Ahmad of the Seventh Day I.2

[‘Abd Allah continued:]

I awoke the next morning to hear the man calling my name. "How do you feel?" I asked him.
      "I'm about to die," he said. "Open up the purse that's in the sleeve of my cloak." I opened it and found a ring set with a red stone. "When I am dead and buried," he said, "take this ring to Harun, the Commander of the Faithful, and tell him: 'He whose ring this is warns you to beware! Don't let death find you in your inebriated state, or you'll regret it.'"

After I had seen to his burial, I inquired into what day Harun would appear outside the palace. I wrote an account of the case, presented myself before the Commander of the Faithful, and submitted it to him.
      And then began my sufferings, for once inside the palace, the caliph read my account and said, "Bring me the author of this tale!" And I was hustled inside the palace to face his wrath.
     "This is how you address me?" Harun said. "This is how you act?" Seeing his anger, I brought out the ring, and when he beheld it, he asked where it came from.
     "It was given me by a man who works in plaster," I said. "A plasterer," the caliph said. "A plasterer!" And he bid me come closer.
      I said, "The man sent me with instructions, O Commander of the Faithful." "Woe unto you!" he said. "Tell them to me."
     "O Commander of the Faithful," I said, "he told me to give you this ring and say: 'He whose ring this is sends you his greetings, and warns you to beware! Don't let death find you in your inebriated state, or you'll regret it.'"
      The caliph rose to his feet, and flung himself onto the carpet. "My son!" he cried, writhing about, "you have admonished your father!" And to myself I said, "It is as if the father were the son!" [Continued.]

From The Lamp that Sheds Its Brightness on the Caliphate of al-Mustadi’ by Ibn al-Jawzi; cf. Ibn al-Jawzi's Characters of Integrity

Alexander the Sleepless XX

Then the Enemy of Truth got in Alexander's face and bellowed: "Why do you bedevil me before my appointed time? Mine own Master and my Judge are unto me." Consequently, the judges took no just decision, and their judgment went against the greater judge. They took it in hopes he would be torn apart by the people [of Constantinople] and the Devil's shield-bearers. But Alexander took courage from God's protection, and made his way through their midst, for the mob were smitten by a terror of the Lord, and their mentality fell apart.

[....] When that battle was stopped by the power of Christ, Truth's Enemy did not keep silent, but schemed and did everything he could to arrest the incessant hymn-singing that was mobilized against him. Considering how often states and nations are betrayed by their own citizens, he hit upon the tactic of enlisting confederates of Alexander's own rank. And together with his holy brethren, the blessed one was seized, and clapped in chains and beaten. Their hymn-singing was arrested for several days, and the brethren and the holy powers were awash in grief, for all were hauled back [to their monasteries of origin] by their former shepherds on [episcopal] command.

From The Life of Alexander the Sleepless III.49-50

Ahmad of the Seventh Day I.1

I was told by Abu 'l-Qasim Hibat Allah ibn Ahmad al-Hariri that Abu Talib Muhammad ibn ‘Ali ibn Fath al-‘Ashari said: It was reported to me by Abu Bakr Ahmad ibn Muhammad ibn Ghalib al-Khwarazmi that Ibrahim ibn Muhammad al-Mizki told him: ‘Abu 'l-‘Abbas Muhammad ibn Ishaq al-Thaqafi heard from ‘Ali ibn al-Muwaffaq that ‘Abd Allah ibn al-Faraj [al-Qantari] said:

I went out one day in search of a man to repair something in my home. One was pointed out to me with a promising countenance, and a shovel and a basket in his hands. "You'll work for me?" I asked him. "Yes," he said, "for a dirham and a daniq." "Come along," I said, and that is how he began doing jobs for me at the rate of one dirham and one daniq.

There came a day I sought him out and was told: "That guy only shows up once a week. On Fridays, never." So I went on the appointed day and asked him, "Will you work for me?" "I will," he said, "for a dirham and a daniq." "One dirham only," I said. "A dirham and a daniq," he said. "Come along," I told him, for I desired his services, even though I had no daniq on me.

When evening came, I laid my dirham on him. "What's this?" he said. "One dirham," I told him. "Ugh," he said. "Didn't I tell you: 'One dirham and one daniq'? You're doing me wrong."
      "And did I not say: 'One dirham'?" I asked him. "I'm not taking anything from this guy," he muttered. And when I offered him the equivalent of one dirham and one daniq, he refused to accept. "Glory to God," he said, "I told you I won't take it, and still you pester me," and went away.
      My family confronted me over this. "What in God's name made you so intent on getting the man's work for a dirham, that you would cheat him?" they said.

Some days later, I went asking after him. "He's not well," they told me. So I asked for directions to his house, where I knocked and entered to find him doubled over with a stomach complaint. Aside from his shovel and his basket, the place was empty.
      "Peace be upon you," I said to him. "There's something I need from you, and [do not refuse me, because] you know that bringing happiness to another believer is a meritorious act. I wish for you to come to my home and let me care for you."
      "That's what you wish for?" he said. "Yes," I said. "Okay," he said, "on three conditions." "Go ahead," I told him.
       He said: "The first is that you don't give me any food unless I ask for it. The second is that you bury me in these clothes, if I should die." I assented to both these things.
      "The third condition is more severe than either of these," he said. "It is strenuous indeed."
      "Whatever you say," I said, and loaded him onto my back and carried him home. [Continued.]

From The Lamp that Sheds Its Brightness on the Caliphate of al-Mustadi’ by Ibn al-Jawzi; cf. Characters of Integrity by the same author

Alexander the Sleepless XIX

Alexander's service was carried out to perfection, with God's help, and his disciples were far advanced in their faith. They took so much joy in their psalms and hymns and peaceful way of life that the Enemy was outraged at the sight, and went against the noble athlete like an army going to war.

Before armies charge at each other in unison with swords drawn, and victory goes to the stronger force, they fire missiles from far away, and that is how the Enemy began. For fifty years he had battled Alexander, and always the battle went against him, and the man remained unbroken. Now, for one last time, the Enemy joined all his demonic forces to a population he had recruited from humanity and, hurling his bolt against the slave of God, made his advance.

And so word went to the eparchs that Alexander the monk was a heretic, out to defile the church of God. But with his prayers to see him through, the blessed one's enemies couldn't even stand up to his shadow, so to speak. For it is in the nature of falsehood to be ruined by the truth. To state the truth opaquely, righteousness made it through the storm.

The Life of Alexander the Sleepless III.48

 HANDS AT WORK 

Tent Weaving   

 

Woven panel of a Bedouin bayt mushatta (winter tent); wool and goat hair (detail).
Souq Al Qattara, Al Ain, Abu Dhabi. Photograph by Omar Al-Yammahi, 2015

In the poetic tradition of a tent-dwelling society, you would expect to hear a lot about domestic weaving. Modern ethnography tells us that several times a year, the women of the Bedouin household must weave a new tent panel, called a flīj, to replace one that's wearing out, and that a single flīj takes about three days. And yet descriptions of tent-weaving are vanishingly hard to find in the first three centuries of Arabic poetry.

Partly it's a matter of selection. The poetry that survives from the 6th to 8th centuries CE was recorded by latter-day scholars of Iraq, so our purview is limited to verse that didn’t clash with their ideals of taste and ideology—nor the ideals of the ruwāt, who were the generations of oral transmitters between the scholars and the early poets. If the invisibility of Bedouin women's labor (not just textile craft but cooking, childcare, and their other duties) wasn't imposed in these later periods, then it owes to the early period itself.

Weaving the goat-hair tent. Palestine. Source: Jahalin Solidarity, 2020

Skill in tent-weaving was nothing for male poets to boast about. Consider the line by al-Samaw’al of the mid-6th century (meter: wāfir):

           Formidable is the house I raise, not of clay
               or wood, and formidable the glory I bring forth.

In the poet's disdain for permanent constructions, his pride in tent-dwelling is implicit. Bayt, the word for "house," really means "tent" (as well as "verse," which complicates things a little—or a lot, actually. At a glance, there is no way to tell if بيت الشعر means "verse of poetry" or "tent of goat hair"). In any case, al-Samaw’al claims no responsibility for the tent's manufacture, nor for setting it up and taking it down, all of which is women's work.

In classical parlance, the flīj is called falīja, as in a stray verse by the Umayyad-era poet ‘Umar ibn Laja’ (meter: wāfir):

           He went clothed in nothing but
               the worn-out scrap of a falīja.

And for other components of the Bedouin tent, more loci could be cited. But if you find a mention of tent-weaving as technique or process in early Arabic poetry, then what you've found is precious and rare. Other textile crafts are mentioned with regularity—matweaving, for one—but with regard to domestic Bedouin weaving there seems almost to be a conspiracy of silence. This leads me to issue not a challenge but a plea. If you know of a reference to tent-weaving in the first three centuries of Arabic poetry, please let me know, either at my faculty email or writing dot gathering dot field at gmail dot com, and you'll be thanked by name in Hands at Work.

As a show of good faith, here is one reference I can show, in a pair of verses by the pre-Islamic warlord Durayd ibn al-Simma (meter: ṭawīl):

      "The cavalry have felled a knight!” they cried to each other,
           at which I told ‘Abd Allah: “They’re the ones who are going down,”
       and he called back as spears went for him on that morning
           the way a stretched weaving is struck by ṣayāṣī.

A ṣīṣiya, pl. ṣayāṣī, is a weaving tool, and literally it is a "horn," and when you see one in the hand of a present-day Bedouin weaver you'll understand why:

Gazelle horn used in al-Sadu weaving, Kuwait. Photographs by Rana Al-Ogayyel, 2019

The meaning of the verses is that ‘Abd Allah came unhurt through the fight. The enemy's spears went at him without touching him, just as ṣayāṣī pass between warp threads and cause no harm. I believe the simile affords a glimpse of domestic weaving in the pre-Islamic period, and the fact that the fabric is horizontally "outstretched" (mumaddad) only strengthens my conviction. Because the Bedouin weave on ground looms, not upright ones.

And that's how far you have to go for a peek at pre-Islamic Bedouin weaving. If you wonder why this matters, I guess I don't blame you, unless you've been researching textiles in Arabic poetry as obsessively as I have. And even then the stakes might not be well apparent. The silence surrounding domestic weaving in poetry of the pre- and early Islamic periods has been remarked on by no one that I know of. One thing that makes this silence hard to recognize is the nostalgic esteem in which traditional weaving is held today, the institutional protection it receives (from Kuwait's Al Sadu Society, the House of Artisans in Abu Dhabi, the Sharjah Institute for Heritage, etc.), and its recognition by UNESCO, all of which make it seem that Bedouin weaving has been neglected only in recent times. The true history of the matter is unknown to me, but I know it is more complicated than that.

I take seriously David Hume's age-old caution that causality and the answers to "why" questions aren't subject to logical proof. So when it comes to explaining why something is not, how much more caution is needed? But the mind is restless, and fumbles for answers, and in the book I'm writing I'll share mine. It's not the only silence in poetry to be made sense of.

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)

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

Hornets

The hornet is called zunbūr, plural zanābīr, a feminine noun, sometimes applied to the bumblebee. In some dialects it is pronounced zinbār.
      In The Book of "Not in the Speech of the Arabs," Ibn Khalawayh says: The only authority I have known to call the hornet by a filionym was Abu ‘Umar al-Zahid, who said the hornet is called Abū ‘Alī.

There are two kinds of hornet: the mountain hornet, and the hornet of the lowlands. The mountain hornet is dark in color, and begins life as a worm. It nests in trees, in a house like the bee's, which it builds out of mud with four openings, one for each of the cardinal winds. It defends itself with a stinger, and feeds on fruit and flowers. The male is distinguished from the female by his larger size.
      The lowland hornet is brown in color, and makes its nest underground, ferrying out the soil as ants do. In winter it keeps to the nest, or else perishes in the cold, and sleeps like the dead, without bringing in food like the ant. By the time spring comes, their bodies are stiff as dry wood from the cold and lack of food, until God, be He Exalted, blows life back into their bodies, and they live again as they did the previous year. And this is their ordinary cycle. There is another type of lowland hornet with different coloring and a longer body that is malicious and greedy in character. It seeks out kitchens, where it eats the meat, flying in singly and taking up residence beneath the floor and inside the walls.
      The hornet's body is segmented at the middle. The abdomen has no share in respiration. A hornet immersed in oil is rendered immobile, due to the constriction of its airways, but when it cast into vinegar it is reanimated and flies away.

Al-Zamakhshari says in his commentary on Surat al-A‘raf (7:71): "In this context, qad waqa‘a ('it has descended') means that 'God's outrage and ire will surely descend on you.' Similar to this is the story of what Hassan ibn Thabit said when ‘Abd al-Rahman ibn Hassan came crying to him as a boy. 'What's the matter?' he asked his son. 'I got stung by a flying creature that was as if dressed in striped mantles of Yemen!" said ‘Abd al-Rahman. "By the Lord of the Ka‘ba!" said Hassan. "You'll be a poet (qad qulta 'sh-shi‘ra), my son!" using the past tense to mean the boy would grow up to compose poetry.

How excellent are these verses [by Abu ‘Ali al-Ansari al-Hamawi] (meter: wāfir):

           Hawk and hornet have in common
               wings that they know how to beat.
           Different, though, is hornets' prey
               from what the hawk hunts down to eat.

These verses, which are [in The Passings of Eminent Men, appearing anonymously in the entry previous to] Zahir al-Din ibn ‘Asakir's, aren't bad either (meter: basīṭ):

           While fancy speech can dress up fraud,
               the truth is soiled when badly told.
           To laud a thing, call it "bee slobber,"
               and if you'd damn it, "hornet puke."
           But praise and blame don't alter facts.
               You need the magic of eloquence for that.

This riddle by Sharaf al-Dawla Nasr ibn Munqidh describes the hornet and the bee (meter: kāmil):

           Two assemblies drone and thrum,
               two whose injury people shun.
           Generous givers of contrary things,
               one condemned and one well loved.

Ibn Abi l-Dunya tells that Abu l-Mukhtar al-Taymi narrated: A man once told me:
     "I was traveling in in a party that included a man with nothing good to say about Abu Bakr and ‘Umar, may God be pleased with them. We tried to shut him up, but the man kept on. One day, he stepped away from the group to relieve himself, and was set upon by a swarm of hornets. He cried for help as they enveloped him, but we had to leave him when they started attacking us, and they did not let up from the man until he was cut to pieces."
      This story appears in Ibn Sabu‘'s Shifā’, where the narrator goes on to say: "We tried to dig a grave for him, but the earth hardened against us and we had to leave his remains above ground, covered with rocks and leaves. Then, when another member of our group squatted to urinate, a hornet of the swarm landed on his member, but did not sting him. That is how we knew the hornets' attack was by command."

Yahya ibn Ma‘in said: Mu‘alla ibn Mansur al-Razi was a great scholar of Baghdad who narrated traditions from Malik ibn Anas, al-Layth ibn Sa‘d, and others. One day he was leading prayers when a swarm of hornets descended on him, and he did not flinch or turn around until his prayers were finished, and the people saw that his head had swelled up until it was like this [gesturing towards his own head, presumably, while telling this].

Legal rulings. The hornet is an unclean animal that it is forbidden to eat, and commendable to kill. Ibn ‘Adiyy reports [in his Complete Book of Weak Narrators] that Maslama ibn ‘Ulayy narrated on the authority of Anas, may God be pleased with him, that the Prophet, God's blessings and peace be upon him, said: "Whoever kills one hornet is credited with three good deeds." But to burn a hornet's nest with fire is disapproved: so says al-Khattabi in Waymarks to the Hadith Collection of Abu Dawud. When Ahmad ibn Hanbal was asked about smoking hornets out of their nest, he said: "If it's feared that they'll cause harm, then it's fine. Better that than burning them." The sale of hornets, like all creeping things, is forbidden.

Special properties. As mentioned above, a hornet immersed in oil will die, and then revive when immersed in vinegar. When extracted from their cells and boiled in oil, and eaten with rue and caraway, the pupae of the hornet increase sexual excitation. According to ‘Abd al-Malik ibn Zuhr, the hornet's sting is relieved by topical application of jute plant's juice.

Dream interpretation. A hornet seen in a dream signifies a warlike foe. It might also be a builder or an architect, a highwayman or any possessor of ill-gotten wealth, the surgeon who drains an infected wound, or a musician who can't keep the beat. It might also signify eating poison or drinking it.
      Another interpretation alleged of the hornet seen in a dream: "A man whom it is dreadful to contend with, who gives no ground in combat, whose manners are atrocious and it is appalling to share a meal with." Also: "Hornets entering a place signify the sudden incursion of a fearsome army whose aggression is undisguised." Another: "A man who contends fraudulently in debate"—the hornet being one of those animals [like the ape, the lizard, the parrot and the piebald crow] subject to shape-shifting.
      According to Jewish dream-interpreters, hornets and crows signify gamblers and cutthroats. "Hornets in dreams stand for bands of marauders," says another. And God knows best.

From The Greater Life of Animals by Kamal al-Din al-Damiri

A riddle and a mention

Last year, I tried to write a few paragraphs on ghazal poetry and its relation to the craft of spinning, called in Arabic ghazl. Before long, I had 9,500 words on my hands, and now I'm stoked for them to appear in Studia Metrica et Poetica, the open-access poetics journal from University of Tartu Press. For a magnificent editorial experience, I am grateful to Maria-Kristiina Lotman, and to Kalle Paalits for the patient typesetting, and to my friends and colleagues thanked by name in footnote sixty to "The Riddle of the Thread: On Arabic ghazal."

        

Also last year, I entered my translation of "The Palm Tree Sings" (1981) by Tahar Hammami into competition for the Stephen Spender Trust's Poetry in Translation Prize, and received a Commendation for First-Time Entrants. Whatever I can do to draw attention to Hammami's work won't resolve my debt to his 2003 monograph al-Shi‘r ‘alā al-shi‘r (Poetry on Poetry: A Study of [Arabic] Poetics up to the 5th c. A.H./11th c. CE in View of Poets' Verses About It), without which the book I'm writing would be a vain dream. Profound thanks to the poet's brother Hamma Hammami (Secretary General of the Tunisian Workers' Party) for his permission to reprint the Arabic text, and to Youssef Ben Ismail and Amani Alzoubi for their critical assistance.

Another Language of the Birds

In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate     

The angel Gabriel, peace be upon him, said: Hearken unto me, Muhammad, and to the knowledge sent you by my Lord and yours, Who gave the birds their languages and deserves our worship.

O Muhammad, when the Rooster of the Throne gives voice, every rooster on earth responds by crowing. And when the white rooster crows, "Remember God, O heedless ones!" is what it says—or, by another account: "There is no God but God, and Muhammad is His prophet."
     When the frog croaks, "The Messiah is in the whorl of the cloud" is what it says.
     When the skylark calls, "God's curse be on the enemies of Muhammad and his family!" is what it says.
     When the francolin cries, "The Merciful is seated on His throne" is what it says.
     When the starling calls, "Dear God the Provider, give to me sustenance day by day" is what it says.
     When the hen cackles, "Death, murder, and plague!" are what it says, and after its throat is cut it stammers on until its blood is drained.
     When the wood pigeon calls, "To death your young are destined, to ruin what you build, and everything you gather is for others to inherit" is what it says.
     When the laughing dove cries, "If only humans were never created! If only they knew what they were created for!" is what it says.
     When the hoopoe calls, "Who shows no mercy in this world will be shown none in the next" is what it says—or, by another account: "Everything dies, and everything new gets old."
     When the shrike gives voice, "This world doesn't matter" is what it says.
     When the sandpiper calls, "Do good, and good will come to you" is what it says.
     When the swallow cries, "Everything alive will die, and everything new gets old" is what it says.
     When the dove calls, "Glory be to my Lord Most High, and praise to Him" is what it says. The white dove is a bringer of blessings, and was prayed for by Noah, peace be upon him. And when the grey dove calls, "Glory be to my Lord, the Benevolent!" is what it says.
     When the peacock cries, "There is safety in the silence of the taciturn" is what it says.
     When the kite screeches, "Everything perishes but the face of the Mighty and Everlasting" is what it says.
     When the parrot calls, "This is the world of perishable things; what lasts forever belongs to the next" is what it says—or, by another account: "Woe unto whom this world is a matter of concern!"
     When the vulture calls, "O child of Adam! Live and do as you please, and death will be the end of you" is what it says.
     When the eagle cries, "Remoteness from people is a form of sociability" is what it says.
     When the hawk shrieks, "For the intelligent, death suffices as a sermon" is what it says.
     When the black raven caws, "What happens after death.... (?)" is what it says.
     When the peregrine falcon calls, "I marvel at those who die happy" is what it says.
     When the roller cries, "Dear God, Who hears our plaints, enroll me in the champions of Your Chosen One!" is what it says.
     When the magpie calls, "All that drink water will taste death" is what it says.
     When the Jewish raven caws, "Hellfire! Hellfire! No one withstands Hell's fire" is what it says.
     When the owl hoots, "Death and destruction! Separate and disperse!" are what it says. When you hear it, say: "God suffices us, and is the best of overseers" until it stops.
     When the [blank in manuscript] calls, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" is what it says.
     When the duck quacks, "Glory be to our Lord! In You we seek refuge" is what it says.
     When the sparrow hawk cries, "The mercy shown me encompasses all things! Let the community of Muhammad enter the Garden, by Your mercy!" is what it says.
     When the partridge calls, "O King of Kings, liberate the community of Muhammad from Hellfire" is what it says.
     When the quail lifts its voice, "O peace! Save us, and we'll give safety to whoever comes in peace" is what it says.
     When the nightingale sings, "O Kindly, Caring and Majestic One!" is what it says.
     When the Barbary dove cries, "Glory be to Him Who brings dead bones to life!" is what it says.
     When the curlew calls, "This world is perishable! The world to come is everlasting" is what it says.
     When the jaeger cries, "O Living and Eternal God! 'No drowsiness overtakes him and no sleep'" is what it says.
     When the Anqa lifts its voice, "Glory be to the Creator of the seed of life inside of wombs!" is what it says.
     When the ostrich calls, "O child of Adam, do not forget the bleakness of the grave and the narrowness of the tomb!" is what it says.
     When the crane cries, "O sufficer! Spare me the evil of Adam's children" is what it says.
     When the philomel sings, "The time is near, all hope is lost, the task is perilous," is what it says.
     When the waterbird calls, "O Knower of all that is hidden and secret! You created me [in the Garden, where you spared me] from the ordeals of this world" (?) is what it says.
     And when the fly buzzes, "Who obeys God obeys Him in all things" is what it says.
     And when the hornet buzzes, "Give me power only over those who....(?)" is what it says.
     And when the bee buzzes, "O you who wield a cane, do not thrash with it, and be forgiving of the community of Muhammad, seal of the prophets" is what it says.
     And when the lion roars, "O You of hidden grace, Your grace is sufficient kindness" is what it says.
     And when the lizard is heard, "Trust in God is all you need" is what it says.
     And when the wolf howls, "O you of grievous violence! Your pity is as unseemly as your lack of it" is what it says.
     And when the gazelle calls, "O people! Be ever wakeful" is what it says.
     And when the elephant calls, "Glory be to You, Who are the Greatest" is what it says.
     And when the pig squeals, "O flock of retribution!" is what it says.
     And when the rabbit is heard, "O Giver of Security! O Absolute Authority!"is what it says.
     And when the cat meows, "O .... (?)" is what it says.
     And when the locust calls, "You reap what you sow" is what it says.
     And when the mare whinnies, "Glory to the Pure and Free of blemish, our Perfect Lord and Lord of angels!" is what it says.
     And when the cow moos, "O Keeper of the Garden! O Beneficent!" is what it says.
     And when the goat bleats, "O Merciful! O Compassionate!" is what it says.
     And when the mule groans, "God's curse be upon oppressors!" is what it says.
     And when the ass brays, "Cursed be collectors of the ‘ushr tax!" is what it says.
     And when the serpent hisses, "There is a predetermined time for everything that happens." is what it says.
     And when the scorpion hisses, "I am God's blessing upon the pious and impious alike" [is what it says].
     And when the fish cries, "Glory Be to the Living and Undying!" is what it says.
     And when the gnat whines, "O You, the Living when nothing else was! O you Whose knowledge none can equal when it comes to birds and eagles!"

This concludes the treatise of The Language of the Birds.     

Bibliotheca Alexandrina MS Baladiyya 4952د, fol. 56v, by Anonymous

Houses of the unjust

By what logic are descendants liable for their ancestors? Do they not inherit their estates, and the gold and silver so often accumulated from unjust sources? That's sufficient cause, indeed the main cause for their liability. Their tribulations are shared with their ancestors' shades, who suffer along with them.

It is right for descendants to pay ancestral penalties, for it is into just such families that people worthy of their sufferings are born. Methodically, justly, and transcendently are all things woven together by Providence, divine Nature, and the gods guided by Fate! For there is a certain unity to be observed within a family. Among the seeds and principles of growth [of any type of plant] there is a commonality, and it is analogous to the commonality of souls in families like these, and the ills and blessings they incur. If, when we went to bed, we were to forget our lives of the previous day, then the life of one person—which might go on for seventy or eighty years—would seem to us to contain many lives. In families like these, there is a similar kind of coherence that is beyond our view, though it is certainly evident to the gods whom Fate guides, and to the spirits assigned by Chance to each of these families. And just as doctors don't rush into surgery to treat the malady threatening an individual patient's life, but wait until that patient is ready to go through it, neither do the spirits that oversee one family—quite the way Herodotus narrates that the penalty of the Lydian [tyrant Gyges] was expiated by his descendants five generations later.

Accursed deeds of long ago: To remedy a recent sin is relatively easy, but those committed long ago are harder to wash away, and cannot be cleansed without theurgic action. This too may be observed in medical practice, where maladies of recent origin are easier to recover from when they've only just struck, as long as the patient attends proactively to their care. Left to fester over time, the evil sets into the system like an indurated scar, becoming as it were a second nature. It is the same is with unjust deeds. A remorseful wrongdoer, who makes amends straightaway to the wronged party, thereby dissolves the unjust deed and becomes free of liability for the penalty. And when someone undoes the wrong committed by their father—by giving back a field he seized, let's say—not only is that person's liability removed, but the soul of the one who seized it is uplifted and relieved. And theurgic action is also helpful in such a case.

But take the case of a man who keeps a field he seized from those who cleared it. If it the property stays in his family, and his descendants continue to use it, the injustice becomes less obvious and harder to redress, and over time the evil is naturalized, so to speak. That is why the gods often issue prophetic commands [for those who petition the oracle] to go to this or that place and apologize to a certain person previously unknown to them, and to make amends to that person in order to recover their health, and put an end to their sufferings and pursuit by Furies. The gods issue this kind of prophecy not to abrogate justice, but in order to effect just outcomes and rectify our ways of life.

Theurgy, then, wherever it arises, restores the mad to health, and through them it saves many others. [The way it works is] like what they say about the man who was cutting down an oak tree, and when a nymph begged him to stop, he spared not the oak but cut it down, and was thereafter subjected to the Furies' retribution and afflicted with want of sustenance. Anything that fell into his hands was taken away, until an initiate told him to set up an altar to the same nymph, and with that his disasters came to an end. Another man, a matricide, was told by the god to find a land other than land that exists, and go live there. When he put together that this signified an island newly risen from the stream, he went and made his home upon it, and his castigation by the Furies came to an end.

From the Commentary on Plato's Phaedrus (244de) by
Hermeias of Alexandria

In defense of shepherds

Some people disparage herdsmen and call them simpletons: "Dumber than a shepherd of eighty [sheep]" is one thing they say, and "Don't go to the shepherd for advice" is another. But the virtues of the shepherd are indicated in hadith. "Never was there a prophet that did not tend a flock, and so did I," the Prophet said, God's blessings and peace be upon him, and: "God never sent a prophet that was not a shepherd. Moses and Aaron were shepherds, and I was sent as shepherd to my people."

[Al-Jahiz says that Ibn Kunasa said:] The owner of a herd of camels contracted a cameleer, saying: "You must tar their mange, and line their trough with clay, and locate strays and turn back runaways. And you must see to their milking without depriving the calves and drinking it all yourself."
      The cameleer said: "Fine, as long as your hands are with mine in extremes of heat and cold, and I am given a seat by the fire, and you say nothing bad about my mother."
     "Okay," said the herd owner, "you can have all that. But if you cheat me, what's the penalty?"
     "Swing your rod," the cameleer said, "and you might hit me, and you might not."

And then there was the boasting-match between two herdsmen. "By God," the first one said, "ever since my youth, I've had no rod but this one, and it's never broken!"
     "Profligate!" said the other. "My hand is the only rod I've ever owned."

A poet [al-Ra‘i al-Numayri] said:

      [So thin] his veins jut, he is gentle with the rod.
          Even in lean times you see his flock well cared for.

From Lectures of the Learned by al-Raghib al-Isbahani

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

Some myths are true

SOCRATES: The speech I will deliver is by Stesichorus son of Euphemus of Himera, and it has to go something like this:

It's false to say that, rather than someone who loves you madly and is good to go, you should take a disinterested lover who is sane and rational. That would be well said if all madness were bad. But it is through madness that our greatest blessings come to us, by which of course I mean the madness that is the gift of the gods. [Firstly,] in public as in private matters, the ravings of the oracle at Delphi have done Greece a lot of good, and so have the holy women who prophesy at Dodona, but little to no good when these same women were in their right minds. And if we were to speak of the Sibyl, and all others whose divinely-inspired pronunciations have corrected so many people's courses toward the future, then our discourse would obviously run on long.

But it is worth giving evidence for the beliefs of the ancient name-givers, according to whom madness was no cause for rebuke or shame. Otherwise, they would not have called our noblest prognostic arts by a name that implicates them in mania. But in their conviction that divinely-awarded madness is a blessing, they designated these arts as manic; it's only now that the "mantic arts" are spoken of with an inserted letter t, which is an insipid vulgarism. [By contrast,] when they assigned a name to those forms of research into the future performed by the non-mad, through studious contemplation of birds and other omens, they called them oionoïstikē, since these techniques endow mortal oiēsis (opinion) with nous (intellect) and historia (fruits of inquiry). Nowadays, by way of affecting a more sententious tone, people lengthen the second o and pronounce it as oiōnoïstikē. The upshot of all that is this: To the same degree that mantic arts are more perfect and honorable than augury—in name as they are in deed—the superiority of divine madness to mortal reason is attested by the ancients.

It also happens, in the event of ailments and grievous harms stemming from accursed deeds of long ago [e.g.], that madness intervenes to communicate a divinely-inspired message to those in need, and through resort to prayer and ministration to the gods it ferrets out their means of deliverance, hitting thus upon purifications and sacred rituals and bringing wellness once and for all to the sufferer touched with madness. Madness finds release for people in the grip of present evils, provided that they rave in the right way.

Thirdly, there is possession by the Muses. This madness takes hold of pure and tender souls and stirs them to song and other verse forms in a Bacchic frenzy. Thus arranged by the Muses' madness, countless feats of the heroic past are made teachable to hearers of the latter day. Anyone who shows up at the gates of poetry without it, presuming to become a worthy poet through craft alone, is destined for oblivion when the poetry of the stark and raving blows away that of the merely sane.

Plato, Phaedrus 244a-245a