Musafari in English

[Nazar]

Musafari is often interpreted as 'separateness' in our traditional Pashtu literature. There may not be such a concept of Musafari existing in the western culture though, yet I sometimes wonder that what might be the possible closest word in English for Musafari.

Don't expect you to say it's traveling or voyage.

[Friend]

I think expatriation is the best word.

[tor_khan]

Some things don't really have an exact translation. Amongst the Pashtuns in the Arabian Gulf a musafir is someone compelled to live away from home to earn a living. The expression has a very poetic ring to it in those circumstances. The most popular tv programmes on Khyber and Shamshad have musafirs being interviewed on the street or by phone where they make song requests or send messages back to their family.

[Nazar]

Some things don't really have an exact translation. Amongst the Pashtuns in the Arabian Gulf a musafir is a some compelled to live away from home to earn a living. The expression has a very poetic ring to it in those circumstances. The most popular tv programmes on Khyber and Shamshad have musafirs being interviewed on the street or by phone where they make song requests or send messages back to their family.

Thanks though. You have just defined who Musafar is. I am in quest of finding the possible closest word (not literal meaning) for it in English.

[Nazar]

I think expatriation is the best word.

But it isn't as poetic as in Pashtu.

[Friend]

Well there could be many definitions of this word, You have to defined it first in Pashto if you are looking for a particular meaning of the word.

[Zirey]

Judging from your description above, the archaic meaning of the English word 'alien' would seem to come close. Of course, the problem is that nowadays people associate the word 'alien' almost exclusively with beings from outer space.

[Breshna]

There is a...word.

Its been used in many English...poems.

Musafari..Traveller.

"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grass
Of the forest's ferny floor;
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:--
"Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word," he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.


Walter de la Mare

[Breshna]

I Am The Traveler


This poem 'I Am The Traveler' has as main theme: Adventure.

Waking up quite early in the morning,
Readying myself for another new day,
Leaving another house without warning,
Once more, it is time to be on my way.

A face marked with two day old stubble,
Tired morning eyes make room for a smile,
It is time to reach that daily dose of trouble,
To explore the odd and absurd is my style.
The traveler is not hindered by any sort of weather,
The more extreme the more challenge one sees,
Luckily I am not even nearly as light as a feather,
Otherwise I would have difficulty with a breeze.

Not a day goes by without exploring another place,
It is a waste to sit still, doing nothing at all,
As the traveler it are the mysteries that I embrace,
I shall keep on going until the day I fall.

With quality boots I move through each town,
Meeting new generous people here and there,
No obstacle in my way will bring me down,
Note; it is far more interesting not to prepare.

As a traveler I travel in many different ways,
With each way comes its interesting things,
I love the times when I am gone for days,
Enjoying the atmosphere that each city brings.

The best thing is that my destination is unknown,
Those who ask where I go are left a bit confused,
They patiently listen to each story its adventurous tone,
The impression on their face suggests they are amused.

I find myself in awkward circumstances once in a while,
At those particular times one should break the ice,
Laughed at or laughed with, as long as there is a smile,
A happy face makes me want to do anything twice.

People that one meets as a traveler is rewarding in itself,
The many different personalities and stories are fascinating,
Yet I still have to meet those who are just like myself,
There seem to be just a few who share my thing.

A call out to travelers out there who experience the same,
One traveler meeting another would be an interesting event,
I will search until I discover another one his or her name,
Every second spend traveling is time well spent.

With every day of traveling comes nightfall with a goodnight rest,
I do my best to seek out a bed, preferably the one that I own,
Sufficient rest is important for an optimal shape on a next quest,
Sleep now, rest, gather strength, ready yourself for the unknown.
I Am The Traveler

- Daniel C.V. -

[Nazar]

I am not that familiar with English literature though but these poems give me the impression that they portray the travelers of the era when there were no modern means of transportation and one had to pass through towns, mountains and villages on foot or either on a horse to reach the destination and this would take them weeks and even months.
Musafari in contemporary Pashtu literature has a completely different meaning. A phenomenon of living (not necessarily keeping traveling) away from a lover, family or friends in another country or city.

Btw, if we stick to your interpretation of Musafari which is obviously travelling, then how can we translate this Pashtu poem into English?

"Musafari wa khwarray kor ta raza janana
ta yadawam janana, ma yadawa janana"

[IamDZJ]

unnecessarily emotional attachments are always poetic. a traveler is at home wherever he goes because the same God that created his country has created the rest of the world too. sad is paying a price from being separated from people one loves. that too, only because life is so short.

[Nazar]

sad is paying a price from being separated from people one loves. that too, only because life is so short.

I am talking exactly about that price, Mr. Philosopher. What is it called in English?

[Breshna]

I am not that familiar with English literature though but these poems give me the impression that they portray the travelers of the era when there were no modern means of transportation and one had to pass through towns, mountains and villages on foot or either on a horse to reach the destination and this would take them weeks and even months.
Musafari in contemporary Pashtu literature has a completely different meaning. A phenomenon of living (not necessarily keeping traveling) away from a lover, family or friends in another country or city.

Btw, if we stick to your interpretation of Musafari which is obviously travelling, then how can we translate this Pashtu poem into English?

"Musafari wa khwarray kor ta raza janana
ta yadawam janana, ma yadawa janana"

The poetry is...talking

about a person out of...place

far from...home.

Gypsies are called...traveler's.

Meaning Musafirs...as

their always on the...road.

We have a lot of Irish...traveler's.

Who live a life...a bit

like the...kuchian.

[Breshna]

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named Night,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule —
From a wild weird clime, that lieth, sublime,
Out of Space — out of Time.

Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titian woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the dews that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead, —
Their still waters, still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named Night,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule.

By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead, —
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily, —
By the mountains — near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever, —
By the gray woods, — by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp, —
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls, —
By each spot the most unholy —
In each nook most melancholy, —
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted Memories of the Past —
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by —
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the worms, and Heaven.

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named Night,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule —

For the heart whose woes are legion
’T is a peaceful, soothing region —
For the spirit that walks in shadow
’T is — oh ’t is an Eldorado!
But the traveler, traveling through it,
May not — dare not openly view it;
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills its King, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringéd lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named Night,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.