Nights come in threes

I was informed by Tha‘lab on the authority of Salama that al-Farrā’ said:

The first three nights [of the lunar month] are called al-Ghurar or al-Ghurr "The Blazes." The moon rises in the forepart (ghurra) of the night, and is likened to the blaze (ghurra) on a horse's forehead because it is brighter in one area than the rest. By some these nights are called al-‘Urj "The Limpers." The first of them is called al-Naḥīra "The Affrontant" [because it "faces" the last night of the month before it]. The last night of the month, when the crescent moon disappears from view, is another Naḥīra.

The next three nights are called al-Nufal "The Superogatory," because they give more light than the first three. A gift that is not incumbent on the giver is an act of tanfīl, and superogatory prayer is called nāfila, because it is not obligatory. By some, these nights are called al-Shuhb "The Greys," because the whiteness of the moon mixes with the black of night. Horses with grey coats are called the same.

[Three nights omitted here are called by some al-Zuhar "The Brights," or defensibly "The Cythereans" after the planet Venus which is al-Zuhara.] There follow three Buhar "The Outshiners," so called because their moon outshines the darkness of the night.

Night thirteen is the night of al-Siwā’ "The [Full Moon's] Equivalent," also called al-‘Afrā’ "The Dusty." Night fourteen is the night of al-Badr "The Full Moon," so called for its uncanny resemblance (mubādara) to the sun. These are al-Bīḍ "The White Nights."

Then come three Dura‘ [an epithet of sheep that are] "Black with a White Head" or "White With a Black Head," because the last of them gets dark. Then there are three Bīḍ. There follow three Ẓulam "The Darks," then three Ḥanādis "The Pitch Blacks," and then the three Da’ādi’  "Hasteners [of the Occultation of the Moon]," singular Daydā’a or Da’dā’a. On al-Muḥāq "The Total Wipeout," the moon's occultation is total, and that is the last night of the month.

From The Book of Day and Night in [the Arabic] Language
by Ghulām Tha‘lab (Ibid.) (cf.)

Night and Day are not to blame

[Al-Bukhari said:] I was informed by Yahya ibn Bukayr that he was informed by Layth on the authority of Yunus that Ibn Shihab said: Abu Salma reported to me that Abu Hurayra, may God be pleased with him, said:

The Prophet, God's blessings and peace be upon him, said:
    "God says: 'The children of Adam revile Fate, yet I am Fate, and Night and Day are in My hand.'"

       

[Ibn Hajar said:] The meaning of the prohibition against reviling Fate is that the true agent is God. Vilification is reserved for perceived wrongdoers whose actions we condemn, so if you revile the One through Whom some fate befalls you, that condemnation reverts to God.
      My commentary on this was summarized above in the chapter of Qur’anic exegesis (on 45:24). There are three basic interpretations of the hadith. According to one, God "is" Fate in the sense that He has forethought of all matters. By another interpretation, it is in the sense of God's authorship of all things that He "is" Fate. By a third, He "is" Fate insofar as He is more powerful than it, which is why He goes on to say that "Night and Day are in My hand." The narration of this hadith by Zayd ibn Aslam on the authority of Abu Salih Dhakwan has it that "Night and Day are in My hand, and some things I renew, and some I cause to wither, and I bring reigns of dynasts to their end." This is how Ahmad ibn Hanbal reports the hadith.
      The fact of the matter is that any agency attributed to Fate is anathema. To speak of Fate in such a way is not necessarily an act of unbelief, unless it expresses the speaker's actual convictions. In any case, it is best avoided, because fatalism is typical of unbelief. It is like saying [that a shower of rain was caused by this or that seasonally-rotating star, using the expression:] "We were brought rain by such-and-such [an asterism]." This expression was discussed in a previous chapter.
      Al-Qadi ‘Iyad said: It was claimed by a certain person, in despite of true discernment, that al-Dahr (Fate) is one of the names of God. This is erroneous. Al-Dahr is the fullest extent of sublunary time, understood by some people as all that God brings about in the mortal world, up to their deaths. Through their ignorance, fatalists and Epicureans seize upon the outward surface of the hadith, believing Fate to be nothing more than rotation of the celestial spheres. But only those with no grounding in knowledge are convinced by this. May God, the All-Knowing, assist us! He is the One true Craftsman, and they've got nothing. The hadith itself refutes them, where God goes on to say: "I overturn Night and Day." How can anything be overturned by itself? God, be He Exalted, is Higher and Greater then anything they say of Him.
      Ibn Abi Jamra said: Anyone who reviles a craftsman's work obviously vilifies the craftsman along with it. To revile Night and Day themselves is a grave matter, and a senseless one. Usually it is events that occur during Night or Day that people mean to condemn—and this is what gives context to the hadith and its prohibition against blaming them, as if to say: "Night and Day are not at fault."
      Some events are made to happen through the actions of sentient beings, who are thereby responsible for them. In terms of religious law and ordinary speech, such events are ascribed to whoever carries them out, but also to God, because of His divinity and power. Now the actions of God's servants are of their own acquiring, which is why they are subject to judgment, and have been since the beginning of Creation. Then there are events that occur through no one's action, and these we ascribe to the determination of the Almighty. But no agency or responsibility can be ascribed to Night and Day, whether through reason, religious law, or everyday speech. This is the meaning of the hadith. And for animals lacking reason the same applies.
      Ibn Abi Jamra points out that this is a case of Admonition against the lower by means of the higher, [saying: "Night and day are among the greatest signs in Creation. They signify the reality of His Godhead, and this is why He points them out as objects for contemplation, be He Exalted and Magnified (3:190): 'In the creation of the heavens and the earth, and in the alternation of night and day, there are signs for the perspicacious.'"] The prohibition against reviling Night and Day is indicative of the prohibition of reviling anything at all, unless dictated by religious law. Because [whether one vilifies the high or the low,] the fault is the same. And God knows best.

From Victory of the Creator: A Commentary on the Sahih of al-Bukhari by Ibn Hajar al-‘Asqalani

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

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

Gourd Flower

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:

Pillar to post

‘Abd Allah said: I am informed by Muhammad ibn al-Husayn that Ruh ibn Salma [or ibn Maslama, or ibn Aslam] al-Warraq said: I was informed by Qutham al-‘Abid that

‘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!

‘Abd Allah said: I am informed by Muhammad ibn al-Husayn that Muhammad ibn Musa ibn ‘Amir al-‘Azdi told him:

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

Deviation and aversion

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.

From the Mukhaṣṣaṣ of Ibn Sīdah (continued)

Just visiting

√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

If lost in the hills

Source | Soundtrack

The Bend in Arabic

[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

Interview With a Ampire

 

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.

                             Sly Stone on Dick Cavett (ABC, 1970)

                             Van Halen, "I'll Wait" (1984), fan video

                             AC/DC, "Highway to Hell" (Paris, 1979)

                             Elton John, "I Guess That's Why They Call It the
                             Blues" (Las Vegas, 2012), feat. Jean Witherspoon

Man and crow

‘Ali ibn Sulayman al-Akhfash reported to me that Abu Sa‘id al-Sukkari said, on the authority of Muhammad ibn Habib, that

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 and meanings

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

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