October 26, 2022

Oíche Shamhna Shona Daoibh

Atop a slab inscribed with the words 'I was a boxer' stands the silhouette of a figure wearing boxing gloves. In the background there is a hill with several tombstones beneath a spreading tree, under the moon and stars in a sky crossed by strips of cloud. It is a crude, monochromatic rendering in dark blue ink. Clicking on the image leads to a full-sized version, with the text of an epitaph from ancient Greece, saying: 'My fatherland was Corcyra, and Philon was my name; I am the son of Glaucos, and I won two Olympiads with my fists.'Inside rear cover of Evidence of Frozentown 4 (1995): "Dead Friends,"
ed. Rachel Frost. Linoleum block print, 7" x 7"

October 19, 2022

Somebody stole a knife

Abu 'l-Fath Kushajim elegized a penknife that was stolen from him, saying (meter: basīṭ):

     God's war be on the bureau scribes
          who think that others' knives are theirs for lifting!
     I am the victim of an elegant deceit.
          Its edge was like a sword's, honed finely.
     Vacant is the resting-place where it had spent an age
          beside the inkwell of a man distracted by writing,
     now weeping for the blade that Time made away with,
          the torturer of pen-nibs raided from me.
     It hewed my pens and made them special.
          The cuts that vexed them pleasured me,
     as I brought laughter to my pages, cloaking them
          with flowers, whole beds of them becoming to the eye.
     And it was good for spot removal. It scaled away each fleck
          and left my pages like the cheeks of calf-eyed maidens.
     It had an onyx handle fastened to the blade
          by metal pins of gorgeous make and fashion.
     Pins of gold and silver, elegant and fine—
          a deity, praise to Him, told them to "Be!"
     But my cutter turned malicious, taking joy
          in infamy, overmastery, and derision.
     I kept it close—so close, it impersonated
          my aloofness and my lofty rank.
     There is no substitute. Long as I live,
          I'll never be consoled and never forget.
     I'd give up this whole world, and my faith in the world to come,
          as ransom for the knife they stole from me.

From The Flowers of Belles-lettres and Fruits of Intellect of Abu Ishaq Ibrahim al-Husri al-Qayrawani

October 14, 2022

City of poetry

I am informed by Abu Hatim that ‘Imran ibn ‘Aqil said: I was told by my father—meaning ‘Aqil ibn Bilal—that he was told by his father—meaning Bilal ibn Jarir—that [Bilal's father]

Jarir said: I paid a call on one of the Umayyad caliphs, who asked me, "Can we talk about the poets?" "Of course," I said.
      "Who was the greatest poet?" he asked. "Ibn ‘Ishrin (The Child of Twenty)," I said, meaning Tarafa [who lost his life at that age].
      "What do you have to say about [Zuhayr] ibn Abi Sulma and al-Nabigha [al-Dhubyani]?" he asked. I said, "Their poetry was woven at a loom."
      "And Imru’ al-Qays ibn Hujr?" he asked. I said, "That villain took poetry for a pair of sandals, to trample as he pleased."
      "And Dhu 'l-Rumma?" he asked. I said, "He can do with poetry what no one else can do."
      "And al-Akhtal?" he asked. I said, "Up to his death, the [full measure of the] poetry within him went unrevealed."
      "And al-Farazdaq?" he asked. I said: "He grips poetry in his hand like a [bow of] grewia."
      "You've left nothing for yourself!" the caliph said. "By God," I said, "of course I have, O Commander of the Faithful! I am the city of poetry, from which it sallies forth and in which takes refuge. Truly, I glorify poetry in a way that no one before me has."
      "And what way is that?" the caliph asked. I said, "My love-lyrics are innovative, my invective verse is ruinous, and my panegyric is uplifting. In ramal I'm abundant, in rajaz I'm the sea, and I compose in modes of poetry unknown to anyone before me."

From the Dictations of Abu ‘Ali al-Qali

October 8, 2022

Another Book of Songs

In the handwriting of Abu 'l-Hasan ‘Ali b. Muhammad b. ‘Ubayd b. al-Zubayr al-Kufi al-Asadi,
I found it written that he was told by Fadl b. Muhammad al-Yazidi:


I was with Ishaq b. Ibrahim al-Mawsili when a man came up and said, "O Abu Muhammad! [That is, Ishaq.] Give us the Book of Songs."
      "Which one?" said Ishaq. "The book I wrote, or the one that was written in my name?"—meaning by the former, his book of reports on individual singers, and by the latter, the Big Book of Songs that's out there.

I was informed by Abu 'l-Faraj al-Isbahani that he was told by Abu Bakr Muhammad b. Khalaf Waki‘ that

Hammad b. Ishaq said: "My father never wrote that book," (meaning The Big Book of Songs) "nor claimed credit for it. Most of the lyrics in it are falsely inserted into reports of singers who never sang them. To this day, most them have never been performed. Comparison to the songbooks my father actually wrote shows how worthless that book is. It was cobbled together after his death by one of his copyists, except for the opening chapter on the permissibility [of music], which my father did write, although the reports in it are my narrations [from my father]."

Abu 'l-Faraj told me: This is the story as I remember Abu Bakr Waki‘ telling it, though not verbatim. And I heard from Jahza [b. Musa al-Barmaki] that he knew the copyist's name:

"The copyist was one Sindi b. ‘Ali, who had a shop along the Archway of Rubbish and used to copy books for Ishaq.* For the book that he foisted on him, he worked with a collaborator."
      This is the book that used to be known by the title al-Surāh (The Night-Travelers). Its first chapter is on permissibility [of music], and is the work of Ishaq without a doubt.

From al-Fihrist of (Ibn) al-Nadim

* Noted in the edition of al-Fihrist by Ayman Fu’ad Sayyid (vol. I/2, 439n3): "In the sources at my disposal, I do not find an 'Archway of Rubbish' [in Baghdad]. Perhaps it is the Archway of al-Harrani mentioned ahead [in the entry for Ja‘far b. Ahmad al-Marwazi] that is meant. In al-Ya‘qubi's day, there were over a hundred stationers' shops in the markets of that area."