إِنّيindeed I لَقَطّاعُsurely one who readily severs اللُبانَةِlonging وَالهَوىand passion
إِنّي لَقَطّاعُ اللُبانَةِ وَالهَوى
إِذاwhen ماan emphatic particle حِبالُcords الغانِياتِbeautiful women تَلَبَّسُbecome tangled
إِذا ما حِبالُ الغانِياتِ تَلَبَّسُ
Indeed, I am one to sever longing and passion,
I'm one who severs the neck-veins of passion and desire,
whenever the cords of beautiful women become tangled.
When the ropes of singing-girls entangle me,
وَأَدماءَand a white she-camel مِنfrom حُرِّthe purest of الهِجانِwhite thoroughbred camels كَأَنَّهاas though she were
وَأَدماءَ مِن حُرِّ الهِجانِ كَأَنَّها
بِحُرِّin the heart of الصَريمِthe thicket نابِىءٌstanding erect مُتَوَجِّسُwary
بِحُرِّ الصَريمِ نابِىءٌ مُتَوَجِّسُ
And a white she-camel of pure white stock, as though she were
And blood as hot as embers, as if it were
a wild bull, upright and wary, in the heart of the thicket.
Boiling water bubbly and fermenting,
لَهُhe has جُدَدٌstripes سودٌblack كَأَنَّas though أَرَندَجاًblack leather
لَهُ جُدَدٌ سودٌ كَأَنَّ أَرَندَجاً
بِأَكرُعِهِon his shanks وَبِالذِراعَينِand on both forelegs سُندُسُfine silk
بِأَكرُعِهِ وَبِالذِراعَينِ سُندُسُ
He has black stripes, as though black leather lay
He has new black locks like a coat of mail
on his shanks, and fine silk on his forelegs.
With its sleeves and double coat of silk,
وَبِالوَجهِand on the face دِيباجٌbrocade وَفَوقَand above سَراتِهِhis back
وَبِالوَجهِ دِيباجٌ وَفَوقَ سَراتِهِ
دَيابوذَةٌa double-woven cloth وَالرَوقُand the horn أَسحَمُjet-black أَملَسُsmooth
دَيابوذَةٌ وَالرَوقُ أَسحَمُ أَملَسُ
And on his face is brocade, and over his back
And a face like brocade with over his head
a double-woven cloth; and his horn is jet-black and smooth.
A turban and a scarf smooth and hairless,
يَجولُhe roams بِذيin the place of الأَرطىarta shrubs كَأَنَّas though سَراتَهُhis back
يَجولُ بِذي الأَرطى كَأَنَّ سَراتَهُ
كَبَرقٍlike lightning نَزيعٍbreaking free وَالسَحابَةُand the cloud تَرجُسُthunders
كَبَرقٍ نَزيعٍ وَالسَحابَةُ تَرجُسُ
He roams Dhu al-Arta, as though his back
He wanders with the one of high origin as if his coat
were lightning breaking free while the cloud thunders.
Were lightning flashing and clouds heaping,
فَباتَso he spent the night إِلىbeside أَرطاةِan arta shrub حِقفٍa curving sand dune كَأَنَّماas though
فَباتَ إِلى أَرطاةِ حِقفٍ كَأَنَّما
إِلىbeside دَفِّهاits side مِنin آخِرِthe latter part of اللَيلِthe night مُعرِسُa traveler halting to rest
إِلى دَفِّها مِن آخِرِ اللَيلِ مُعرِسُ
So he spent the night beside an arta shrub on a curving dune, as though
He spent the night in the shelters of a vale as if
a traveler had halted by its side in the night's last hours.
Towards its inner depth in the late night housed,
إِلىtoward رَبِّهاher master قَيسٍQays تَروحُshe travels in the evening وَتَغتَديand travels in the morning
إِلى رَبِّها قَيسٍ تَروحُ وَتَغتَدي
فَلاso neither فَرِحٌboastfully exultant قَيسٌQays وَلاnor مُتَعَبِّسُscowling
فَلا فَرِحٌ قَيسٌ وَلا مُتَعَبِّسُ
To her master Qays she travels evening and morning;
To the dwelling of his love Qais he goes and comes,
so Qays is neither boastful nor scowling.
So Qais is neither glad nor morose,
تَناوَلَنيhe reached out to me مِنfrom أَرضِهِhis earth وَسَمائِهِand his sky
تَناوَلَني مِن أَرضِهِ وَسَمائِهِ
بِرَحبِwith an ample ذِراعٍarm ماجِدٌnoble مُتَأَنِّسُaffable
بِرَحبِ ذِراعٍ ماجِدٌ مُتَأَنِّسُ
He reached out to me from his earth and his sky,
He embraced me on his land and heavens
with an ample arm—a noble, affable man.
With open arms, a noble and intimate friend,
إِذاwhen بَلَغَتreaches قَيسَQays اليَمانِيَّthe Yemeni ناقَتيmy she-camel
إِذا بَلَغَت قَيسَ اليَمانِيَّ ناقَتي
فَأَيَّthen what خَليلٍfriend بَعدَafter قَيسٍQays تَلَمَّسُshe seeks out
فَأَيَّ خَليلٍ بَعدَ قَيسٍ تَلَمَّسُ
When my she-camel reaches Qays the Yemeni,
When my she-camels reach Qais in Yemen,
then what friend after Qays could she seek?
Which bosom-friend after Qais will I touch?
لَعَمريby my life لَنِعمَindeed excellent is المَرءُthe man قَيسٌQays إِذاwhen اِنتَهىarrives
لَعَمري لَنِعمَ المَرءُ قَيسٌ إِذا اِنتَهى
إِلىto بابِهِhis door راجٍa hopeful petitioner لَهُof him لَيسَdoes not يَحبِسُkeep waiting
إِلى بابِهِ راجٍ لَهُ لَيسَ يَحبِسُ
By my life, Qays is indeed an excellent man when someone comes
By my life, excellent is Qais when he arrives
to his door, hoping for his favor: he does not keep him waiting.
At his abode, a welcome guest never turned away.
Sol 6.1