Influence of Yunus Emre

The Turkish people rightly claim Yunus as the founder of Turkish literature proper. His poetry is considered the chief pillar of poetry of the Bektashi Sufi order, and many poets of this and other orders have imitated his style (though without reaching the same level of poetic truth and human warmth). Among the later poets claimed by the Bektashis may be mentioned Kaygusuz Abdal (15th century), who probably came from the European provinces of the Ottoman Empire. His verses are full of burlesque and even coarse images; in their odd mixture of worldliness and religious expression, they are often as amusing as they are puzzling. In the 16th century Pir Sultan Abdal (executed c. 1560) is noted for a few poems of austere melancholy. He was executed for collaboration with the Safavids, the archenemies of the Ottomans, and in this connection it is worth remembering that the founder of the Iranian Safavid dynasty, Shāh Ismāʿīl I (died 1524), wrote Turkish poetry under the pen name Khaṭāʾī and is counted among the Bektashi poets.

Religious poetry

Mystically tinged poetry has always been very popular in Turkey, both in cities and in rural areas. The best-loved religious poem of all was, and still is, Süleyman Çelebi’s (died 1419) Mevlûd, a quite short mas̄navī in honour of the Prophet Muhammad’s birth. This type of poetry has been known in the Islamic countries since at least the 12th century and was soon adopted wherever Islam spread. There are a great number of mevlûd written in Turkish, but it was Süleyman Çelebi’s unpretentious description of the great religious event that captured the hearts of the Turks, and it is still sung on many occasions (on the anniversary of a death, for example). The poem makes an excellent introduction to an understanding of the deep love for the Prophet felt by the pious Muslim.

Lyric poetry: Moḥammad Shams al-Dīn Ḥāfeẓ

Ḥāfeẓ lived in Shīrāz; his pen name—“Who Knows the Qurʾān by Heart”—indicates his wide religious education, but little is known about the details of his life. The same is true of many Persian lyrical poets, because their products rarely contain much trustworthy biographical material. Ḥāfeẓ’s comparatively small collection of work—his Dīvān contains about 400 ghazals—was soon acclaimed as the finest lyrical poetry ever written in Persian. The discussion of whether or not to interpret its wine and love songs on a mystical plane has continued for centuries. Yet this discussion seems sterile since Ḥāfeẓ, whose verbal images shine like jewels, is an outstanding exponent of the ambiguous and oscillating style that makes Persian poetry so attractive and so difficult to translate.

The different levels of experience are all expressed through the same images and symbols: the beloved is always cruel, whether a chaste virgin (a rare case in Persian poetry!), a professional courtesan, a handsome young boy (in most cases), God (mysterious and unattainable), or even the remote despot, the wisdom of whose schemes must never be questioned by his subjects. Because mystical interpretation of the world order had become almost second nature to Persians during the 13th century, the human beloved could effortlessly be regarded as God’s manifestation; the rose became a symbol of highest divine beauty and glory; the nightingale represented the yearning and complaining soul; wine, cup, and cupbearer became the embodiment of enrapturing divine love. The poets’ multicoloured images were not merely decorative embroidery but were a structural part of their thought.

One must not expect Ḥāfeẓ (or any other poet) to unveil his personal feelings in a lyrical poem of experience. But no other Persian poet has used such complex imagery on so many different levels with such harmonious and well-balanced lucidity as did Ḥāfeẓ. His true greatness lies in this rather than in the content of his poetry. It must be stressed again that, according to the traditional view, each verse of a ghazal should be unique, precious for its own sake, and that the apparent lack of logic behind the sequence of verses was considered a virtue rather than a defect. (It may help to think of the glass pieces in a kaleidoscope, which appear in different patterns from moment to moment yet themselves form no logical pattern.) To what extent an “inner rhythm” and a “contrapuntal harmony” can be detected in Ḥāfeẓ’s poetry is still a matter for discussion, but that he perfected the ghazal form is indisputable. Whether he is praised as a very human love poet, as an interpreter of esoteric lore, or as a political critic, his verses have a continuing appeal to all lovers of art and artistry.

Parodies of classic forms

Ḥāfeẓ’s contemporary in Shīrāz was the satirist ʿObeyd-e Zākānī (died 1371), noted for his obscene verses (even the most moralistic and mystical poets sometimes produced surprisingly coarse and licentious lines) and for his short mas̄navī called Mūsh o-gorbeh (“Mouse and Cat”), an amusing political satire. Because few new forms or means of expression were open to them, ʿObeyd and other poets began ridiculing the classic models of literature; thus, Bosḥāq (died c. 1426) composed odes and ghazals exclusively on the subject of food.

The Timurid period in Iran produced only moderately good poetry, despite the rulers’ interest in art. Allegorical mas̄navīs were much in vogue, such as the Shabestān-e khayāl (“Bedchamber of Fantasy”) by the prolific writer Fattāḥī of Nīshāpūr (died 1448) and Gūy o-chowgān (“Ball and Polo-stick”) by ʿĀrefī (died 1449); the latter work is an elaboration of the cliché that the lover is helpless before the will of his beloved, just as the ball is subject to the will of the polo-stick (“the head of the lover in the polo-stick of the beloved’s tresses”).

Eclecticism of ʿAbd al-Raḥmān Jāmī

The last great centre of Islamic art in the region of Iran was the Timurid court of Herāt, where Dowlatshāh (died 1494) composed his much-quoted biographical work on Persian poets. The leading figure in this circle was ʿAbd al-Raḥmān Jāmī (died 1492), who is sometimes considered the last and most comprehensive of the “seven masters” in Persian literature, because he was a master of every literary genre and did not specialize in one form only, as Anvarī and Ḥāfeẓ, among others, had done. Jāmī wrote an excellent imitation of Neẓāmī’s Khamseh, enlarging it by the addition of two mystical mas̄navīs into a septet called Haft owrang (“The Seven Thrones,” or “The Constellation of the Great Bear”). His interest in Sufism—he was initiated into the Naqshbandiyyah order—is clear from his famous biographies of the Sufi saints (which were an elaboration of a similar work by the 11th-century ʿAbd Allāh al-Anṣārī). In imitation of Saʿdī, Jāmī also composed the Bahārestān (“Orchard of Spring”), written in prose interspersed with verses. He left no less than three large divans, which contain work of high quality and demonstrate his gift for inventing picturesque images. Although his work abounds in lavishly ornamented verses, his style on the whole lacks the perfect beauty of Ḥāfeẓ’s lyrics and is already tending toward the heavier, more opaque “Indian” style. Jāmī also wrote treatises about literary riddles and various kinds of intellectual games, of which Muslim society in the late 15th century was very fond and which remain a feature of erudite Persian and Turkish poetry. His influence on the work of later poets, especially in Ottoman Turkey, was powerful.

An interesting aspect of the Timurid court in Herāt was the attention given to Chagatai Turkish, which was spoken in the eastern regions of Islam (see Chagatai literature). ʿAlī Shīr Navāʾī, minister at the court (and a close friend of Jāmī), emphasized the beauties of his Turkic mother tongue as compared with Persian in his Muḥākamat al-lughatayn (“Judgment of the Two Languages”). He composed most of his lyrics and epics in Chagatai, which previously had been used by some members of the Timurid family and their courtiers for poetry but which became, thanks to him, an established literary medium. Even the arts-loving ruler of Herāt, Ḥusayn Bayqara (died 1506), wrote poetry in Turkic, following in every respect conventional literary taste.

Prose works: the “mirrors for princes”

During the first five centuries of literature written in Modern Persian, a multitude of prose works were written. Among them the political instruction tradition known as “mirrors for princes” deserves special mention. This genre, introduced from Persian into Arabic as early as the 8th century, flourished once more in Iran during the late 11th century. One important example is the Qābūs-nāmeh (“The Book of Qābūs”) by the Zeyārid prince ʿOnṣor ol-Maʿalī Keykāvūs (died 1098), which presents “a miscellany of Islamic culture in pre-Mongol times.” At the same time, Niẓām al-Mulk (died 1092), the grand vizier of the Seljuqs, composed his Seyāsat-nāmeh (The Book of Government; or, Rules for Kings), a good introduction to the statesman’s craft according to medieval Islamic standards. The Seyāsat-nāmeh was heavily influenced by pre-Islamic Persian tradition. In the same period and environment, even a mystic such as al-Ghazālī felt disposed to write a Naṣīḥat al-mulūk (“Counsel for Kings”), although the idealized relationship he makes between religious theory and practical statesmanship was not very realistic. A later mystic to compose a similar work was Sayyid ʿAlī Hamadhānī (died 1385), who had settled in Kashmir and initiated its Sufi poetry. Others, especially in India, exhorted rulers in their writings.