gawa;
And my tribe in the valleys of Hazn and Samna
And in the valley of Motethalem!

Salute to the old ruins, the lonely ruins
Since Oum El Aythan gathered and went away.

Now is the dwelling of Abla
In a valley of men who roar like lions.
It will be hard to come to you, O daughter of Makhram.

            *            *            *            *            *

Abla is a green rush
That fee...

Edward Powys Mathers

Sand

The sand is like acres of wet milk
Poured out under the moonlight;
It crawls up about your brown feet
Like wine trodden from white stars.

From the Arabic of John Duncan.

Edward Powys Mathers

Moallaka

Rise and hold up the curved glass,
And pour us wine of the morning, of El Andar.

Pour wine for us, whose golden colour
Is like a water stream kissing flowers of saffron.

Pour us wine to make us generous
And carelessly happy in the old way.

Pour us wine that gives the miser
A sumptuous generosity and disregard.

O Oum-Amr, you have prevented me from the cup
When it should have been moving to the right;
And yet the one of us three that you would not serve
Is not the least worthy.

How many cups have I not emptied at Balbek,
And emptied at Damas and emptied at Cacerin!

More cups! more cups! for death will have his day;
His are we and he ours.

            *            *            *            *            *

By he...

Edward Powys Mathers

Cuando-Cubango

    1

    Moths, if they dream dusk,
    sport esurient hip-flasks on their wings -
    gangster rum-runners better to sully dark,
    traverse caravans of colour
    amid silk-routes
    to dazzle Prester John,
    cork unscrew the unicorn horn askew.

    2
    Compte de la Mothe
    escadrilles/flotillas
    D'Entrecasteaux
    with Bougainville discovering
    well, Bougainvillaea and I,
    latter day la Perouse,
    cunningly amuck on coral
    adoration and wine,
    (red as scarlet leaves)
    chenille, frangipanni and the Marquis house colours
    of the flame-bitten tropics.

    3
    Let me scandalize why.
    Watch the sea churn
    to white bubbles then coat
    your nostril with brine
...

Paul Cameron Brown