M1:1736 — حرف و صوت و گفت را بر هم زنم / تا که بی این هر سه با تو دم زنم

Translation: I will shatter word, sound, and speech / So that without these three, I may intimately converse with You.

Meaning: Rumi expresses his intention to transcend conventional forms of communication — words, sounds, and speech — as they are seen as impediments to achieving a direct, unmediated communion with the Beloved.

This verse unveils a profound secret about the very style of the Masnavi's composition and, indeed, the nature of Rumi's language. As Rumi himself explains in other parts of the Masnavi, he was not preoccupied with 'rhyme-crafting' (قافیه‌اندیشی) or the meticulous artistry of words, unlike poets such as Hafez. He states, 'My Beloved says to me, 'Don't think of rhyme, but think of My Face.'' This verse directly echoes that sentiment: the Beloved commands me not to be concerned with rhyme, words, or the outward form of language, but solely with Him, to be immersed in His vision.

This is precisely why Rumi, in the Masnavi, does not, like Nezami or Sa'di, force an invocation of 'Bismillah' or praise of the Prophet at the beginning of his work. Instead, like a pure spring gushing from a mountain, he allows the discourse to flow spontaneously from his natural temperament. For him, 'word, sound, and speech' (حرف و صوت و گفت) are instruments that must be 'shattered' or set aside to achieve that profound connection and 'breathing together' (دم زدن) with the Beloved. This 'shattering' is not an act of carelessness towards language but a transcendence from its superficial level to the direct, unmediated realm of communication.

I have often stated that Rumi's work is not about 'craftsmanship'; that is the work of Hafez, who, over seventy years of his life, meticulously 'polished and enameled' (تراشید و میناگری می‌کرد) only four hundred and fifty ghazals, revising them repeatedly. But Rumi, in the same period, composed sixty thousand verses and let them stand as they were. Why? Because for him, the 'vision' (دیدار) was more important than the 'rhyme' (قافیه). In this verse, he declares his intention to go beyond the confines of words, sound, and speech to reach that 'breath' (دم) that even Gabriel does not know, or that was not uttered to Abraham. This is the realm of 'divine inspiration of the heart' (وحی دل), where Rumi shares the most hidden secrets with his true audience.

This breaking down of language is a form of voluntary 'silence' (خاموشی). On the one hand, Rumi says, 'I am silent from the abundance of my words,' and on the other, he knows that 'the points are sharp as steel' and sometimes 'a hundred knots are tied beneath my tongue,' preventing him from uttering everything. But in this particular verse, beyond these reasons, he intends to enter a domain where language is fundamentally no longer effective. It is here that we can recall the resemblance of this meaning to Wittgenstein's discourse on the 'unsayable': that which cannot be spoken of must be passed over in silence. However, in this verse, Rumi goes beyond mere silence to an unmediated, wordless 'breathing together' with the Beloved; a kind of ontological openness that shatters language itself.

Key takeaways

• Rumi is not a craftsman of words; his poetry is a natural, unforced gush, not an effort to adorn language.
• Rumi's primary aim in composing is to establish a direct, profound connection with the Beloved, viewing conventional speech as an impediment.
• This verse highlights a fundamental stylistic difference between Rumi and Hafez: Hafez emphasizes linguistic polish, while Rumi prioritizes the manifestation of meaning.
• To 'shatter' word and sound signifies transcending the superficial form of language to reach the unmediated realm of divine inspiration.
• Rumi seeks to access the domain of 'divine inspiration of the heart,' whose secrets are veiled even from prophets and angels.