February 29, 2024

The way to Cockaigne

                The sea is the sea. A palm's a palm.
                    An elephant's an elephant. A giraffe is tall.
                Earth is earth. It faces the sky.
                    In between is where birds fly.
                And when the park is tossed by wind,
                    earth stays put while branches bend.
                Water runs on a bed of sand.
                    It shows up everywhere it flows.
                If you think it dispels hunger
                    you must be a numbskulled dope.
                Swim with your robe on. What do you get?
                    The swimmer and the robe get wet.
                I call on bananas to be peeled
                    and honeyed with sweet syrup.
                And kunafeh in sugared layers!
                    Without you, my heart burns up.
                Hashish slayers, ready me
                    the vagabond gift that slays its slayer.
                It'll revive you, if you let it.
                    And don't hold back. A small dose is wasted.
                Life is sweet when you get high.
                    So many stoners are happy in life!
                Hear me out, brothers. Its virtues are serious.
                    Take it from one with loads of experience.

By ‘Ali ibn Sudun (Meter: kāmil)

February 26, 2024

Foul weather friend

Al-Asma‘i transmitted this long poem rhymed in rā’, in sarī‘ meter [scanned more helpfully as rajaz by Badr al-Din al-‘Ayni], where each line is rhymed in the diminutive ending, signifying in most cases what is paltry and small in quantity:

                At Dhu Sudayr, the misery
                    of all who stay at al-Ghumayr
                oppresses Layla in her robe,
                    curled like a hedgehog in its hole.
                Shivers break out on my spine
                    and my chest is quivering
                like a cat who warns her kitten.
                    Parched out in the wind and rain
                and frigid cold that's no mere chill,
                    from midday to the wee small hours,
                lit barely by a slip of moon
                    (the month is only four days in),
                I fret and toss until the dawn,
                    drizzle-damp to my short hairs.
                From road to road I'm kicked along
                    until, when my poor prick juts out,
                in all its girth down to its trunk,
                    she sees the sad state of my putz.
                Her grub is stashed in a dust-brown rag,
                    the nun who goes by Umm al-Khayr.
                Disorderly her headwrap's wound.
                    The waist-sash round her smock is bound.
                She sends her warp through heddle-eyes.
                    and in the convent clangs her bell
                before cock-crow, when hens arise.
                    "I pity you!" she wails at me.
               "A fugitive from the regime
                    you seem," to which I said, "That's me!
                Without a pause, I range and rove
                    so kids can get a meal to eat,
                little ones, as bald as chicks,
                    and widows waiting on some food."
               "I rejoice in every good!"
                    she said, and oiled and combed my locks
                and served me bread with salted fish
                    pulled from the sea, or Egypt's docks,
                with oil that was sour and rancid
                    drizzled over hulled lentils,
                and some dates well desiccated.
                    She fixed me then with a lusty eye,
                and pelted me with pebbles flung,
                    aimed at my bits and wayward one.
                And when my little feast was through,
                    she joined my side and stroked my dong.
                My ostrich flew! The bird had run.
                   "You'll need to find another one,"
                I said. "Back when my strap was cut,
                    and I was like an ass in rut
                I used to rebound like an eagle.
                    But now I perch beside my grave,
                do I wait on my fate's direction?
                    Nay! by Him Who aideth me
                from birth up to my resurrection!"

From Special Properties of [the Arabic] Language by Ibn Jinni

December 20, 2023

Two recensions

A man described as ‘abāmā’ is a doltish simpleton. Jamīl said (meter: ṭawīl):

           This dolt has never joined a fight, or knelt a camel
               for its saddle as it strains against a tether.
           Herds are what he's busy at, pasture
               his eternal quest. His thoughts are of his nanny goats
           sired by a dusky buck, with horns that poke up
               from their skulls like pods of carob.
           His gut is big, and though his mind's a muddle,
               his eye is ever on the smallest kid, and long his rod.

       

Al-Aṣma‘ī said: A man who is ṭabāqā’ is without insight into what concerns him, as in the verse by Jamīl:

           This dullard's never joined a fight, or knelt a camel
               for its saddle as it strains against a tether.

This is the Basran recension of the verse as al-Aṣma‘ī recited it, and Abū ‘Ubayd reported that he said: "‘Ayāyā’ has the same meaning as ṭabāqā’, and is said of the male camel that won't mount a female." In his Book of Uncommon Words, Abū ‘Ubayd says: "A ṭabāqā’ is an impotent dullard."

From The Curtailed and the Prolonged by Abū ‘Alī al-Qālī

October 26, 2023

And the bat said

Who shuns the mob lives on. Beware of mixing with the throng! Just look at what it did for Ham. For all Ham's milling about the enclosure, Shem was the elect of God, the Apportioner.

A creature of seclusion, whose realm is the night, I am puny, but [unstoppable in flight] "like a boulder the flood washes down from a height." By day, I hide from others' view. Isolation is necessary, in my view. Night is when I unwrap myself, for "The rising of night is when impressions are strongest." The sun, when she rises, sentences my eyes to blindness, and I covet the sight of anything else. Against the sun's eye, I close my own, and where she is present, I make myself gone. Why should my heart placate what's subservient to my Lord? Fie on irreligious leanings toward what's transient and remiss: the sun who hauls her fire just to warm the solar disk!

[The bat went on to say (meter: mutaqārib): ]

  How long you've been her prisoner! How much longer will you be?
     Now, by God, the time has come to set the prisoner free.
  She showers you with affection, makes her visits known to all,
     but any circumspection on her part is hard to see.
  If you were serious about your feelings
     you would flee her when she flees,
  and turn your love to Him Whose love
     is glory, and rejoice.
  The way of faith and purity
     mends the heart and leads aright.
  To make your home inside the Garden of Eternity,
     God's love is where to put your eyes.
  While those who work away the day will find reward tomorrow,
     sleep all day rewards the wakers of the night.

From the Language of the Birds of Ibn al-Wardī

October 15, 2023

Which color is the sky

I have seen these verses in the handwriting of Ibrahim ibn ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Su’alati, who acknowledged them as his (meter: kāmil):

      Lithe as a shoot, my tormentor in blue
         passes by, exulting in his pride.
      Tobacco smoke envelops his face, going up
         from inside him like mist on a winter's day,
      as if screening his beauty—like the full moon's
         when it rises, and dazzles in the paleness of its sky—
      as if screening it from people's eyes
         lest they fall slain by him [as have I!]

These anonymous verses are quite similar (meter: ṭawīl):

      When he comes into view, in his caftan of blue,
         swaggering with pride in outrageous beauty,
      I cannot suppress my cry of "Stop!" at all who blame me,
        "And behold my full moon in his dark sky!"

Poets and writers choose from a range of hues to describe the sky, which changes under different conditions and forms of expression. Some describe it in terms of zurqa "blueness," as in the verses above, whose authors follow this description of a girl in blue by Abu ‘Uthman al-Najim (meter: khafīf):

      Qabul surpasses the occasion when she arrays
         herself in raiment as brilliant as herself,
      dressed in blue and topped with a face
         like the full moon in the paleness of the sky.

Thus did the ancients describe it. When the sun is shining, the sky's blueness is an azure hue produced by the mixture of blue and white, the color of blood flowing in a vein.
      The sky is called akhdar "blue-green" in hadith: "No one more truthful than Abu Dharr ever went beneath the blue-green [sky] or trod the dust-brown [earth]."
      And it is called lazawardi "azure," as where Abu Hafs ibn Burd described a boy dressed in that color (meter: majzū’ al-kāmil):

      In azure silk, the sight of him
         blotted out everything else.
     "What mortal is this?" I exclaimed
         at his exorbitant beauty.
     "Let no one deny the moon," he answered
         the right to go robed in the sky!"

      Some call the sky banafsaji "violet," as where Ibn al-Mu‘tazz described a boy in opulent brocade (meter: majzū’ al-kāmil):

      I marvel at a violet robe.
         To see it is to die a lover's death.
      Dressed in it now, you are become
         a full moon in the hue of its sky.

From The Fragrance of Green Herbs and Dewy Coating on Wine-Vessels of the Tavern by Muhammad Amin al-Muhibbi

May 30, 2023

Avant ‘Udhra

Abu ‘Ubayd Allah al-Marzubani reported that Abu Bakr Ahmad ibn Muhammad al-Jawhari informed him that Muhammad ibn ‘Ali al-Sulami said: It was reported to me by ‘Abd Allah ibn Abi Sa‘d that ‘Umar ibn Shabba al-Numayri said: Muhammad ibn al-Hasan told me: Muzahim ibn Zafar informed me that his uncle said:

In the land of the Banu ‘Udhra, I saw an aged man whose body was drawn in on itself like a bird's. I asked the woman attending him who this was. "It's ‘Urwa," she told me. So I bent down close and asked him, "Does your love affect you still?" He said (meter: ṭawīl):

      My gut is like a wingèd grouse of the sands,
          so very sharply does it flutter.

I went round to his left side, and he repeated the verse until I'd heard it from him four times.


Hisham ibn al-Sa’ib al-Kalbi reported that al-Nu‘man ibn Bashir said:

I was sent as tax collector to the Banu ‘Udhra, and went about collecting their taxes until, when I thought I had passed beyond their territory, a threadbare tent came into view. Lying in front of it was a young man reduced to skin and bones. On hearing my tread, he began to chant in a weak and mournful voice (meter: ṭawīl):

      To the healer of al-Yamama I'll pay what's due,
          and to the healer of Hajr—but first they must heal me.     

Just then, a rustling came from the tent, and inside it I beheld an old woman. "Old woman," I said, "come out, for this young man has passed the point of death, in my estimation." "Mine too," she said. "I haven't heard so much as a whimper from him in over a year, except these verses lamenting his departed soul" (meter: basīṭ):

      Mothers weep forever. Who weeps for me
          today? Now I am the one being subtracted.
      Today they let me hear it, but when I uplifted
          the people that I met, I heard nothing.

She came out and lo, the man had died. So I wrapped him in a shroud  and prayed over him. I asked, "Who was he?" She said, "This is ‘Urwa ibn Hizam, the man slain by love."

From Abu ‘Abd Allah al-Yazidi's recension of the Poetry of ‘Urwa ibn Hizam; cf. Poetry and Poets, the Book of Songs, the Meadows of Gold, and The Tribulations of Impassioned Lovers

April 23, 2023

Good neighbor

These verses were composed by al-‘Arji during his imprisonment
and made into a song (meter: wāfir):

      They have forsaken me. What a hero they forsake!
         One for days of battle and frontier outposts
      and fatal clashes, standing fast
         where heads of spears aim for my slaughter.
      Now daily I am hauled about in manacles,
         begging God's aid against wrongful restraint.
      As if respect and honor were not conferred through me,
         the scion of ‘Amr [who was a caliph's son]!

Muhammad ibn Zakariyya the bookbinder said: It was reported to me by Qa‘nab ibn al-Muhriz
al-Bahili that al-Asma‘i said:

Abu Hanifa had a neighbor in Kufa who could sing. He used come home drunk and singing to his room on an upper floor, from which Abu Hanifa enjoyed hearing his voice. And very often what he sang was:

      They have forsaken me. What a hero they forsake!
          One for days of battle and frontier outposts...

One night, this man crossed paths with the vice patrol, who seized him and put him in prison. Abu Hanifa missed hearing his voice that night, and made inquiries the next morning. On hearing the news, he called for his black robe and high peaked cap and put them on, and rode to see [the governor of Kufa, who was] ‘Isa ibn Musa. He told him, "I have a neighbor who was seized and imprisoned by the vice patrol yesterday, and virtue is all I know of him."
     "Bring out everyone detained yesterday by vice patrol, and let them greet Abu Hanifa," said ‘Isa. When the man was brought forth, Abu Hanifa called out, "That's him!"
      In private he said to his neighbor, "Young man, aren't you in the habit of singing every night:

      'They have forsaken me. What a hero they forsake'?

"Now tell me: have I forsaken you?"
     "By God, your honor, no," the young man said. "You've been kind and noble. May God reward you handsomely!"
     "You can go back to your singing," said Abu Hanifa. "It was congenial to me, and I see no harm in it."
     "I will!" the young hero said.

From the Book of Songs

April 8, 2023

Controversy of the sandals

          "You have gone grey before your time," they said.
               I said, "What greys my head is fear of earthquakes!
           Scalps whiten at the wrong you do to Taybah,
               and Radwa shakes, and the peaky mountains tremble."
           They said, "Black sandals are for Christians."
              "Then they follow the example of our Prophet,"
           I replied. "But the lot of you are clad in error,
               shod in what protects old ladies' feet.
           Red sandals are for women of the Maghreb,
               and in the East, yellow ones go with a trailing hem."
          "Ahmad in black sandals?" they protested.
               "This contrarian is sore confused."
          "What are the sandals that I wear among you?"
               I said. "Now put aside this fruitless strife."
          "But Ali dressed in yellow," they said.
               I said, "That Companion has naught to do with this."
           They said, "Oral and written tradition are in agreement:
               The Messenger's sandals were not the black of kohl,"
          "Pray tell," I asked, "what color were they, then?"
               Their answer to my question was "I do not know."
          "Do intelligent people deny what's well established,"
               I asked, "trespassing into what they're ignorant of?
           I marvel at such claims. They're based entirely
               on ways and means of tradition that are depraved.
           So many askers have I told about his sandals:
               'As to their blackness, my tradition is the road of roads.'"
          "Might you enlighten us," they said, "to this tradition?"
               I said, "Might I enlighten someone who's not a fool?
           Black was the color of the Messenger's sandals." To which,
               like ignorami who think they know a thing or two,
           they objected, and spoke against the truth in sight of God,
               and every mortal being from high to low.
           They broke the staff of Islam, rejecting sunna,
               and shredded centuries' worth of scholarly consensus.
           So I fought them until, fearing for their buttress,
               they slunk in shame and repentance to their homes.
           Helpless before the rampant lion of knowledge,
               they wrung their hands after their overthrow at mine.
           For I schooled them in the truth until they learned it,
               while they slept on it like idiots who drool.
           I schooled them in the truth until they learned it,
               whose education was a kitchen mule's.
           I schooled them in the truth until they learned it,
               who were no better trained than hyena pups.
           I schooled them in the truth until they learned it,
               and voided the vain humbug of their views.
           I strung pearls of truth and knowledge for safekeeping,
               and hung it round their necks devoid of truth,
           and guided them like lambs without a shepherd
               out of straying, clear of error, to the truth.

Verses 22-46 of a 131-verse invective poem (meter: ṭawīl)
by Muhammad Mahmud al-Turkuzi al-Shinqiti,
dated 1307 A.H. (1889-90 CE)

With thanks to Zekeria Ahmed Salem

April 1, 2023

No two hearts

Mujahid said: "'God does not put two hearts in one man's bosom' was revealed concerning a man of Quraysh who claimed to have two hearts, as a boast of of his mental abilities. He used to say, 'In my bosom, there are two hearts, and each one of them has more intellectual capacity than Muhammad.' This man was from the Banu Fihr."

Al-Wahidi, al-Qushayri, and others say: "This was revealed concerning Jamil ibn Ma‘mar al-Fihri, a man of prodigious memory for everything he heard. 'Anyone who can remember so many things must have two hearts,' said the Quraysh. 'I have two hearts,' he used to say, 'both of which have more intellectual capacity than Muhammad.'
     "Jamil ibn Ma‘mar was with the idolaters at the battle of Badr when they were put to flight. Abu Sufyan saw him mounted on an ass, with one sandal fastened to his hand and the other to his foot. 'How's the battle going?' he asked him. 'Our people have been put to flight,' Jamil said. 'So why do you have one sandal on your hand and the other on your foot?' asked Abu Sufyan. 'I thought they were both on my feet,' said Jamil. And so his absent-mindedness was discovered, for all that he had two hearts."

Al-Suhayli said: "Jamil ibn Ma‘mar al-Jumahi was the son of Ma‘mar ibn Habib ibn Wahb ibn Hudhafa ibn Jumah—Jumah who was also called Taym. He claimed to have two hearts, and it was concerning him that the Qur’anic verse was revealed. He is also mentioned in this verse of poetry (meter: ṭawīl):

                How will I abide in Medina, after
                    Jamil ibn Ma‘mar seeks it no more?"

From al-Qurtubi's Comprehensive Judgments of the Quran

March 22, 2023

Enslaved men and blacksmiths in the poems of Jarīr

         al-Bayzār "Plowman" : The name of a slave
         Baghthar "Not Too Bright" : The name of a slave
         Thu‘āla "The Fox" : A slave of Mujāshi‘
         al-Jaythalūṭ [Unspecific term of abuse] : A slave
         Dāsim "Mindful Worker" : The name of a blacksmith
         Za‘‘āb "Bearer of Heavy Loads" : A blacksmith belonging to Ṣa‘ṣa‘a
         al-Zubbayyān (sic) [al-Waqbān?] :
               A slave belonging to [Ṣa‘ṣa‘a's mother] Qufayra
         Shuqār "Red" : The name of a slave
         Ibn Ṣam‘ā’ "Son of the Woman with Dainty Ears" : A freedman
         Ḍāṭir "Big Guy" : A slave
         Qunābir (sic) : A slave
         Masrūḥ "Easy-going" : A blacksmith belonging to
               Ṣa‘ṣa‘a and Qufayra
         Makḥūl "Sooty" : A slave belonging to Taym
         Hurmuz [A royal name of Persia deriving from Ahura Mazda]:
               A slave belonging to Qufayra

A prosopography by Dr. Nu‘mān Muḥammad Amīn Ṭāhā, editor of
Muḥammad ibn Ḥabīb's Commentary on the Collected Poems of Jarīr

February 21, 2023

More special feelings


Malik ibn Dinar, may God be pleased with him, said:

I set out as a pilgrim to the holy House of God, when I saw a young man walking on the road without food, water, or a mount. I greeted him, and my greeting was returned. "Young man, where are you from?" I asked him. He said, "From Him."
      "And where are you going?" I said. "To Him," he said. "And where are your provisions?" He said, "They're up to Him."
      "But you can't travel this road without carrying water," I told him. "Do you really have nothing on you?" "That's right," he said. "except five letters I brought with me when I set out." I asked him what these letters were, and he said, "God's word:"

(Kāf–hā–yā–‘ayn–ṣād)

"And what does it mean?" I asked.
      "Kāf is for the All-Sufficing (al-Kāfī)," he said, "and is for the Guide (al-Hādī). is for the Refuge (al-Ma’wā), and ‘ayn is for the All-Knowing (al-‘Ālim). And ṣād is for the Keeper of Promises (al-Ṣādiq). Whoever keeps company with the All-Sufficient Guide, the Refuge, and the All-Knowing Keeper of Promises is not ruined, has nothing to fear, and has no need to carry food and water."
      Malik said: When I heard the young man's words, I stripped off my overshirt to dress him, which he declined. "Old man," he said, "it is better to go naked than wear the shirt of this world, whose lawful deeds are numbered, and whose unlawful ones will be punished. When the naked man is covered by the night, he can raise his face to heaven and say, 'O You, Who are gladdened by our obedient actions and unharmed by our disobedient ones, grant that I may always gladden You, and forgive my actions that do You no harm.'"
      When [we arrived at Mecca, and] the people readied themselves for purification and shouted Labbayka! I asked the young man, "Why do you not perform the ritual greeting?" He said, "I fear that if I say Labbayka, He will say, 'There is no labbayka, and no sa‘dayka, and I do not hear your words or look upon you.'" And with that, he departed. I did not see him again, except at Mina, where he was saying (meter: basīṭ):

My friends are pleased for my blood to be spilt.
    For them it's licit, in sacred months as in profane.
Just who is my spirit attached to? If she knew, by God
    she would stand on her head, and not her feet.
I say to my faultfinder: Leave my love for Him out.
    If you saw what I see in Him, you would not find fault.
There are some who circumambulate the House without moving a muscle,
    and they need no sacred precinct to do it in, by God.
When others celebrate Eid al-Adha, sacrificing things
    like sheep and goats, [God's true] lover sacrifices the lower self.
People have one pilgrimage, and I've got another, toward stillness.
    I lead forth my blood, my vital being, when sacrificial animals are led.

From The Garden of Aromatic Herbs of ‘Afif al-Din al-Yafi‘i.
(The poem is elsewhere ascribed to al-Hallaj)

February 14, 2023

Special feelings

Maymun al-Hadrami [legendary digger of a namesake well] said: I was about to make the pilgrimage when a woman I was chatting with told me:
     "Come and circumambulate my house seven times, the way they do the holy House. Run your camel there, and shave your head as pilgrims do. Fling stones at my nosy neighbor, the way they stone the Devil [at Mina], and then kiss me as they kiss the cornerstone."
      Maymun said: I did everything she told me. This is my poem about it (meter: basīṭ):

       I resolved to make the pilgrimage, but my heart
           had other plans. Beside the holy House I was intending,
       there was a woman's house, the house of Juml,
           and to her undraped house my steps conveyed me.
       My circumambulations lacked for nothing,
           all seven of them, as they do for God.
       And just as pilgrims vie to throw their pebbles,
           I threw mine at her neighbor with all my might.
       I was to shave my head
           and be made hairless,
       and run my camel as they do
          ’til his sores go down.
       Another of their rites is the kissing of the stone,
           but kissing you is nothing like a stone.
       If ‘Umar or ‘Uthman had been to your house
           their pilgrimage would be to you alone.

Maymun said: Abu Bakr ibn Muhammad ibn Musa ibn ‘Imran al-Bakri said to me, "What induced you—God have mercy on you!—to leave out [the first caliph,] Abu Bakr, when you put ‘Umar and ‘Uthman in your poem?"
     "Because people have special feelings about Abu Bakr," I said. "May God have mercy on you as well."

From Reports that Are Agreed Upon by al-Zubayr ibn Bakkar

February 9, 2023

Two biters busted

Yunus the grammarian said: Ibn Abi Ishaq (d. 117/735) declared Islam's greatest poet to be Kuthayyir (d. 105/723), whose prestige and worth were conceded by the Quraysh. But Talha ibn ‘Abd Allah ibn ‘Awf (d. 97 or 99/between 715 and 718) said:

I was with al-Farazdaq when he met Kuthayyir. He said, "O Abu Sakhr! [That is, Kuthayyir.] Of all the love poetry of the Arabs, yours is the best where you say" (meter: ṭawīl):

      I wish I could forget her. But everywhere
          I look, it's like Layla's there.

Kuthayyir responded, "O Abu Firas! [That is, al-Farazdaq.] Of all the Arabs' tribal boasting, yours is the best where you say" (meter: ṭawīl):

      We walk before other people, and they behind us.
          All we have to do is gesture, and they halt.

Talha said: Both verses are by Jamil. The first was ripped off by Kuthayyir, and the other by al-Farazdaq.
      Then al-Farazdaq said to Kuthayyir, "O Abu Sakhr! Did your mother used to come to Basra?" "No," said Kuthayyir, "but my father sure did."
      Talha said: Kuthayyir's comeback cracked me up. I never met anyone crazier than him. I was with a Qurashi group one time when we found him unwell. "How are you getting on?" we asked him. "Fine," he said. "Have you heard otherwise?" (Now Kuthayyir had Shi‘ite leanings.)
     "Yes," we said. "They say you're the Antichrist."
      Kuthayyir said, "By God, now that you mention it, I have been losing sight in one eye for the past few days!"

From the Commentary on the verses cited in the Summa of Ibn Hisham
by Jalal al-Din al-Suyuti; cf. the Book of Songs (1, 2)

February 6, 2023

If in Abu Dhabi

A poster announcing David Larsen's talk on Jamil Buthaynah, Wednesday 8 February from noon to 1:30 pm at NYU Abu Dhabi, on the ground floor of the Humanities Building, room 10. The poster features a drawing by Mohammed Ahmed Rasim of a man in Bedouin dress reaching out his arms to a woman in Bedouin dress. Both figures sit facing each other on the same camel.

 For captioned video, follow this link.

January 16, 2023

Oil in classical Arabic tradition

Although there is no historical evidence by which a first discoverer of oil and its properties might be singled out, classical Arabic tradition can be identified as the premodern linguistic culture most permeated by words for oil, in its onomastics, proverbs, and poetry going back to pre-Islamic times. Occurrences of the word nafṭ in classical verse have modern political implications, highlighting the historical priority of the Arabs where oil is concerned, and the falsehood of Western claims to it. On this point, it should not go without saying that Western notice of oil in the region began with an Arab merchant from Bahrain, who mentioned it to a quartermaster of the British army while at Addis Ababa. That officer resigned his post forthwith and transferred to the Gulf in search of oil.

The word nafṭ calls attention for its antiquity and its particularity, indicating that Arabs have understood oil's nature for over 2,000 years. It denotes the reality of oil better than terms in use by the Europeans who, judging from basic appearances, called it petroleum, that is, "rock oil," as if it were a culinary oil pressed from rock. The Arabic designation of nafṭ is less naïve, designating a rare substance with distinct properties [from those of botanic oils, which are called in Arabic by a different word]. But those who hypothesize a relation between nafṭ and nabt "vegetation" [best defended through a shared connection to nabṭ, which is "the issue of water from the ground"] hit on the fact that geological oil is an organic substance. This would not preclude the possibility that nafṭ entered Arabic from another cultural domain, or that it derives from more ancient languages.

Nafṭ has an array of meanings in Arabic. As a substantive noun, it refers to petroleum. As an epithet, it conveys the sense of boiling, sneezing, or furious anger; correspondingly, the verb nafaṭa yanfiṭu is said of a pot [when it boils], a goat [when it sneezes], and a man [suffused by anger]. Nafṭ also signifies a blister filled with fluid that appears on the hand after manual labor. There is clear affinity among these meanings, in that they all have to do with the emergence of something with force and violence. And although this similitude was incomprehensible until modern times, the topology of an oil deposit resembles that of a blister on the skin.

Nafṭ also carries the meaning of tar (qār), which is properly speaking a category of nafṭ. Ibn Manẓūr in Lisān al-‘arab (art. √qwr) states that "Qār is a black substance that camels are smeared with [to treat their mange], and also boats, in order to prevent water from seeping in." The Arabs were well acquainted with the fundamental properties of tar, in particular the intensity of its blackness and the impossibility of its taking on other colors. There are many proverbs to this effect, such as "I'll do that when tar turns white" [i.e., never]. In Averroes's commentary on the Posterior Analytics (I.6), he mentions [tar, saying: "Whereas predication of essential attributes is possible when these are substances, it is necessary when they are accidents, in] the way that white is predicated of snow, and black is predicated of qār." [....] And Mu‘āwiya al-Ḍabbī said (meter: ṭawīl):

     Until I see tar gleaming like the dawn [mughraban],
         or I see the mute stones speaking, I am stuck here.

The word mughrab is glossed as "white" in Lisān al-‘arab (art. √ghrb), where the verse is explained: "The poet wound up in a spot that was disagreeable to him, from which rescue was impossible unless tar should turn white, or stones begin speaking—things that do not and should not happen in the normal course of events." These proverbial expressions are sufficient to indicate that petroleum was a familiar, everyday part of early Arab life. 

After the entry of the Mongols into Baghdad at the end of the Abbasid Dynasty, the scientific heritage of the Arabs suffered major losses, especially in the discipline of chemistry. However, the poems and stories that remain have a lot to tell us. Poetry has many functions, one of the most important being the witness it bears to matters that are not otherwise recorded, thereby preserving the history of the nation. Even low forms of verse spoken hundreds of years ago have important political and sociohistorical implications for our time. Among these is the fact that the Muslims of Baghdad were familiar with petroleum. Nor were they the only ones, but—as indicated in books of Islamic law and history, as well as poetry [of the 9th century CE]—Muslims were the first to establish a legal and administrative framework for the utilization of oil, which they extracted from deposits called nafāṭāt. The city of al-Qayyāra outside Baghdad was so named precisely for the number of nafāṭāt in that region. And Dhū Qār [site of the famous battle] was nothing but a boggy area where oil rose to the earth's surface.

To oversee the qayyārāt and nafāṭāt and regulate their exploitation by the oil sector, the Abbasid caliph appointed an "oil czar" (wālī al-nafāṭāt), whose office resembled present-day ministries of oil. This is attested in verses [by ‘Abd al-Ṣamad ibn al-Mu‘adhdhal] appearing in al-Zamakhsarī's Campsite of the Righteous, later quoted in the chapter "On vices of governorship" in Ibrāhīm ibn Muḥammad al-Bayhaqī's Virtues and Vices [and, before either of these, in the Virtues and Their Opposites of al-Jāḥiẓ] (meter: ṭawīl):

     By my life! You put on such pompous airs,
         as if ministering from the dais of al-Faḍl ibn Marwān
     And if, Abū 'l-‘Abbās, you governed in his stead
         as my superior, I would not expect your character to change.
     How proud would you be of musk and ambergris,
         if you're this proud to oversee pools of nafṭ?
     Brook your hauteur. Don't lose your humility.
         A governor of nafṭ ought not be haughty.

One of the topmost authorities of energy law in our time—a British legal counselor to the World Bank and a number of oil-rich countries—was reduced to amazement when I recited these verses and explained them to him, for Westerners think they were first to bring oil extraction within the domain of law in the late nineteenth century. And these verses highlight the fact that the Abbasids were the first to do this. 

From "Political Implications of the Word Nafṭ in Classical Arabic Tradition" (2018), a blog post by Anas Alhajji

December 1, 2022

Auspicious Sana‘a

     I say to my near one through flowing tears
         when the will to go abroad is on me:
     Let me make my journey, let me pass unmourned.
         The stars that wander are the noble ones.
     Travel leads to betterment of outcome.
         Sitting still in comfort is the way of ruin.
     In darkness I see illumination,
         as if day switched place with night,
     when lightning from [auspicious] Sana‘a reminds me
         my destination isn't far away.
     Why should I rejoice at spending nights out in the desert
         when high above Ursa Minor is my home?
     And how will I be food for worms, with
         four elements on every side?
     How long will I live next to Draco
         with constellated serpents for my friends?
     My union with that light will be annihilation,
         and my passing out of knowing left from right,
     and the walls will echo with a pounding
         by rejectors of my secrets with their heads.

By Suhrawardi (meter: wāfir)

November 2, 2022

Shortener of days

It was reported to me by Abu ‘Ubayd Allah al-Marzubani that Ibn Durayd said: It was reported to me by ‘Abd al-Rahman, the fraternal nephew of al-Asma‘i, that

Al-Asma‘i said: I was staying with a man of the Banu Kilab who had celebrated his marriage at Basra, and was raising his family at Dariyya. We were at Dariyya's market when we were approached by an old woman of dignified dress and unfaded beauty, mounted on a camel. She bade the camel kneel, and tied it up and came toward us, supporting herself on a shepherd's crook. She sat by us, and said, "Is any poetry being recited?"
     I said to my Kilabi friend, "Have you got anything?" "No," he said. So I recited for her these verses by Bishr ibn ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Ansari (meter: kāmil):

     The days have a shortener. Who spends them with her
         craves more, even at the cost of other friendships.
     The likes of her choke a man with longing
         for her demure air, and her antelope's eye—
     the eye of a doe of the lowlands, sallow of hide
         as if jaundiced by the deer's shyness.

     At this, the old woman rose to her knees, and began tracing lines on the ground with her crook as she recited [these verses by Ibn al-Dumayna]: (meter: ṭawīl):

     Dear Umayma of my heart, do as you will.
         But let me voice my passion and my greeting
             [to this spot].
     When you tell me, "Walk through fire," I know it's
         your caprice. But could it bring us closer, all the same?
     Capricious as you are, I take it as a gift,
         and put my foot in fire and tread it.
     On the sandhill where moringa grows, ask the tallest tree
         if I hailed the ruins of your abode,
     and if I choose to haunt the ruins
         at nightfall like a heartsick person.
     May you be happy at the way my cheek shines,
         and how I clutch myself at losing you.

Al-Asma‘i said: By God, the world around me went dim from the eloquence and sweetness of her delivery and dialect. I went up to her and said, "My God! Your recitation surpasses mine." And I saw a gleam of laughter in her eye, as she went on to recite (meter: ṭawīl):

     Many a guarded maid casts off reserve when I come calling,
         dragging a train of infatuation behind.
     They let love mount, and when it's theirs,
         rip it away and swell our battles.
     Their talk is civil, low and yielding,
         winning them soft hearts for free.
     They foil the plans of the softhearted fool.
         Their jest and earnestness maze the astute.
     My blamers, meanwhile, blame the love
         that tells me to ignore dissuaders.

[The Tribulations of Impassioned Lovers by al-Sarraj adds this postscript:
     "Brava!" I said, "by Him Who created you!" "You really mean it?" she asked. "Yes," I said. "Then I share the praise with you as an equal," she said, and decamped. And by God, I have heard no poetry recital more exquisite than the one she gave.]

The meaning of "shortener of days" in the Ansari's verse is that his joy in the woman's presence is complete. So sweet are her beauty and her conversation that any day spent with her is short, for brevity is an attribute of joyful days.

From the Dictations of Abu 'l-Qasim ‘Ali al-Murtada

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

September 19, 2022

What handkerchief is best?

The courtiers surrounding ‘Abd al-Malik ibn Marwan were not particularly erudite. One day, he asked them, "What is the best kind of handkerchief?"
     "The handkerchiefs of Egypt," said one of them "They're like the membrane of an eggshell."
     "The handkerchiefs of Yemen," said another. "They're as [colorful as] the flowers of spring."
     "That's all you've come up with?" said ‘Abd al-Malik. "That's nothing.  The best of handkerchiefs was described by a man of the Banu Tamim," meaning ‘Abda ibn al-Tabib (meter: basīṭ):

      When we halted and rigged up a screen from the sun,
          pots of meat for the party were put on to boil.
      The cook's time was short. Some of the cuts
          were eaten pink, and some were just turning pale.
      We remounted then our branded horses. Their close-cropped
          manes were kerchiefs for [wiping] our hands.

From al-Kamil of al-Mubarrad (cf. Imru’ al-Qays)

August 31, 2022

A courtroom scene

Abu ‘Ali (al-Qali, d. 356 A.H./967 CE) said: My recitation of this poem by Jamil (ibn Ma‘mar, d. 82/701) was vetted by Ibn Durayd (d. 321/933) (meter: wāfir):

    "What you accuse me of is not a wrong,"
          I told her, "unlike the miser's way, which is collective harm.
      Let's go before two judges, one from my group and one
          from yours, impartial men and not unjust ones."
     "I want one judge," she said, "from my group only,
          lest slanderers hear our case, and embroider on it."
      We went before the judge in his curtained chamber,
          a worldly man whose eyelids sagged,
      and said, "Whatever your decision, we will accept it.
          We trust you with adjudication of our case,
      which will be binding, so judge between us
          as your temper and opinion dictate."
    "I am slain,” I told the judge, “with no recrimination.
          And wrongs unpunished will proliferate!
      Ask her when she’ll make good all that she owes me.
          Is grievance ever righted when it's unredressed?"
    "The plaintiff is a liar," she said, "and a useless person
          whose accusations go on long.
      Am I his slayer? Then where’s my weapon?
          If I attack him, what fighting strength have I?
      Nor have I despoiled his capital. The court will find
          the alleged debt is owed to me."
      Our ruling was up to the sentencer,
          whose legal views were soundly based.
     "Bring forth your witnesses," he said.
          I said, "God is our witness, the Exalted King."
     "The defendant's oath, and I will reach my verdict,"
          ordered the judge, whose every verdict was just and fair.
      She gave her oath, and said the charge against her
          carried lest weight than a date pit's husk.
      [When it was over,] I could not help asking,
         "Our case was settled in my favor, was it not?"
      Buthaynah knit her brows and said, "[You think]
          you’ve prevailed? You, who prevail in nothing you do?
      And don’t let them find you with me, lest I be
          bereft of you. A bereaved woman is no one to mess with!"

From the Dictations of Abu ‘Ali al-Qali