What to be famous for? is a question only Chance and Fate get to answer. And if my name is remembered, it will be for the song "Gourd Flower," as recorded by my friend Julian Talamantez Brolaski, and appearing on xir new album It's Okay Honey.
The lyrics to this song first appeared on page 40 of Zeroes Were Hollow. Now, in a video jammed together from heart-breaking footage on archive dot org (thanks, Nick), they are the world's to sing along with. I await no higher credit to my name than this:
‘Abd al-Wahid ibn Zayd [known as Abu ‘Ubayda al-Basri] said:
I stopped one time in a valley, where I was startled by a monk who had confined himself in a cell. I said, "Is this a demon, or a man?"
Weeping, the man said, "What is there to fear, other than God? A man degraded by sin, who flees to his Lord, in flight from his own sins—this man's no demon, but a mortal in distress."
"How long have you been here?" I asked. "Twenty-four years," he said.
"Who do you have for company?" I asked. "Wild animals," he said.
"What do you eat?" I asked. "Fruits and vegetation of the earth," he said.
"And you don't miss the company of other people?" I asked. "That's just what I'm fleeing," he said.
"Do you follow Islam?" I asked. He said: "[Submission] is all I know."
Abu ‘Ubayd (sic) said: By God, I envied him his place!
I asked a monk about the iron pole he had [tied himself to?]: "What's the hardest thing about being out here by yourself?" "There's nothing hard about it," he said. "Solitude is sociability, for the seeker."
From The Book of Isolation and Seclusion of ‘Abd Allah ibn Abi 'l-Dunya
Abū Zayd: Māla [means "to incline"]; its verbal noun is mayl. Ibn al-Sikkīt: Mamāl and mamīl [are also its verbal nouns], and amāla and mayyala [mean "to cause something to lean"]. Abū Ḥātim [CORRECTED AGAINST LISĀN AL-‘ARAB]: Mayl is for leaning that is contingent, while mayal [the verbal noun of mayila] is for leaning that is congenital or structural.
Abū ‘Ubayd: The verb jāḍa yajīḍu means "to deviate from the path," as does ḥāḍa yaḥīḍu [discussed ahead]. Abū Zayd [attests that ḥāṣa yaḥīṣu is said for the same meaning, and that its verbal nouns are]: ḥayṣ and ḥayaṣān. Ibn al-‘Arābī adds: ḥuyūṣ. The author of Kitāb al-‘Ayn: Ḥāṣa ‘anhu ["He turned away from it" is said with verbal nouns] maḥīṣ and maḥāṣ, and [the same meaning is communicated by] taḥāyaṣa and ḥāyaṣa. Abū ‘Ubayd says in more than one place: Ḥāṣa means "to turn away in flight" from something, and jāḍa means "to deviate." Ibn Durayd: Jayadān is jāḍa's verbal noun.
Abū ‘Ubayd: Nāṣa yanūṣu, verbal nouns manāṣ and manīṣ, is similar. In more than one place, he says it means "to get moving and go away." Ibn Durayd: Nāṣa yanūṣu, verbal noun nawṣ [can be used transitively, to mean] "to pursue something to the point of overtaking it." [Ibn Sīdah:] Nawṣ was discussed earlier with the meaning "to depart."
Abū ‘Ubayd: The verbal noun of nakaba yankubu ["to be oblique"] is nakib. Abū Ḥātim: Nakb and nukūb are [two more] verbal nouns of nakaba, and nakab is the verbal noun of nakiba [which means the same]. The author of Kitāb al-‘Ayn: Tanakkaba means "to deviate from the path." Nakaba has this meaning, and also "to cause someone else to deviate."
Abū ‘Ubayd: ‘Adala is similar to this. Someone else: ‘Adala ya‘dilu, with verbal nouns ‘adl and ‘udūl [means "to turn away from something"], as does in‘adala. ‘Adala is also [used transitively, with two contrary meanings:] "to cause someone to incline" and "to set someone straight and correct their inclination," as when you set something upright that was sagging low, and correct the imbalance in it. Ta‘dīl is [a verbal noun meaning] "rectification." ‘Umar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb said: "God be praised for surrounding me with people who set me straight when I go akilter (idhā miltu ‘addalūnī), as if straightening an arrow." ‘Ādala and in‘adala [mean "to waver"], as in the verse [by Dhu 'l-Rumma, meter: ṭawīl]:
I fix my eyes on anyone but her,
from modesty. Otherwise, my gaze would never waver.
[Contrarily,] ‘adala can mean "to return" to something.
Abū ‘Ubayd: Kanafa means "to be averse," as in the verse [by al-Quṭāmī, meter: ṭawīl]:
[The winesellers feared a cheat, and got into it with us]
to make sure none of us were averse to paying.
[Ibn Sīdah:] Where this verse is attested with kātif ["holding back one's hands"] in place of kānif "averse," I think it is in error.
Ibn Durayd: Khāma means "to refrain" from something; its verbal noun is khayamān. The verb zākha ["to be at a remove"] means the same.
The author of Kitāb al-‘Ayn: Ḥāda [means "to hang back" from something]; its verbal nouns are ḥayd, ḥayadān, maḥīd, and ḥaydūda. Abū ‘Ubayd: Al-ḥayadā is someone who shies away, as in the verse [by Umayya ibn Abī ‘Ā’idh al-Hudhalī, meter: mutaqārib]:
I recall the dusky onager guarding its bulk [from bowhunters],
the one [I spied] hanging back from a pool of fresh water.
The author of Kitāb al-‘Ayn: Ṣadafa means "to turn and go away"; its verbal nouns are ṣadf and ṣudūf, and aṣdafa means to cause someone else to do this.
Abū Zayd: Kafa’a, verbal noun kaf’, means "to go wide of the mark," and so does akfa’a. Abū ‘Ubayd: Akfa’a is said of an archer who lets the bow's upper limb lean to one side, missing the target.
Abū ‘Ubayd: Ṣadagha means "to decline"; its verbal nouns are ṣadgh and ṣudūgh. Abū Zayd: One says: "I will straighten out your ṣadgh," that is, your deviation from rectitude and uprightness.
√Zwr is a root of [Arabic words for] inclination and deviation. Zūr is "falsehood," because it deviates from the way of truth. Zawwara means "to conjure something in the mind," by way of shaping it and changing its tack to make it more agreeable to the hearer. When an idol is called zūr [as in the verse by al-Aghlab al-‘Ijlī, meter: rajaz], it is based soundly on this meaning [of "fabrication"]:
They came with their zūrs, and we came with al-Aṣamm,
[our shaykh who is like a lion of Iram's remnant.]
Zawar is "inclination." Izwarra means "to incline away" from something. A similar idea is expressed by [active participle] zā’ir "visitor," because when someone visits you they have inclined away from other people. The chieftain who commands a group is called al-zuwayr because his followers turn away from all others in deference to him only, as in the verse (meter: ṭawīl):
At the hands of men with no leadership among them,
the tyrannical zuwayr is driven to his death.
When they say, "There is no zawr to this man," they mean he lacks any judgment worth seeking out.
Generosity shown to visitors is tazwīr. A zawr is a visiting group of any number of men or women, and for a single visitor the same word is used. A poet said (meter: rajaz):
There's a sway in their walk at al-Khubayb
that's like the swaying gait of visiting maidens (al-fatayātu 'z-zawru)
When a strong and hardy [camel] is called ziwarr, it is derived anomalously from zawr which is the upper part of its chest.
From Analogical Templates of Language by Ibn Fāris
[The verbs] i‘wajja, awida, māla, ḍali‘a, zawira, zāgha, ṣa‘ira, and ṣawira all mean the same. Ta’awwada is said of a thing that has a bend in it. And you say there is mayal in a bent thing, in addition to mayl, both verbal nouns of māla. [The nouns] ‘awaj, mayal, awad, ḍala‘, badan, zawar, zaygh, and ṣa‘ar are said especially for [affections of] the side of the face. God, be He Exalted and Magnified, says: Wa-lā tuṣa‘‘ir khaddaka li-n-nāsi "Twist not your cheek at people." Ṣawar and ṣayad are [upward bendings of a person's neck] from hauteur and pride, and [of a camel's neck] from the tugging of the rein upon the nose-ring.
From ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn ‘Īsā al-Hamadhānī's Book of Words for Secretarial Use in Arabic Language Science, the recension of
Ibn Khalawayh
[The nouns] ‘awaj, awad, ḍala‘, mayal, zawar, zaygh, ḥinw, and ṣa‘ar are said especially for [affections of] the side of the face. Ṣawar and ṣayad are [upward bendings of the neck] from hauteur and pride. Mayal is for a bend in the formation of a thing, as is ḍala‘, and its affiliated verb is mayila yamyalu; mayl is for when you incline towards another, and its affiliated verb is māla yamīlu. One uses the verb ta’awwada of a thing, and i‘wajja, in‘āja, and in’āda when it bends. And while the "contortion" of an abstract matter is called ‘iwaj, the "bend" in a stick is called ‘awaj.
From ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn ‘Īsā al-Hamadhānī's Book of Words for Identical and Similar Things, the recension of Abū 'l-Barakāt ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn al-Anbārī
After thirty years in the arts, it's happened that someone asked me thoughtful questions about my work, and recorded and edited our conversation for everyone to enjoy. I will be forever grateful that it was my friend Tenaya Nasser-Frederick. Thanks also to the editors of Full Stop, where the interview appears in two parts: Part One | Part Two
UPDATED AUG. 31: Tenaya and I just gave no. 148 in the Brooklyn Rail's Wednesday reading series, and for better or worse the cloud recording's been made viewable until kingdom come. Thanks to Anselm and everyone at the Rail who makes it happen.
ALSO Gabriel Kruis's review of my new book Zeroes Were Hollow has appeared in the Poetry Project Newsletter 273 (Summer 2023), 27-8, and can be read right here. Thanks so much to Kay et alii at the Newsletter and ov course to Gabe.
AND NOW (DEC. 5): Jared Joseph's review of Zeroes appears as an insightful web-exclusive feature of Gulf Coast 36:1 (Summer/Fall 2023). Thanks to Jared, Gabriel and Tenaya, the book's launch is now complete, and I can go back to watching YouTubs.
Abu 'l-Nashnash was a bandit of the Banu Tamim, an antisocial type and nuisance of the road who used to hold up caravans between the Hijaz and Syria. He was caught by one of Marwan's brigadiers, who fettered him and kept him prisoner, until Abu 'l-Nashnash took advantage of his captors' inattention and ran for it. He went along until he came to where a crow in a moringa tree was croaking and preening its feathers, and this filled him with disquiet. Then he came upon a group of the Banu Lihb, and said: "Ordeals and evils, imprisonment and dire straits—this man's been through them all, and escaped!" He looked to his right, and saw nothing. Then he looked to his left, and saw again the crow in a tree, croaking and preening its feathers.
"If the omen doesn't lie, this man's headed back to prison," a Lihbite said, "to languish in fetters until he's executed and exposed on a cross." "Suck a rock," said Abu 'l-Nashnash. "Suck it yourself," said the Lihbite. To which Abu 'l-Nashnash recited (meter: ṭawīl):
Many women ask where I'm headed, and many men.
Why ask the irregular where he's bound?
The broad highway, that's where. If someone hangs onto
what they'd better hand over, that's when I come near.
A lonely man who can't roam free and easy,
and no one is happy to see,
is better off dead than hovering
in penury around his master's well.
The open waste where the sandgrouse falters
is where Abu 'l-Nashnash comes riding through,
to avenge someone's killing, or take someone's stuff.
Is the prodigy not now in view?
He lies down to worse poverty, finding nothing he seeks
on darker nights than I've ever seen.
Live lawless or die noble. I have found no one
left behind that death came seeking.
From the Book of Songs
Words that hint at flashing glimpses, and meanings that set captives free. Words like trees in flower, and meanings that inspire deep breaths. Words that borrow the sweetness of lovers' complaints, and crib from their tête-à-tête on the day of separation.
You'd think their words were pearls cascading from a cloud, if not purer drops in showers, whose meanings were pearls laced into a chain, only more precious. Language that is intimate and distant, provoking desires and dashing hopes, like the sun that brings light near while staying far above, and like water, so cheap when plentiful but costly when it runs out. Language that is easy for the astute to take in hand, and hard for everyone else. Language that ears will not reject and time will not wear away. Words that come as happy news gathered from a flower garden, and meanings like breaths of wind redolent of wine and aromatic herbs.
Smooth-flowing language of fine vintage mixed with rainwater, bringing realizations closer to its hearers. Witticisms that are magic portals, and nuggets like riches after poverty. Language like cooling drink on an overheated stomach, like prestige garments on an unbridled youth, full of highlights, supple contents, exquisite edges and non-abrasive surfaces. Language that is licit magic, cold springwater, and robes and mantles of resist-dyed weave, and apothegms and maxims and immanent happiness and blooming youth. I see in it the picture of pure refinement, and a paragon of excellence in its casting and molding. Words of coltish newness that are knots of ancient sorcery. Words that gladden the despondent, and level rugged ground, and make the treasured pearl an otiose thing.
Language that is free from affectation and far from blemish. Language with magic on its breath, and a smile of pearls in a row. Words whose golden surfaces inspire delight, and meanings whose verity overcomes the inborn temper. Words so tender-hearted, you'd think them copied from from a page of puppy love, but so ingratiating you'd think they were dictated by appetitive passion. Language that comes as an announcement of noble birth to the ear of sterile old age. Language that comes tantalizingly near and is forbiddingly remote, descending until it's just "two bow-lengths away, or even closer," then ascending until it is the highest thing that can be seen.
Language of beautiful brocade and subtle mixture, sweet to take in, cast without flaw, of enticing verbal makeup in which I read hidden meanings made plain, and words at close hand that hit faraway targets. If ever there were language that could melt boulders, cool embers, heal the sick and set aright the broken bone, this is it. His language seats its hearers on carpets, and courses through their hearts like resin in an aloe-tree. A man whose words are flowers, and his meanings fruits. His language is company for the settled, and provisions for the traveler. Language in which gazelles seek refuge, and sparrows bathe their wings. Language that emancipates clarity but keeps beauty in its thrall. Language that hauls in pearls, ties magic knots, dilates bosoms, and appeases Fate. Language whose range is far and its harvest nigh, inspiring affection in its hearers, and despair in [would-be imitators of] its craft.
From The Magic of Eloquence and the Secret of [Rhetorical] Expertise by
Abu Mansur al-Tha‘alibi
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.
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
I will narrate another miracle, supernatural and superhuman, about a medicinal brew the foresightful blessed one prepared for some brothers who were sick. For this purpose, they took ramekins of clay and set them in the ground [near the hearth] to be heated there, and he tapped four brothers to oversee the preparation in day-long shifts. Then there came a day when it slipped their minds—or rather, the Lord allowed it to slip their minds, in order that His servant stand revealed to all.
It was a day when no one paid attention. All they did with the ramekins that morning was to wash them, fill them with cold water and leave them sitting there. But when the hour drew nigh, and they were reminded of their duty, they were ashamed to look at any of their brothers, and did not dare to go to their abbot and let him know. Finally, one of them got up the courage, and went to him and said, "We had no wood, and heated no water." The blessed one, when he heard this, said, "And why were you not mindful of it this morning? Not that it matters: I know you're trying to test me. You can go back now, your water's hot." Doubtful as they were, they went back and found the ramekins bubbling, though it was obvious no fire had gone beneath them that whole day. And once again, the brothers marveled at the man's faith.
These few miracles have been chosen in order that we may believe in the many I could set forth, and that all things were possible for him through his perfect faith.
The Life of Alexander the Sleepless III.47
Certain faithless men took it in hand to test his grace. Day and night, they shadowed the brothers to find out where their food was coming from, for every day they saw it ready, and that after taking what sufficed them, these slaves of God took no thought for the morrow, but gave it in abundance to the poor. Through the Holy Spirit, the blessed one knew of their investigation, and at a time when none had knocked upon their door, said to one of his followers, "Go, and let in what the Lord has sent us." And before the brother got there, a man in white came knocking. The brother opened it to find a basket full of fresh-baked bread, still warm—but the angel of God who had knocked so urgently was nowhere to be seen, leaving a man standing there with the bread. "Who sent you?" the brother asked when he came in. The man responded, "I was taking my loaves out of the oven when a man of giant size appeared beside me, robed in white, and fiercely pressured me to 'Take all that bread to the slaves of the Most High!' He made me follow him to this place, knocked on the door, and then he vanished. I don't even know where I am."
Hearing all this, the brother reported it to his blessed abbot. The holy Alexander received the bread and served it warm to the brothers, who were already at their tables. With gratitude, they took their share and gave the rest to their brothers, the indigent poor. And [those formerly faithless men] marveled when they saw the unrestrained liberality of him who, in accordance with Scripture, gave no thought to the morrow.
The Life of Alexander the Sleepless III.45
The now-sainted Symeon was ailing at this time, and on the point of death. Gregory, when I made this known, sped to him, hoping to embrace him at the very end, but did not make it soon enough.
There were none to overshadow Symeon's greatness in his day. From the time he was a boy of tender nails, he pursued a life of hard extremity at the top of a pillar. His baby teeth had not yet fallen out when he took his stand there. The circumstances of his ascent to the pillar were these:
He was just a little kid, wandering boyishly in the foothills, when he came upon a wild leopard. Throwing his belt around its neck, he used the strap to lead around the beast, now forgetful of its wildness, and walked it back to his schoolhouse. Beholding this from the top of his own pillar, the schoolmaster asked: τί ἂν εἴη τοῦτο? "It's a cat," the boy said.
This proved the lad's future greatness, as far as the old man was concerned, and he conducted him up the pillar, where Symenon lived out sixty-eight years—first on that one, and then atop another in the highest fastness of the mountain. For expelling demons and healing every malady, every grace was due him, and for seeing into future things to come. To Gregory, he foretold that Gregory would not be present at his death. As to what might happen after that, he said, he had no knowledge.
From the Ecclesiastical History (VI.23) of Evagrius Scholasticus
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]!
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
