The Guest House - Comparing Coleman Bark's Translation to Original Rumi poem in Farsi

There are few modern poems as widely loved and quoted as Coleman Barks' version of Rumi's "The Guest House."

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

These two lines open a piece that has resonated deeply with readers across spiritual, therapeutic, and poetic spaces. But these lines, and the poem that follows, are not direct translations. They are radical renderings—interpretations, or rather, recreations. Because I have recently been learning Farsi, I thought it would be fun to compare this poem to the original. The hypothesis was that there is likely something to be learned about translations, which I have been honing for most of my life. I also did a Punjabi translation of the six line original poem (see end) -- that was fun!

First, lets look at Coleman Barks' Translation: 

The Guest House

The Original Persian: Masnavi Book 5, Sections 154–156

Rumi’s famous guesthouse metaphor appears in his monumental Masnavi-ye Ma’navi, Book 5. The relevant verses are spread across sections 154, 155, and 156 of the Masnavi, which are viewable in full Persian on Ganjoor.net.

• Section 154

• Section 155

• Section 156

These verses unfold a subtle and profound teaching: the body is like a guesthouse, and the states that visit it—joy, sorrow, anxiety, insight—are guests from the unseen world (jahān-e ghayb). Rumi encourages us not to cling to these guests nor to fear them, but to honor them as carriers of divine meaning.

Transliterated Selections:

Section 155 (Opening Lines):

hast mehmān-khāneh in tan ey javān
har sabāḥi zeyf-e now āyad davān
hīn magū ke īn mānad andar gardanam
ke ham-aknūn bāzparad dar 'adam
har che āyad az jahān-e ghayb-vash
dar delet zeyf ast, ū-rā dār khvosh

Rough English Translation:

This body is a guesthouse, O young one.
Every morning, a new guest comes running in.
Don’t say, “This one will stay upon my neck!”
For even now, it returns to non-being.
Whatever arrives from the unseen world
Is a guest in your heart—treat it well.

Expansions in Section 156

In the next section, Rumi expands the metaphor:

• Sorrow is described not as a curse, but as a preparation for joy.

• It "sweeps your house clean" so that new delight may enter.

• It pulls out the rotten root to reveal something better underneath.

This depth is visible in translations by Reynold A. Nicholson and Kabir Helminski, both of whom stay closer to the original Persian phrasing.

The Other Translations: Nicholson and Helminski

Reynold Nicholson, a scholar of Persian literature, offers a more literal, academic translation:

This body, O youth, is a guest-house: every morning a new guest comes running (into it)...

His rendering includes:

• Each day’s different thought as a guest

• The idea that sorrow uproots joy to make room for something better

• An explicit spiritual message about how sorrow brings benefit

Kabir Helminski brings a more lyrical and spiritually adaptive voice:

Darling, the body is a guest house; every morning someone new arrives...

Helminski introduces devotional tones (“Darling,” “my Creator”) and blends metaphors from other spiritual traditions, such as astrology and planetary transits.

Both of these versions are more extensive than Barks’, and in some ways, closer to Rumi’s structure and content. Yet they are also harder to absorb in a single sitting. They unfold slowly and ask for a reader’s patience.

Why Coleman Barks Works Better

Coleman Barks’ version is the shortest. He strips the poem down to its emotional and spiritual core:

Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

This image—of sorrow as a violent but necessary cleaner—is Barks’ invention, but it is spiritually true to Rumi’s original message. There’s no mention of the Persian 'adam (non-being), nor the metaphysical journey of thoughts from the world of the unseen. But what Barks offers is something livable—something that can be memorized, carried, and returned to in moments of despair.

He omits the intellectual metaphors, avoids historical or Islamic references, and chooses instead a voice of contemporary clarity and warmth. In doing so, he models what inspired translation can be: not just the conveying of meaning, but the re-voicing of soul.

What Translators Can Learn

Coleman Barks didn’t know Persian. His work is based on renderings by scholars like Nicholson. Yet what makes his versions so resonant is that he isn’t merely a translator—he’s a collaborator in the poem’s rebirth. He listens for Rumi’s spirit more than his syllables. He dares to change structure, add imagery, and speak to our time.

This is what translation must become if it wants to live. Literal fidelity is not always the highest virtue. Rumi, the great lover of the unseen, would likely smile to see how Barks helped his words arrive in new hearts—each morning, like a guest.

Punjabi Translation (Shivpreet Singh)