In 2017, I made a selection of poems by the caliph Yazid ibn Mu‘awiya ibn Abi Sufyan, and prepared "trots" of them for Peter Lamborn Wilson to versify in his book on the Yezidi religion. That book is now available from Inner Traditions (Rochester, VT), and [UPDATED MAY 23] I'm consoled that Peter lived to see it. Thanks to all who made it possible, especially Charles Stein, Renée Heitman, and Raymond Foye.
At the end of four days' travel, they arrived at the place where a large monastic community had for its chief Alexander's own brother, their archimandrite. Did his way of life accord with the Gospel of the Lord? It was Alexander's intention to find out.
He brought a single member of his brotherhood up to the gates with him and knocked. "Patience," responded the gatekeeper in the ordinary fashion. "Let me notify the abbot, and then you may enter." But Alexander refused to wait, and followed him inside, to find out if the archimandrite would be roused against his gatekeeper.
When his saintly brother, whose name was Peter, beheld him after thirty years, he recognized his sibling at once, for even in darkness it is natural to recognize one's own. And he fell at his feet, and hugged them, and begged Alexander to forgive what had taken place. But the blessed one spoke harshly and accusingly. "Our father Abraham received his guests personally and attended to them, and our lord Jesus Christ made it the law." And he shook the dust from his clothes and went back on the road. The most reverend Peter and all the brothers of his community were in tears as they begged him to stay, even if just one day, but Alexander declined. And with this lesson in true monastic poverty and divine love he left them, and set off for Antioch.
The Life of Alexander the Sleepless III.37
In the company of his brethren, whose hymn-singing continued without interruption, the blessed Alexander went all the way across the desert to arrive at Solomon's city—the city he built "in the wilderness," as it says in the Book of Kings, now called Palmyra. But when, from far away, the people of the city caught sight of the brethren drawing nearer in their numbers [....], they closed the gates. "Who could possibly feed all those men?" they said to one another. "If they come into our city, then all of us will starve."
At this, the holy man gave praise to God. "Trust in the Lord is better than trust in men," he said. "Take courage, brothers, for the Lord watches over us in unsuspected ways." And [sure enough,] the barbarians of those parts showed a humanitarian concern that was unparalleled. The brethren had abided in the desert for three days when, from a distance of four days' travel, there arrived a group of camel-riders sent to them by the Lord with supplies, in accordance with what the holy one had said. To God the brethren gave praise and thanks, and let others share in the bounty. It was so much more than they needed that they found themselves distributing the goods sent to them among the poor of that city.
Some eager members of the brethren formed a plan. As consolation for their recent sufferings, they wished to bring refreshment to the brethren in their great numbers, and so they disobeyed the holy one by preparing a mixed grill for the brethren's gustatory delight. But Alexander decided to give them a lesson in sublimating their woes. As soon as the feast was all prepared, he took up the parchments of the Holy Gospel as was his custom, saying "Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth, good will toward men," which was his habitual way of taking leave. With that, he gave word that the feast be left untouched, and went back on the road. And the brethren held back from all that was laid out for them, and got back on the road.
From The Life of Alexander the Sleepless III.35-6
They say that one night, while Mālik ibn al-Rayb was out on a raid, a wolf attacked him in his sleep. He drove it off, but without success, for the wolf returned and would not give ground. So Mālik fell upon it with his sword, and slew it, and this is his poem about the incident (meter: ṭawīl):
Hey wolf of the scrub, now the stock of human laughter:
From east to west, report of you will spread from rider to rider.
Bold-hearted though you were, you met the lion
whose neck is strong, whose bite is stronger,
who never sleeps at night without the sword
that's quick to violence in defense of people.
Hey wolf, my stealthy nighttime caller:
Did you take me for a dull-witted person?
Several times I drove you off, and when you wore me down
and would not be shooed away, I curbed your nuisance.
And now, at the feet of the son of a noble dame, you are made carrion
by a bright cutter that delivers from oppression.
Many's the dubious battle where, had you been present,
the memory of me amid the fray would scare you still,
and the sight of my fallen foe in armor
with his hands fixed in the earth [that he died clawing],
worsted by the brave-hearted fighter whose
opponents wish their hearts could flutter back to them,
would be haunting you.
With a sword of two sharp edges I leap, and toward death
I walk proudly, where my peers dawdle like mangy camels.
When I see death. I don't shrink from it in a deferential way.
When I ride into narrow straits, it is by choice.
But when my soul will tolerate no more, steer clear
and back off, lest your entire community be scattered in terror.
From the Book of Songs
I wish no trace were left of their encampment.
I would not then be saddened at the sight.
When their camels stepped away, aboard their litters went
gentlewomen like does of Urāq with wide eyes.
Stopped at Dhū 'l-Jadāh, apart from menfolk,
they cast off overclothes to play at leapfrog.
[They travel in summer.] The sun rises on them
almost as soon as it sets, but it's no affront to them.
I wish the winds my message to their people would convey
at Murj Ṣurā‘ or al-Andarīn.
White cumuli that echo one another’s peal,
with lightning bolting at us from cloudy banks,
their mounded forms lit up by rearing ones,
now in darkest night and now again—
what are they, compared to beautiful Ghaniyya with her neighbor
on the day of their departure, and beautiful Umm al-Banīn?
And what are the eggs of the [ostrich,] bushy and confrontational,
nursed on albumen until they hatch?
Laid in one shape, all of them,
white in color, with prenatal chicks contained inside,
sheltered by a wing and brooded over,
shielded underneath its plumage,
in a safe spot on a high place fed by sweet breezes,
where the north wind’s moan is sometimes heard,
and the wadi of Na‘mān empties out
into the graveled clay of al-Adyathīn.
That is where yon citadel of wandering cloud unleashes,
and the buzz [of flies around the ponds it fills] erupts like crazy.
And what is the shine of the jeweler’s pearl,
pried from its covering by the strong-willed [diver]?
He keeps it wrapped in silks,
and when he takes it out, eyes sparkle.
Between the diver and the pearl come frightful sights:
great fish and whales and other marine giants.*
Avidly, he risks his life (nafs) for it.
The desire in his soul (nafs) is strong and grasping.
And noble mares are continually saddled
for riding off to look at pearls in the [cool of] morn and evening.
[I say to my beloved spouse:] After the saddle quits the withers
of my mount, and events befall me as I deserve,
stay clear of the wandering lowlife
who calls on people after dark.
He slurps a skin of cultured milk, then stoppers it
and says, "It’s your turn to pour. I already shared mine."
Beneath reproach, he reproaches others. Whether
your flesh is lean or fatty, he chews it [behind your back].
Constantly he lollygags around your door,
as if tethered with a strap there.
When times are hard, he’s useless.
He has no camels fit for milking, nor any unfit ones.
When I die? Get yourself the miser’s opposite,
a young fighter with a lean midriff,
one whose eyes dart like a falcon’s
when he finds that all is not as it should be.
Night for him is without darkness. He trusts
in a fearless camel and races her [as if by day].
His people are in debt to his brave actions.
The women wish to have no other man.
This is [my advice,] not some occult destiny I foretell
to you who think that everything’s an omen.
Let the outcry cease! My accuser makes a case
out of whatever I just did, forgetting my prior exploits.
[In youth], I wore a mantle of prestige, and then it was
required of me to toil and soon be judged.
Now my death is nearer than a phantom.
Between my life and me it totters nigh.
Many a day ends in disaster. And then
sometimes those days are far between,
[as on the night] I crept up and whispered to her: "Pay
your uncle's son no mind [and come with me]."
A qasida by Ibn Ahmar al-Bahili (meter: wāfir)
*Two verses interpolated from Uncommon Words in Prophetic Hadith
by Ibrahim al-Harbi
I don't mean to brag, but a number of my friends have been featured bloggers on Harriet for the Poetry Foundation. Cedar, Rodney, Kasey, Alli, Brandon, Brandon, Matvei, Garrett, Thom, Marie, Asiya, Silvina, Sara, Patrick, Stephanie, Dana, Eddie, Hoa, Rodrigo, Joshua, and if I keep clicking back I'll be reminded of more.
This is all to say I'm glad to be blogging for Harriet finally, on the theme of Poetry and Translation. Thanks, Shoshana! My first post is up today.
A muwashshaha of spring
By Taqī al-Dīn ibn al-Maghribī
Narcissus loves the rose so much
its eyes don't close in sleep
You see its raiment on a stem
haggard from passion
Have pity on the grief of one
whose love was so ordained!
But it's curtains for narcissus
because rose refuses
If you took pity on its state
you would pay a visit
May God arrange reunion
where you sit down with me
to recreation of our souls, ¡ay!
Fine steerage that would be!
And trim the herbs with dainty seed
and dress them up in sweetness
like mulberries discovered
at the peak of ripeness
Let waters flow once more through the canal,
burbling like nightingales
When Spring puts out the call:
"Be clothed, ye stems and branches!"
you see green outfits of the silk
promised in eternity
It's hard, in Spring, to find
in favor of the abstainer from the cup.
Festive get-togethers are Springtime's gift
and none but the boor oppose them.
Give us drink! The only tavern-goer
to be on guard against
is the one who's not wasted
But a well-aged daughter of the vine
can be rough on the insolvent man
with a buzz already on him, when he
spies a cup of it, and guzzles it
From Choice Notices of the Historical Record by Ibn Shākir al-Kutubī
Passerby, the slab piled over me is low
to the ground, nor much to see. Be that as it is,
good man, hail Philaenis! Her singing locust
was I, who used to crawl from thorn to thorn,
the reedy bug she fussed over and loved
for two whole years of my anthemic racket.
At my death, her care lived on, and over me she reared
this little monument to resourcefulness in song.
Leonidas of Tarentum (Greek Anthology 7.198)
Ironworking is one of the oldest crafts in the world. On the authority of Ibn ‘Abbas, may God be pleased with him, it is reported that a hammer, an anvil, and a set of tongs are what Adam was sent down with, peace be upon him. It is also narrated that he was sent down with myrrh, and with a shovel.
According to another report, five things of iron were sent down with Adam: an anvil, tongs, a needle, a hammer, and a mīqa‘a, which is glossed as either a whetstone, a mallet, a sledgehammer, or a tool for roughing up a millstone's grinding edge.
Another report of of Ibn ‘Abbas has it that Adam, peace be upon him, was sent down from Paradise with a bāsina. This designates a craftsman's tool or the blade of a plow; in either case, the word is not Arabic in origin.
From Fulfilment of the Aspiration to Knowledge of the Fortunes
and Lifeways of the Arabs by Mahmud Shukri al-Alusi
Glad to be reading this Thursday at the launch of Aditya Bahl's chapbook MUKT (Organism for Poetic Research, 2021).
Another verse where Abu Tammam goes wrong is the following (meter: ṭawīl):
The places where your tribe once stayed are vacant, I attest,
their traces worn away like the washa’i‘ of a mantle.
He treats washa’i‘ as if they were the selvages of a mantle, but this is not the case. In reality, washa’i‘ [sg. washī‘] are a weaver's "shuttles," which draw the coiled thread of the weft between the fibers of the warp, as in the verse by Dhu 'l-Rumma (meter: ṭawīl):
[The sands] are played by forceful winds that weave it
like a Yemeni whose washa’i‘ weave a mantle.
As for the verse of Kuthayyir (meter: ṭawīl),
Washī‘ in script-like pattern [sic] renews the homes of ‘Azza's tribe
before all trace of them is wiped away in summer.
He uses washī‘ to mean "stuffing" in a gap between two things. But shuttles are for thread... and what it means is that their homes—specifically, their khiyām—were renewed by stuffing [the gaps in their walls with fresh panic grass]. His mistake is due to inexperience of the trappings of settled life. When a Bedouin uses the wrong word for something, having never seen it first hand, it is excusable.
For Abu Tammam, on the other hand, there is no excuse, because he belonged to sedentary civilization, and was hardly ignorant of it. But he grants himself license, [and is flagrant about it,] as you can see in a separate poem where he describes his own poetic work (meter: basīṭ):
Jest and earnest are combined in the shuttling of its weft,
as are nobility and scurrility with grief and ecstasy.
From The Weigh-in Between the Poetry of Abu Tammam and al-Buhturi by Abu 'l-Qasim al-Amidi
Ziyad assembled the people of Kufa in order to subject them to anti-‘Alid propaganda. [This was during the month of Ramadan in the year 53 A.H./August 673 CE]. The mosque was filled, and the courtyard, and the fortified castle. ‘Abd al-Rahman said:
"I was with a group of my fellow Ansaris when, amid the tumult, I fell asleep. And in my sleep I saw something with a long neck coming toward me. It had long lashes and pendulous lips like a camel's. 'What are you?!' I said.
"It said, 'I am al-Nufād Dhu 'l-Ruqba (The Die-Off With a Neck), and I was sent to the occupant of this castle.' I awoke with a jolt, and asked my fellows, 'Did you see what I just saw?'
"'No,' they said, so I told them. [Just then,] a representative of the palace came out and said to us, 'The commander says: "Please take your leave of me. I am indisposed and cannot see you."' For the plague had struck him." And ‘Abd al-Rahman declaimed these verses (meter: basīṭ):
His plans for us were not yet complete
when the Long-Necked Die-Off came for him:
the demonic counterpart of the courtyard's master
whose blow was equal to the master's oppression.
When plague first came to Kufa, Ziyad left town. Then, when it lifted, he returned. And that is when the plague presented in [the blackening of] one of his fingers.
Sulaym said: "At his summons I went to him. He said to me, 'Oh, Sulaym, do you feel the heat that I am feeling?' 'No,' I said. He said, 'By God, the heat I feel in my body is like fire.'"
One hundred and fifty doctors were assembled around him, including three from Chosroes's court. Sulaym drew one of Chosroes's doctors aside and asked for his prognosis, The doctor told him what Ziyad had, and that he was dying. And the plague took him just as the doctor had advised.
