COVE

This particular edition of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám has heavy erotic undertones to it, even beyond the hedonism that is found in portions of the original text. Willy Pogány’s illustrations highlight the eroticism of some stanzas, but also create erotic tension in stanzas that may otherwise be read as strictly philosophical. A prime example of this is the illustration paired with stanza XXXVI.

The text of stanza XXXVI is
For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,
I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd—"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"

In the Rubáiyát, the narrator frequently returns to the dual image of “potter” and “clay.” As the text returns again and again to this image, the pair comes to work as an extended metaphor for a Maker, which is to say God or the Creator, and a sentient Made, which is to say Man. This stanza is the earliest reference which does this, but already it is clear that the clay is acting as a symbol rather than as a literal object because it is given a voice. When the clay speaks, it also implicitly expresses emotions, expresses discomfort or, at the very least, the fear of it. I read the plea of the clay as an ask of its maker: “please be gentle with me in your creation, you who has ultimate power over me.”

When we map this plea onto the metaphor of Clay as Man and Maker as God, the overall message of this stanza is a statement of Man’s helplessness, of his vulnerability in this life. I also read this stanza as an indictment of prayer as futile—what potter ever takes the feeling of the clay into consideration when he is shaping a vessel? The adjective “obliterated” is particularly relevant here. Despite its appeals, the clay is already heavily damaged, with hardly tongue enough to even cry out in pain. Instead it can only “murmur” its feeble request.

As a reader, I see stanza XXXVI as a text that is both bemoaning the state of man and dismissing any who would encourage him to put his faith in a creator—hardly an erotic text. However, the accompanying illustration is charged with sexuality. The clay becomes transformed, neither an inert it nor a masculine he, but instead a she: a beautiful, nude female. Nothing about this clay is obliterated or damaged; the body of the woman is whole and expertly rendered. With the way the figures arms are crossed overhead, it’s easy to imagine her crying out, but the potter’s masculine hands do not appear to “thump.” They are already caressing her form, skimming her curves. Indeed this image does suggest that she is asking to be “handled gently,” and that the request will be honored—with pleasure.