I talked about Iranian* civilization in a recent post. Two days ago Donald Trump threatened that ‘a whole civilization will die tonight’ if Iran did not accede to his demands. Last night he relented. But the arrogance and idiocy of the threat, and of the man who issued it, are embedded in our minds and will be in our histories forever.

One of the greatest of poets, from the fourteenth century, of the civilisation he would destroy had the measure of the man. Below are two stanzas from Hafez’s poem ‘Life’s Mighty Flood’. It carries a message beyond the comprehension of the dictators and would-be dictators of this world.

The span of thy life is as five little days,/ Brief hours and swift in this halting-place;/ Rest softly, ah rest! while the Shadow delays,/ For Time’s self is nought and the dial’s face./ On the lip of Oblivion we linger, and short/ Is the way from the Lip to the Mouth where we pass/ While the moment is thine, fill, oh Saki, the glass/ Ere all is nought!

Consider the rose that breaks into flower,/ Neither repines though she fade and die–/ The powers of the world endure for an hour,/ But nought shall remain of their majesty./ Be not too sure of your crown, you who thought/ That virtue was easy and recompense yours;/ From the monastery to the wine-tavern doors/ The way is nought

To bring him further down to earth I can offer a few words from what seem an unlikely source (but it rings true), the last chapter of Chloe Dalton’s wonderful book ‘Raising Hare’:

‘As we jostle for space on this planet, about missteps and paths lost, and feel the fragility of all our hopes and all that we hold dear. I think of the hare. Stepping lightly on the earth, taking cover if the wind blows. We are not so dissimilar. If we do not achieve all upon which we have set our hearts, or are beaten back by headwinds stronger than our desires, we too can lay up for a while, catch the glitter on the grass, and renew our strength.’

The American president’s sanity is fragile. So too the world he threatens. He looks to the skies and armament and the ruin of others. The grass may never, will never, glitter for him. But it will cover him.

*We in the West had always (until 1935) called Iran ‘Persia’, even though it refers to only to one province of the ancient land of Iran.