Writing poetry in 14th-century Iran
By: Rebecca Ruth Gould
Tags: Persian, Iran, Women, Poetry, Persia

Jahan Malek Khatun on Women’s Writing

It is not unknown to the learned and to artists that those are wise who do everything they can to leave a trace of their being on the pages of times. Day by day, that trace is covered by the dust of oblivion and the duration of time eliminates its form from memories. Therefore, it is necessary to build a work — a monument — that causes the name to endure after the body decays. It is obvious to all who are wise that the foundation of speech will not be demolished by tempestuous events. Its trace will never disappear from the page of the days, and the purest gem is that which brings satisfaction to the creator and to creation and which expresses the real (haqiqa) and the unreal (majaz), as has been said [by Nezami Ganjevi]:

Speech came from the azure dome.

From the skies, speech descended.

If there were a better gem than speech,

then it would descend instead of speech.

Therefore, there is no monument superior to poetic composition or prosaic arrangement, which

when read someday by someone in love,

will quench the fire of pain with its freshness.

The reasonable take advice from it.

Their wise hearts are comforted by it.

Therefore, I, Jahan, daughter of King Masʿud, ravaged by the hands of time, contented myself with piety, turned my heart toward the Kaʿba of redemption, and acted according to this verse [by the 12th century poet Khaqani]:

Choose to be alone and don’t seek company of friends.

Live alone and don’t ask for intimacy from your acquaintances.

Everything that happened brought something to my mind. For myown sake, every now and then I composed a piece as frenzied as lovers, as distressed as the impatient, as broken as the heart of the clear-sighted, in vain like the passion of the infatuated, in the grip of the boredom of days and nights, in order to busy my mind: I covered truth in the guise of tropes, and quenched my sorrows with the tears of self-expression. However, some low-spirited people are arrested by the appearance of my writing. As untalented they are, they cannot unveil the meaning of my words and blame my wonderful work.

Not every eye is capable of looking into the sun.

Not all drops can join the sea.

To the meticulous experts and high-ranking scrutinizers, that apparent state and that uttered speech are suggestive and revealing. Speech aims not for manifest meanings but for the secrets of being in general. Detailed tropes lead to genuine states of mind. As it is said, “tropes are a bridge to truth.” It is clear to the masters of knowledge, reason and morals that if poetry were not a chosen virtue and a gift of the chosen, the greatest companions of the Prophet and the renowned scholars — may God be happy with them all — would not trouble themselves to acquire it and would not endeavour to excel in it.

However, because Iranian noblewomen and ladies have been rarely occupied with poetry so far, I submitted to the common belief that there is a certain fault with women and avoided it seriously. But it was known by repeated and successive examples that great noblewomen and distinguished ladies, among both Arabs and Iranians, have earned renown in this art. If poetry had been forbidden, the Prophet’s dear daughter, the sun-signed moon, the pearl of the casket of chastity, the Lady of Hereafter, Fatemeh Zahra — may God be happy with her — would not have recited poems. As this [Arabic] verse, attributed to her majesty, says:

Women are fragrant flowers created for you

and all of you crave to smell flowers.

All Arab noblewomen have made poems, and in Iran, Aisha Mughriya who is unanimously one of the seekers of the path of faith and one of the birds of the way of certainty, has earned renown from her poetry. These two quatrains are hers:

If I enjoy your union, it’s sweet.

If I deserve your arrow, it’s sweet.

It’s impossible that I will be with you.

If I’m in your memory, it’s sweet.

All my life I have borne the sorrow of your absence.

I have made love with you away from you.

I have not talked about it with you,

as I don’t see myself worthy of you.

And other Iranian noblewomen like Padshah Khatun and Qotloghshah Khatun and others have ridden the steed of their talent in this field in whatever way they could. I imitated them and dared to compose poetry too, though it is said:

Not everyone can make verse.

Not everyone can bring poems.

Speech comes from virtue.

Speech does not come without knowledge.

I hope for the immense generosity and great kindness of all people of knowledge and letters, and all masters of reason and manners, that they may point out the faults in my talent and my limited capacity and scrutinize my work without ill intention and without prejudice. If they find anything good or bad, adequate or inadequate, in these words, they will gently make corrections and not blame me for my errors.

Excuse the mistakes, if any.

Masters do not blame disciples.

The above poems are taken from:

Jahān Malek Khātun, Divān-e kāmel, ed. Purandokht Kashani Rad and Kamel Ahmad Nejad (Tehran: Zavvar, 1995).

Javad Bashari, “Newly-found poems by Jahan Malek Khatun,” Payam-e Baharestan 1 (3): 740–766.