Thank you Patrick Durgin, editor and publisher of Kenning Editions
Thank you Faride Mereb, who designed the cover
Thanks to all subscribers to the press
Thanks to Sinan and Rachel
ISBN 979-8-9856628-2-5
iv + 75 pages, 21 cm. $16 Now $20
Poetry is a furnace
Get out of my hut, you mice who hug the shadows!
You mice will find no fodder in Leonidas' crock.
The old man's fine with two barley loaves, if there's salt.
My forefathers lived this way, and I heed their example.
So why scrabble in my corners, treat-seeking
where prandial tidbits are never spilled?
Go on to houses that aren't so frugal
where sustenance is yours to scuttle away with
I say to my near one through flowing tears
when the will to go abroad is on me:
Let me make my journey, let me pass unmourned.
The stars that wander are the noble ones.
Travel leads to betterment of outcome.
Sitting still in comfort leads to ruin.
In darkness I see illumination,
as if day switched place with night,
when lightning from [auspicious] Sana‘a reminds me
my destination isn't far away.
Why should I rejoice at spending nights out in the desert
when high above Ursa Minor is my home?
And how will I be food for worms, with
four elements on every side?
How long will I live next to Draco
with constellated serpents for my friends?
My union with that light will be annihilation,
and my passing out of knowing left from right,
and the walls will echo with a pounding
by rejectors of my secrets with their heads.
By Suhrawardi (meter: wāfir)
On this subject, there is a story about ‘Abd al-Rahman the son of Hassan ibn Thabit. When he was a boy, he ran crying to his father, "I got stung by a flying creature!"
"My son," said Hassan, "tell us how it looked."
"Like it was dressed in mantles of Yemen," he said, for it was a hornet that had stung him.
"By the Lord of the Kaaba," Hassan said, "my son will be a poet!"
As you see, what demonstrated the boy's talent for poetry was his creation of a simile. This is what distinguishes the poet's mind from the non-poet's. Hassan rejoiced at this, just as he rejoiced at his son's poetic spirit when [a schoolteacher rounded up a group of boys for some mischief, and was going to punish ‘Abd Allah along with them, until*] ‘Abd Allah said (meter: basīṭ):
God knows I was [not there, but] in the house of
Hassan, hunting insects on the wing all by myself.
You might say that similes are special effects that substitute for painting and drawing, but that's not what provoked Hassan's response. What pleased him was that ‘Abd Allah said the bug was as if "dressed" (multaff). If he had called it "a flying creature with stripes like a Yemeni mantle," the expression would be less effective, for it gives away the point of likeness. The combination [of hornet and mantle is by itself sufficient to imply the stripes, and this] was the sign of young ‘Abd Allah’s genius.
Now even though "dressed" was what provoked Hassan's admiration, it is still a case of simile, and an exemplary one at that, insofar as the hornet's likeness is captured by its "wearing" of the mantle's stripes and colors.
From The Secrets of Eloquence by ‘Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani
*Context supplied in al-Kāmil by al-Mubarrad
Al-Asma‘i said: I was staying with a man of the Banu Kilab who had celebrated his marriage at Basra, and was raising his family at Dariyya. We were at Dariyya's market when we were approached by an old woman of dignified dress and unfaded beauty, mounted on a camel. She bade the camel kneel, and tied it up and came toward us, supporting herself on a shepherd's crook. She sat by us, and said, "Is any poetry being recited?"
I said to my Kilabi friend, "Have you got anything?" "No," he said. So I recited for her these verses by Bishr ibn ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Ansari (meter: kāmil):
The days have a shortener. Who spends them with her
craves more, even at the cost of other friendships.
The likes of her choke a man with longing
for her demure air, and her antelope's eye—
the eye of a doe of the lowlands, sallow of hide
as if jaundiced by the deer's shyness.
At this, the old woman rose to her knees, and began tracing lines on the ground with her crook as she recited [these verses by Ibn al-Dumayna]: (meter: ṭawīl):
Dear Umayma of my heart, do as you will.
But let me voice my passion and my greeting
[to this spot].
When you tell me, "Walk through fire," I know it's
your caprice. But could it bring us closer, all the same?
Capricious as you are, I take it as a gift,
and put my foot in fire and tread it.
On the sandhill where moringa grows, ask the tallest tree
if I hailed the ruins of your abode,
and if I choose to haunt the ruins
at nightfall like a heartsick person.
May you be happy at the way my cheek shines,
and how I clutch myself at losing you.
Al-Asma‘i said: By God, the world around me went dim from the eloquence and sweetness of her delivery and dialect. I went up to her and said, "My God! Your recitation surpasses mine." And I saw a gleam of laughter in her eye, as she went on to recite (meter: ṭawīl):
Many a guarded maid casts off reserve when I come calling,
dragging a train of infatuation behind.
They let love mount, and when it's theirs,
rip it away and swell our battles.
Their talk is civil, low and yielding,
winning them soft hearts for free.
They foil the plans of the softhearted fool.
Their jest and earnestness maze the astute.
My blamers, meanwhile, blame the love
that tells me to ignore dissuaders.
[The Tribulations of Impassioned Lovers by al-Sarraj adds this postscript:
"Brava!" I said, "by Him Who created you!" "You really mean it?" she asked. "Yes," I said. "Then I share the praise with you as an equal," she said, and decamped. And by God, I have heard no poetry recital more exquisite than the one she gave.]
The meaning of "shortener of days" in the Ansari's verse is that his joy in the woman's presence is complete. So sweet are her beauty and her conversation that any day spent with her is short, for brevity is an attribute of joyful days.
From the Dictations of Abu 'l-Qasim ‘Ali al-Murtada
ed. Rachel Frost. Linoleum block print, 7" x 7"
