ياO لائِميmy reproacher ماwhat لِلخَلِيِّfor the carefree one وَلِلشَجىand for the sorrow-stricken one
يا لائِمي ما لِلخَلِيِّ وَلِلشَجى
ماnot منهَجُthe path of المَمدوحِthe praised one منهَجُthe path of منone who هُجيwas lampooned
ما منهَجُ المَمدوحِ منهَجُ من هُجي
O my reproacher, what has the carefree to do with the sorrow-stricken?
O you who blame me, what is it to you if I yearn and grieve?
The path of the praised is not the path of the lampooned.
The way of the praised one is not the way of the one reviled.
عَينُthe very essence of الخَطاerror عَذليreproaching me عَلىfor ريمِa gazelle of الخُطاKhata
عَينُ الخَطا عَذلي عَلى ريمِ الخُطا
وَهوَand he الَّذيwho يَرنوgazes بِطَرفٍwith an eye أَدعَجِwide and deep-black
وَهوَ الَّذي يَرنو بِطَرفٍ أَدعَجِ
It is sheer error to reproach me for the gazelle of Khata,
The eye of error is my punishment for the curl of error,
He who gazes with a wide, deep-black eye.
While he gazes with a lazy eye.
وَسِنانُsleepy-eyed تُركِيٌّa Turk فَكَمso how many مُتَضَرِّجِbloodstained
وَسِنانُ تُركِيٌّ فَكَم مُتَضَرِّجِ
بِدِمائِهِwith his blood مِنbecause of خَدِّهِhis cheek المُتَضَرِّجِflushed red
بِدِمائِهِ مِن خَدِّهِ المُتَضَرِّجِ
A sleepy-eyed Turk—how many men are stained
And a Turkish tooth, so how bloodstained
With their own blood because of his flushed cheek!
From his blood-stained cheek?
فَاِعجَبso marvel لَهُat him رَشأًa fawn أَغَنَّsweetly nasal-voiced مُهَفهَفاًslender-waisted
فَاِعجَب لَهُ رَشأً أَغَنَّ مُهَفهَفاً
يَسطوpounces عَلىupon أَسَدٍa lion أَزَلَّlean-haunched مُهَجهجِroaring
يَسطو عَلى أَسَدٍ أَزَلَّ مُهَجهجِ
So marvel at him, a slender fawn with a sweet, nasal voice,
Marvel at him, a young man who grew up coddled,
Who pounces upon a lean-haunched, roaring lion.
Assailing a lion, made bold.
مِنfrom مُقلَتَيهِhis two eyes نَرجِسيmy narcissus وَالخَدُّand the cheek تُفstart of 'apple'
مِن مُقلَتَيهِ نَرجِسي وَالخَدُّ تُف
فاحِيend of 'my apple' وَقرصيand my pinching فيهِon it لَونُthe color of بَنَفسَجِviolets
فاحِي وَقرصي فيهِ لَونُ بَنَفسَجِ
From his two eyes comes my narcissus; his cheek is my ap-
With narcissus-like eyes and cheeks like ripe fruit,
ple; and my pinching leaves upon it the hue of violets.
A complexion in them the color of violet.
يَفتَرُّparts his lips عَنto reveal نَورِblossoms الأَقاحِdaisies وَريقُهُand his saliva الthe
يَفتَرُّ عَن نَورِ الأَقاحِ وَريقُهُ ال
راحُwine المُعَتَّقَةُaged الَّتيwhich لَمnot تُمزَجِwas diluted
راحُ المُعَتَّقَةُ الَّتي لَم تُمزَجِ
His lips part to reveal daisy blossoms, and his saliva is the
He yawns, baring teeth like freshly picked anemones,
Aged wine that has not been diluted.
Whose gathered nectar was untouched.
عَنfrom قَوسِهِhis bow يَرميhe shoots وَعَنand from لَحَظاتِهِhis glances
عَن قَوسِهِ يَرمي وَعَن لَحَظاتِهِ
فَسِهامُهُso his arrows عَنbeyond مَقتَلٍa vital spot لَمnot تَخرُجِhave strayed
فَسِهامُهُ عَن مَقتَلٍ لَم تَخرُجِ
He shoots from his bow and from his glances;
He shoots his bow and casts his glances,
So his arrows never miss a vital spot.
So his arrows never miss their mortal mark.
أَيَسوغُis it permissible? عَذلٌreproach فيfor قَضيبa slender bough مائِسٍswaying gracefully
أَيَسوغُ عَذلٌ في قَضيب مائِسٍ
فَوقَabove الكَثيبِthe sand dune بِبَدرِwith a full moon تَمٍّfull أَبلَجِradiant
فَوقَ الكَثيبِ بِبَدرِ تَمٍّ أَبلَجِ
Can reproach be justified for a swaying bough
Does blame befit a comely youth
Above the sand dune, bearing a radiant full moon?
Atop a dune under a full white moon?
فَخِطابُهُfor his speech وَغِناؤُهُand his singing وَجَوابُهُand his reply
فَخِطابُهُ وَغِناؤُهُ وَجَوابُهُ
أَشهىmore delectable إِلىto قَلبيmy heart مِنَthan اللَوزينَجِalmond sweets
أَشهى إِلى قَلبي مِنَ اللَوزينَجِ
For his speech, his singing, and his reply
His talk, his singing, his answers
Are more delectable to my heart than almond sweets.
Are dearer to my heart than almonds and narjis.
لَولاbut for اِخضِرارُthe greening of الآسِthe myrtle آسِmyrtle of عِذارِهhis cheek-down
لَولا اِخضِرارُ الآسِ آسِ عِذارِه
ماnot كانَwas بُستانُthe garden of الهَوىlove بِمُسَيَّجِfenced in
ما كانَ بُستانُ الهَوى بِمُسَيَّجِ
But for the myrtle's greening—the myrtle of his cheek-down—
Were it not for the green of his perfect excuses,
The garden of love would not have been fenced.
The garden of love would have no fence.
لَوif عايَنَتhad beheld عُربٌArabs بِنَجدٍin Najd حُسنَهُhis beauty
لَو عايَنَت عُربٌ بِنَجدٍ حُسنَهُ
لَمnot يَنسِبواthey sang love verses يَوماًever بِرَبَّةِabout a lady of هَودَجِa howdah
لَم يَنسِبوا يَوماً بِرَبَّةِ هَودَجِ
Had Arabs in Najd beheld his beauty,
If Bedouin in Najd saw his beauty,
They would never have sung of a lady in a howdah,
They’d never attribute it to al-Hawdaj.
وَرَأَواand they would have seen عُيونَthe eyes of التُركِthe Turks أَسرَعَswifter فيin الوَغىbattle
وَرَأَوا عُيونَ التُركِ أَسرَعَ في الوَغى
فَتكاًin slaying بِكُلِّagainst every مُدَجَّجٍarmored man وَمُتَوَّجِand crowned man
فَتكاً بِكُلِّ مُدَجَّجٍ وَمُتَوَّجِ
And would have seen the eyes of Turks swifter in battle
And they’d see the eyes of Turks swiftest in battle,
At slaying every armored man and crowned head.
More deadly against every armed and crowned man.
فَاِعجَبso marvel لِعَبلِat the stout الساقِcalf غَيرِnot مُخَلخَلٍankleted
فَاِعجَب لِعَبلِ الساقِ غَيرِ مُخَلخَلٍ
غَرثانَhunger-thin خصرٍwaist جائِلٍturning freely فيinside الدملُجِthe armlet
غَرثانَ خصرٍ جائِلٍ في الدملُجِ
So marvel at him, stout-calved and wearing no anklet,
Marvel at legs without unsteadiness,
With a waist so lean it turns freely inside an armlet.
Pillars around a swaying waist.
ياO حَبَّذاhow lovely أَيّامُdays عَصرِthe time of شَبيبَةٍyouth
يا حَبَّذا أَيّامُ عَصرِ شَبيبَةٍ
كانَتthey were كَأَيّامِlike the days of الرَبيعِspring المُبهِجِdelightful
كانَت كَأَيّامِ الرَبيعِ المُبهِجِ
Oh, how lovely the days of youth's season!
O excellent were the days of my youth’s prime,
They were like the days of delightful spring.
Like days of flourishing, exuberant spring,
أَيّامَdays when كُنتُI was معاطيsharing with الندمانِdrinking companions فيin
أَيّامَ كُنتُ معاطي الندمانِ في
ظَلِّthe shade of الشَبابِyouth الغَضِّtender كَأسَthe cup of الفَيهَجِwine
ظَلِّ الشَبابِ الغَضِّ كَأسَ الفَيهَجِ
Days when I shared with drinking companions, in
When I kept company with wine amidst
The shade of tender youth, the cup of wine.
Green youth like a cup of pure wine.
وَالنَّبتُand the plants بَينَbetween مُعَمَّمٍturbaned وَمُنَمنَمٍand finely patterned
وَالنَّبتُ بَينَ مُعَمَّمٍ وَمُنَمنَمٍ
وَالرَوضُand the meadow بَينَbetween مُفَوَّفٍstriped وَمُدَبَّجِand brocaded
وَالرَوضُ بَينَ مُفَوَّفٍ وَمُدَبَّجِ
And the plants, some turbaned, some finely patterned,
The plants between what is turbaned and fezzed,
And the meadow, striped here, brocaded there,
The meadow between what is perfumed and embroidered.
وَالماءُand the water بَينَbetween مُكَفَّرٍcamphor-scented وَمعنبرِand ambergris-scented
وَالماءُ بَينَ مُكَفَّرٍ وَمعنبرِ
وَمُصَندَلٍand sandalwood-scented وَمُسَلسَلٍand rippling in chains وَمُسَجسَجِand temperate
وَمُصَندَلٍ وَمُسَلسَلٍ وَمُسَجسَجِ
And the water, some camphor-scented, some ambergris-scented,
The water between what is camphor and ambergris,
Some sandalwood-scented, some rippling in chains, some temperate,
And musk pods and chains and trinkets.
وَالطَيرُand the birds بَينَbetween مُغَرِّدٍwarbling وَمُعَربِدٍand carousing
وَالطَيرُ بَينَ مُغَرِّدٍ وَمُعَربِدٍ
وَالوَردُand the roses بَينَbetween مُزَوَّرٍcurled وَمُفَرَّجِand opened wide
وَالوَردُ بَينَ مُزَوَّرٍ وَمُفَرَّجِ
And the birds, some warbling, some carousing,
The birds between those singing and cooing,
And the roses, some curled, some opened wide.
The flowers between what is false and parted.
عُوِّضتُI was given in exchange كافورَcamphor المَشيبِgray hair الغَضِّfresh عَنin place of
عُوِّضتُ كافورَ المَشيبِ الغَضِّ عَن
مِسكِmusk الشَبابِyouth الحالِكِjet-black المُتَأَرِّجِfragrant
مِسكِ الشَبابِ الحالِكِ المُتَأَرِّجِ
I was given the camphor of fresh gray hair in exchange for
I was compensated for the camphor of hoary old age
The musk of jet-black, fragrant youth.
With the musk of callow, extravagant youth.
فَاِختِمso bring to an end بِخَيرٍwith good ياO إِلَهيmy God مُنعِماًbestowing favor
فَاِختِم بِخَيرٍ يا إِلَهي مُنعِماً
ياO خَيرَbest مَنthose who يُدعىare invoked وَأَكرَمَand most generous مَنthose who رُجيare looked to with hope
يا خَيرَ مَن يُدعى وَأَكرَمَ مَن رُجي
So grant me a good ending, O my God, in your grace,
End with good, my God, bestowing favor,
O best of those invoked, and most generous of those in whom hope is placed!
O best of those called upon and most generous of those hoped for.
Sol 6.1