Shortener of days

It was reported to me by Abu ‘Ubayd Allah al-Marzubani that Ibn Durayd said: It was reported to me by ‘Abd al-Rahman, the fraternal nephew of al-Asma‘i, that

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

Oíche Shamhna Shona Daoibh

Inside rear cover of Evidence of Frozentown 4 (1995): "Dead Friends,"
ed. Rachel Frost. Linoleum block print, 7" x 7"

Somebody stole a knife

Abu 'l-Fath Kushajim elegized a penknife that was stolen from him, saying (meter: basīṭ):

     God's war be on the bureau scribes
          who think that others' knives are theirs for lifting!
     I am the victim of an elegant deceit.
          Its edge was like a sword's, honed finely.
     Vacant is the resting-place where it had spent an age
          beside the inkwell of a man distracted by writing,
     now weeping for the blade that Time made away with,
          the torturer of pen-nibs raided from me.
     It hewed my pens and made them special.
          The cuts that vexed them pleasured me,
     as I brought laughter to my pages, cloaking them
          with flowers, whole beds of them becoming to the eye.
     And it was good for spot removal. It scaled away each fleck
          and left my pages like the cheeks of calf-eyed maidens.
     It had an onyx handle fastened to the blade
          by metal pins of gorgeous make and fashion.
     Pins of gold and silver, elegant and fine—
          a deity, praise to Him, told them to "Be!"
     But my cutter turned malicious, taking joy
          in infamy, overmastery, and derision.
     I kept it close—so close, it impersonated
          my aloofness and my lofty rank.
     There is no substitute. Long as I live,
          I'll never be consoled and never forget.
     I'd give up this whole world, and my faith in the world to come,
          as ransom for the knife they stole from me.

From The Flowers of Belles-lettres and Fruits of Intellect of Abu Ishaq Ibrahim al-Husri al-Qayrawani

City of poetry

I am informed by Abu Hatim that ‘Imran ibn ‘Aqil said: I was told by my father—meaning ‘Aqil ibn Bilal—that he was told by his father—meaning Bilal ibn Jarir—that [Bilal's father]

Jarir said: I paid a call on one of the Umayyad caliphs, who asked me, "Can we talk about the poets?" "Of course," I said.
      "Who was the greatest poet?" he asked. "Ibn ‘Ishrin (The Child of Twenty)," I said, meaning Tarafa [who lost his life at that age].
      "What do you have to say about [Zuhayr] ibn Abi Sulma and al-Nabigha [al-Dhubyani]?" he asked. I said, "Their poetry was woven at a loom."
      "And Imru’ al-Qays ibn Hujr?" he asked. I said, "That villain took poetry for a pair of sandals, to trample as he pleased."
      "And Dhu 'l-Rumma?" he asked. I said, "He can do with poetry what no one else can do."
      "And al-Akhtal?" he asked. I said, "Up to his death, the [full measure of the] poetry within him went unrevealed."
      "And al-Farazdaq?" he asked. I said: "He grips poetry in his hand like a [bow of] grewia."
      "You've left nothing for yourself!" the caliph said. "By God," I said, "of course I have, O Commander of the Faithful! I am the city of poetry, from which it sallies forth and in which takes refuge. Truly, I glorify poetry in a way that no one before me has."
      "And what way is that?" the caliph asked. I said, "My love-lyrics are innovative, my invective verse is ruinous, and my panegyric is uplifting. In ramal I'm abundant, in rajaz I'm the sea, and I compose in modes of poetry unknown to anyone before me."

From the Dictations of Abu ‘Ali al-Qali

Another Book of Songs

In the handwriting of Abu 'l-Hasan ‘Ali b. Muhammad b. ‘Ubayd b. al-Zubayr al-Kufi al-Asadi,
I found it written that he was told by Fadl b. Muhammad al-Yazidi:

I was with Ishaq b. Ibrahim al-Mawsili when a man came up and said, "O Abu Muhammad! [That is, Ishaq.] Give us the Book of Songs."
      "Which one?" said Ishaq. "The book I wrote, or the one that was written in my name?"—meaning by the former, his book of reports on individual singers, and by the latter, the Big Book of Songs that's out there.

I was informed by Abu 'l-Faraj al-Isbahani that he was told by Abu Bakr Muhammad b. Khalaf Waki‘ that

Hammad b. Ishaq said: "My father never wrote that book," (meaning The Big Book of Songs) "nor claimed credit for it. Most of the lyrics in it are falsely inserted into reports of singers who never sang them. To this day, most them have never been performed. Comparison to the songbooks my father actually wrote shows how worthless that book is. It was cobbled together after his death by one of his copyists, except for the opening chapter on the permissibility [of music], which my father did write, although the reports in it are my narrations [from my father]."

Abu 'l-Faraj told me: This is the story as I remember Abu Bakr Waki‘ telling it, though not verbatim. And I heard from Jahza [b. Musa al-Barmaki] that he knew the copyist's name:

"The copyist was one Sindi b. ‘Ali, who had a shop along the Archway of Rubbish and used to copy books for Ishaq.* For the book that he foisted on him, he worked with a collaborator."
      This is the book that used to be known by the title al-Surāh (The Night-Travelers). Its first chapter is on permissibility [of music], and is the work of Ishaq without a doubt.

From al-Fihrist of (Ibn) al-Nadim

* Noted in the edition of al-Fihrist by Ayman Fu’ad Sayyid (vol. I/2, 439n3): "In the sources at my disposal, I do not find an 'Archway of Rubbish' [in Baghdad]. Perhaps it is the Archway of al-Harrani mentioned ahead [in the entry for Ja‘far b. Ahmad al-Marwazi] that is meant. In al-Ya‘qubi's day, there were over a hundred stationers' shops in the markets of that area."

What handkerchief is best?

The courtiers surrounding ‘Abd al-Malik ibn Marwan were not particularly erudite. One day, he asked them, "What is the best kind of handkerchief?"
     "The handkerchiefs of Egypt," said one of them "They're like the membrane of an eggshell."
     "The handkerchiefs of Yemen," said another. "They're as [colorful as] the flowers of spring."
     "That's all you've come up with?" said ‘Abd al-Malik. "That's nothing.  The best of handkerchiefs was described by a man of the Banu Tamim," meaning ‘Abda ibn al-Tabib (meter: basīṭ):

      When we halted and rigged up a screen from the sun,
          pots of meat for the party were put on to boil.
      The cook's time was short. Some of the cuts
          were eaten pink, and some were just turning pale.
      We remounted then our branded horses. Their close-cropped
          manes were kerchiefs for [wiping] our hands.

From al-Kamil of al-Mubarrad (cf. Imru’ al-Qays)

A courtroom scene

Abu ‘Ali (al-Qali, d. 356 A.H./967 CE) said: My recitation of this poem by Jamil (ibn Ma‘mar, d. 82/701) was vetted by Ibn Durayd (d. 321/933) (meter: wāfir):

    "What you accuse me of is not a wrong,"
          I told her, "unlike the miser's way, which is collective harm.
      Let's go before two judges, one from my group and one
          from yours, impartial men and not unjust ones."
     "I want one judge," she said, "from my group only,
          lest slanderers hear our case, and embroider on it."
      We went before the judge in his curtained chamber,
          a worldly man whose eyelids sagged,
      and said, "Whatever your decision, we will accept it.
          We trust you with adjudication of our case,
      which will be binding, so judge between us
          as your temper and opinion dictate."
    "I am slain,” I told the judge, “with no recrimination.
          And wrongs unpunished will proliferate!
      Ask her when she’ll make good all that she owes me.
          Is grievance ever righted when it's unredressed?"
    "The plaintiff is a liar," she said, "and a useless person
          whose accusations go on long.
      Am I his slayer? Then where’s my weapon?
          If I attack him, what fighting strength have I?
      Nor have I despoiled his capital. The court will find
          the alleged debt is owed to me."
      Our ruling was up to the sentencer,
          whose legal views were soundly based.
     "Bring forth your witnesses," he said.
          I said, "God is our witness, the Exalted King."
     "The defendant's oath, and I will reach my verdict,"
          ordered the judge, whose every verdict was just and fair.
      She gave her oath, and said the charge against her
          carried lest weight than a date pit's husk.
      [When it was over,] I could not help asking,
         "Our case was settled in my favor, was it not?"
      Buthaynah knit her brows and said, "[You think]
          you’ve prevailed? You, who prevail in nothing you do?
      And don’t let them find you with me, lest I be
          bereft of you. A bereaved woman is no one to mess with!"

From the Dictations of Abu ‘Ali al-Qali

A disputation of frost and ice

In this book (e.g.), I have repeated what others have presented, and cited their sources. I will now tell of madmen observed by me on my travels, for due to my passion for the subject, I have often repaired to madhouses and studied people in various states of madness.

At Merv I entered a madhouse that was located in a graveyard. I heard the clamor of raised voices, then beheld an old man who was tied up next to a young man in chains. They were arguing over ice and frost, and which was better than the other. On spotting me, they said, "Here comes one to moderate between us!"

The old man said, "I speak on behalf of frost, which is superior to ice, because frost is God's doing and not His worshipers'. But [human] beings created by God are capable of creating ice."

The young man said, "Frost has a harmful dryness to it that is lacking in ice. Ice is what occurs [in water] when it turns into ice."

"You're both right," I said, for as I pondered each one, the madness of the opposing statement would catch my ear.

From Madmen Who Were Intelligent by Abu 'l-Qasim al-Nisaburi

If in Brooklyn

Flyer by Nicholas DeBoer

Saints of Kufa at the fruit market

I am informed by my father, who was informed by his father, that Muhammad b. al-Hasan b. ‘Ali said: I am informed by Muhammad b. ‘Abd Allah b. Sulayman, [known as] Mutayyan, that Abu 'l-Muhanna al-Ta’i, [known as] Bunayn [or Buthayn] said:

Dawud al-Ta’i passed along the lane of ‘Amr b. Hurayth, where there were baskets full of ripe dates in even rows. On seeing them, his soul began to crave them. "Let's go," he said to his soul, and went to the vendor and said, "Give us one dirham's worth." "And where's the dirham?" the vendor said. "I'll give it to you tomorrow," Dawud said. "Go on about your business," the vendor said.
      A man [in the crowd] spotted Dawud and said to the vendor, "What did that man say to you?" The vendor said, "He said: 'Give me one dirham's worth of dates.'" At this, the man held out a sack holding one hundred dirhams, and told him, "Here. If he accepts one dirham's worth of dates from you, you can keep the rest."
      When the vendor caught up to Dawud, he was berating his soul, saying: "You, who are not worth one dirham in this world, you wish for Paradise?" The vendor said to him, "Come back, and take as much you need."
     "Get away from me," Dawud said, "I was just testing myself.”

From The Merits of Abu Hanifa by Ibn Abi 'l-‘Awam

⯁        

We are informed by ‘Abd al-Rahman that Abu Sa‘id al-Ashajj said: A man whose name I don't recall told me that

Sufyan al-Thawri passed along the lane of ‘Amr b. Hurayth, together with a man who gawked left and right at all the fruit [on display]. When they arrived at the gate of Musa ibn Talha [in the neighborhood of the Kunasa, which was Kufa's refuse depot], the man stepped in human excrement. Sufyan said to him: "Everything you were gawking at turns into this."

From Finding Faults and Findings in Favor [of Individual Hadith Narrators] by Ibn Abi Hatim al-Razi

A Sisyphus of Baghdad

I am informed by Tahir ibn Muhammad al-Ahwazi, who said:

I saw Abu Hayyan al-Muwaswas after he went from Basra to Baghdad. His only care was for the purchase of a wide-mouthed ceramic jug, which he filled with water from the Tigris and took to the canal of al-Sarat to pour it out. Then he would carry water back from al-Sarat and pour it into the Tigris. And from the time he came to Baghdad until his death, he did no other work but this. When night fell, he would set down his jug and weep over it, saying, "Dear God, lighten for me the task I am performing, and relieve me of it!"

I am also informed by Muslim ibn ‘Abd Allah, who said:

I saw Abu Hayyan al-Muwaswas when he came to Baghdad and conceived his passion for pouring water. He would carry it from one place to another to pour it out, and when asked about it, he would say, "If I don't do this every day, I'll die."

       And here is one of Abu Hayyan's poems (meter: munsariḥ):

       Weep no more for Hind, nor the level sands,
            nor springtime pastures known by you,
       but stop at Qatrabull and its amusements,
            tether there your camels from the trek,
       and stop in on the old man of the monastery
            whom People of the Book call the Qissis.
       He's not amassed a fortune. All that he owns
            is his crucifix and a bell.
       But he has a wineskin over his shoulder that he brings
            to be my portion, carrying it spout downward.
       On my first visit, I frightened him, and he quaked at me,
            so I mentioned Moses. "[How about] Jesus, though!" said he,
       and poured into my cup a bright, clear, unmixed stream
            from a vineyard where no grubs have breached the vine.

Abu Hayyan's speech became disordered at the end of his life when he went mad. But he was not disordered in his verse. This is the way of poets who suffer dementia late in their careers: their speech becomes profoundly incoherent, but when it comes to poetry, they transcend [the confusion in] their heads, and follow the traces that were familiar to them before their madness. 

From The Rankings of the Poets by Ibn al-Mu‘tazz

In Memoriam Peter Wilson

1945 — 2022

Regard the eddies

I was told by my father, on the authority of Ibrāhīm ibn Muḥammad ibn Yazīd, on the authority of Isḥāq ibn Manṣūr that

‘Abd al-A‘lā ibn Ziyād al-Aslamī said: One day I saw Dāwūd al-Ṭā’ī standing on the bank of the Euphrates in a state of amazement. "What has made you stop here?" I asked him.
       He said: "Look at the eddies in the river, and how they whirl in obedience to God’s command, be He exalted."

From the Ornament of God's Friends of Abu Nu‘aym al-Isbahani

Guest artist: Roberto Harrison

Roberto Harrison, "buffalo person for the morning" (2020). 
Pencil and ink on paper, 12.7 x 17.8 cm.
From the series Tec Alliance