قَدsometimes أَسبِقُI outstrip الجارِيَةَthe coursing sun الجوناthe bright one
قَد أَسبِقُ الجارِيَةَ الجونا
مِنfrom قَبلِbefore تَثويبِrepeating the summons المُناديناthe prayer-callers
مِن قَبلِ تَثويبِ المُنادينا
I sometimes outstrip the bright coursing sun,
I surpass the nimble doe
I race ahead of the coursing sun,
before the prayer-callers repeat their summons,
Before the callers call to prayer
Before the criers sound the prayer begun,
بِكُلِّwith every مَعروفٍwell-known بِأَعراقِهِby his bloodlines
بِكُلِّ مَعروفٍ بِأَعراقِهِ
عَلىbefore عُيونِthe eyes of الأَرمَنِيِّيناthe Armenians
عَلى عُيونِ الأَرمَنِيِّينا
with every hawk known for its lineage
With every good trait and vein
With a noble bird of famous lineage,
in the eyes of the Armenians.
In the eyes of Armenians
Prized in the expert eyes of Armenian lords.
رَبيبُa fosterling بَيتٍa house وَأَنيسٌand tame وَلَمand not
رَبيبُ بَيتٍ وَأَنيسٌ وَلَم
يُربَbe raised بِريشِwithin the feathers of الأُمِّthe mother مَحضوناbrooded
يُربَ بِريشِ الأُمِّ مَحضونا
A house-reared bird, tame, and never
A homebred, companion though not
A household ward, a gentle friend,
raised brooded within his mother's feathers.
Reared in the feathers of a mother hen
Not raised beneath a mother's brooding wing,
لَمnot يُنكِهِharm him جُرحُa wound from حِياصٍeyelid-stitching وَلَمand not
لَم يُنكِهِ جُرحُ حِياصٍ وَلَم
يَبغِseek لَهُfor him بِالثُفلِwith the lees تَسكيناcalming
يَبغِ لَهُ بِالثُفلِ تَسكينا
No wound from eyelid-stitching has harmed him, nor
No wound of sword ever marred him
No stitching wound has caused him pain,
has anyone sought to soothe him with lees.
Nor did he crave soothing in vileness
Nor did he need a salve to ease the sting.
كُرُّزُa molted hawk عامٍa year صاغَهُfashioned him صائِغٌa craftsman
كُرُّزُ عامٍ صاغَهُ صائِغٌ
لَمnot يَدَّخِرwithhold عَنهُfrom him التَحاسيناembellishments
لَم يَدَّخِر عَنهُ التَحاسينا
A hawk of one year's molt, fashioned by a craftsman
A foal of the year wrought by a craftsman
A molted hawk, one year of age, moulded by a smith,
who withheld none of beauty's embellishments from him.
Who did not spare him refinements
Who spared no art to make him beautiful.
أَلبَسَهُclothed him التَكريزُmolting مِنfrom حَوكِهِits weaving
أَلبَسَهُ التَكريزُ مِن حَوكِهِ
وَشياًbrocade عَلىupon الجُؤجُؤِthe breast مَوضوناclosely woven
وَشياً عَلى الجُؤجُؤِ مَوضونا
Molting clothed him, from its own weave,
Adornment clad him from his stud
The molting process dressed him in its weave,
in brocade closely woven upon his breast.
Placed atop purebred stock
A tight-knit vest of speckled mail upon his breast.
لَهُhe has حِرابٌspears فَوقَabove قُفّازِهِhis glove
لَهُ حِرابٌ فَوقَ قُفّازِهِ
يَجمَعنَthey combine تَأنيفاًpointedness وَتَسنيناand sharpness
يَجمَعنَ تَأنيفاً وَتَسنينا
He has spears above his glove,
His sheath atop his gauntlet
Upon the glove he wields his distinct spears,
combining pointedness and sharpness.
Collects composition and creation
Combining point and edge in deadly tiers.
كُلُّeach سِنانٍspearpoint عيجَwas curved مِنfrom صَدرِهِits forepart
كُلُّ سِنانٍ عيجَ مِن صَدرِهِ
تَخالُyou imagine عِطفَيthe two curves of رَأسِهِits tip نوناthe letter nūn
تَخالُ عِطفَي رَأسِهِ نونا
Each spearpoint is curved at its forepart;
Each tooth gleaming from his chest
Each talon curves inward from its base,
you would take its tip's two curves for a nūn.
His bowed neck seems a nun
Like the letter 'Nun' its hook appears to trace.
وَمِنسَرٍand a beak أَكلَفَdusky فيهِin it شَفاًa sharp edge
وَمِنسَرٍ أَكلَفَ فيهِ شَفاً
كَأَنَّهُas though it were عِقدُthe finger-sign for ثَمانيناeighty
كَأَنَّهُ عِقدُ ثَمانينا
And a dusky beak with a sharp edge,
On a headstall as though bedecked
A dark-hued beak that holds a razor's edge,
as though it were the finger-sign for eighty,
With some ropes of coursers
Curved like the fingers shaping 'eighty's' pledge.
فيin هامَةٍa head كَأَنَّماas though قُنِّعَتit was hooded
في هامَةٍ كَأَنَّما قُنِّعَت
بَعضَsome of حِبالِthe threads of السابِرِيِّيناthe Sābirī weavers
بَعضَ حِبالِ السابِرِيِّينا
set in a head that seems to have been hooded
And cheekpieces soaked to delight
Set in a head that seems to wear a hood,
in some of the Sābirī weavers' threads.
The money-changers
Like mesh of fine-wrought mail, for battle good.
وَمُقلَةٍand an eye أَشرِبَwere imbued آماقُهاits corners
وَمُقلَةٍ أَشرِبَ آماقُها
تِبراًraw gold يَروقُdelights الصَيرَفِيِّيناthe money-changers
تِبراً يَروقُ الصَيرَفِيِّينا
And an eye whose corners have been steeped
We unleash him when set loose
And with an eye whose corners are imbued,
in raw gold that delights the money-changers.
Against the infantry, a piercing blade
With gold that makes the jeweler's gaze subdued.
نُرسِلُwe send forth مِنهُfrom him عِندَupon إِطلاقِهِhis release
نُرسِلُ مِنهُ عِندَ إِطلاقِهِ
عَلىagainst الكَراكِيِّthe cranes دُرَخميناDurakhmīn
عَلى الكَراكِيِّ دُرَخمينا
From him, upon his release, we send forth
A horse whose cruppers bang
We loose him, when the moment comes to flight,
a Durakhmīn against the cranes:
To fire up the elite warriors
Against the cranes, a tyrant in his might.
داهِيَةٌa scourge تَخبِطُbatters أَعجازُهاtheir hindquarters
داهِيَةٌ تَخبِطُ أَعجازُها
خَبطاًa battering يُحِسّيهاmakes them swallow الأَمَرّيناthe two bitterest ordeals
خَبطاً يُحِسّيها الأَمَرّينا
a scourge that batters their hindquarters
The air now inflames them from above
A calamity that strikes them from behind,
with blows that make them swallow double bitterness.
Now the lands excite them
A blow that forces bitter death to find.
يَحميbars عَلَيهاto them الجَوَّthe sky مِنfrom فَوقِهاabove them
يَحمي عَلَيها الجَوَّ مِن فَوقِها
حيناًat times وَيُغريهاand goads them الأَحايِيناat times
حيناً وَيُغريها الأَحايِينا
He bars the sky to them from above
And they raise a clamor like
He claims the sky above them as his zone,
at times, and at other times goads them on.
The hubbub of the thronging mob
Now guarding, now provoking with a drone.
وَهُنَّand they يَرفَعنَraise صُراخاًcries كَماjust as
وَهُنَّ يَرفَعنَ صُراخاً كَما
جَهوَرَcried aloud فيin الشَعبِthe mountain pass المُلَبّوناthe pilgrims chanting 'Labbayk'
جَهوَرَ في الشَعبِ المُلَبّونا
And they raise cries, just as
So a routed foe stuck in his spell
They raise a shriek of terror in the air,
pilgrims loudly chant 'Here I am!' in the mountain pass.
And a vanquished stained by his mud
Loud as the pilgrim crowds at Mecca's prayer.
فَمُقعَصٌso one killed outright أُثبِتَwas transfixed فيin سَحرِهِits lungs
فَمُقعَصٌ أُثبِتَ في سَحرِهِ
وَخاضِبٌand one staining مِنwith دَمِهِits blood الطيناthe clay
وَخاضِبٌ مِن دَمِهِ الطينا
So one is killed outright, transfixed in its lungs,
He struggled in battle a struggle
One struck down instantly, pierced through the lung,
and another stains the clay with its blood.
That cast out his entrails
While its lifeblood dyes the clay where it is flung.
قَدindeed مَشَقَتهُhas rent it فيthrough الحَشاthe entrails مَشقَةٌa slash
قَد مَشَقَتهُ في الحَشا مَشقَةٌ
أَلقَتcast out مِنَfrom الجَوفِthe belly المَصاريناthe intestines
أَلقَت مِنَ الجَوفِ المَصارينا
A slash has rent it through the entrails,
We departed with it bearing livers
A savage tear has ripped the belly wide,
casting the intestines out from its belly.
In a leather bag, twenty-one
And cast the steaming entrails down the side.
رُحناwe returned بِهِwith him نَحمِلُwe carry أَكبادَهاtheir livers
رُحنا بِهِ نَحمِلُ أَكبادَها
فيin زَورَةٍa single outing عَشراًten وَعِشريناand twenty
في زَورَةٍ عَشراً وَعِشرينا
We returned with him, carrying their livers—
God granted the heroes their share
We journeyed home with livers as our prize,
ten and twenty in a single outing.
Not paralleled by the cravers
Thirty taken in a single rise.
أَعطىgave البُزاةَthe goshawks اللَهُGod مِنfrom قِسمِهِHis allotment
أَعطى البُزاةَ اللَهُ مِن قِسمِهِ
ماwhat لَمnot يُخَوِّلهُgrant it الشَواهيناthe peregrine falcons
ما لَم يُخَوِّلهُ الشَواهينا
God gave the goshawks from His allotment
For each beast a morsel like it
God gave the goshawks, from His bounty's store,
what He did not grant the peregrines.
In the pot, above or below
Gifts that the peregrines were not destined for.
لِكُلِّfor every سَبعٍbeast of prey طُعمَةٌa portion of food مِثلَهُmatching it
لِكُلِّ سَبعٍ طُعمَةٌ مِثلَهُ
فيin القَدرِmeasure إِنwhether فَوقاًabove وَإِنand whether دوناbelow
في القَدرِ إِن فَوقاً وَإِن دونا
Each beast of prey has food to match it
For every predator has prey assigned,
in measure, whether greater or smaller.
By fate's decree, the high and low aligned.
Partial English translation: 38 of 40 Arabic lines translated.
Sol 6.1