لِيَI have بَعْلٌa husband ظَنَّهُthought him to be النَّاسُthe people أَبِيmy father
لِيَ بَعْلٌ ظَنَّهُ النَّاسُ أَبِي
صَدِّقُونِيbelieve me إِنَّهُindeed, he is غَيْرُother than أَبِيmy father
صَدِّقُونِي إِنَّهُ غَيْرُ أَبِي
I have a husband whom people took for my father.
I have a husband whom people mistook for my father;
Believe me: he is not my father.
Believe me when I say he is truly not my father.
وَاعْدِلُواand turn away عَنْfrom لَوْمِblaming مَنْone who لَوْif مَزَجَتْshe mixed
وَاعْدِلُوا عَنْ لَوْمِ مَنْ لَوْ مَزَجَتْ
مَاwhat بِهَاis in her بِالْمَاءِwith water لَمْwould not يُسْتَعْذَبِbe found sweet
مَا بِهَا بِالْمَاءِ لَمْ يُسْتَعْذَبِ
And cease blaming her: were she to mix
Cease blaming one whose inner bitterness,
What ails her with water, it would not taste sweet.
If mixed with sweet water, would render it unpalatable.
رُبَّmany a لَوْمٍreproach لَمْdid not يُفِدْyield إِلَّاexcept الْعَنَاdistress
رُبَّ لَوْمٍ لَمْ يُفِدْ إِلَّا الْعَنَا
كَمْhow many سِهَامٍarrows سُدِّدَتْwere aimed لَمْdid not تَصِبِhit the mark؟
كَمْ سِهَامٍ سُدِّدَتْ لَمْ تَصِبِ؟
Many a reproach has brought nothing but distress;
For how often does blame yield nothing but distress?
How many arrows were aimed, yet missed their mark?
And how many arrows, though aimed, have failed to strike?
يَشْتَكِيcomplains الْمَرْءُa person لِمَنْto one who يَرْثِيfeels pity لَهُfor him
يَشْتَكِي الْمَرْءُ لِمَنْ يَرْثِي لَهُ
رُبَّmany a شَكْوَىcomplaint خَفَّفَتْeased مِنْsome of نَصَبِweariness
رُبَّ شَكْوَى خَفَّفَتْ مِنْ نَصَبِ
A person complains to one who feels pity for them;
A person complains only to those who offer pity,
Many a complaint has eased weariness.
For often a complaint lightens the burden of toil.
زَعَمُواthey claimed أَنَّthat الْغَوَانِيbeautiful women لِعَبٌplaythings
زَعَمُوا أَنَّ الْغَوَانِي لِعَبٌ
إِنَّمَاonly اللُّعْبَةُa toy طَبْعًاnaturally لِلصَّبِيfor a boy
إِنَّمَا اللُّعْبَةُ طَبْعًا لِلصَّبِي
They claimed that beautiful women are playthings;
They claimed that fair maidens are but playthings,
A toy, by nature, is only for a boy.
Yet surely, by nature, a toy belongs to a young boy.
وَأَنَاand I مَاnot زِلْتُI have ceased to be فِيin شَرْخِthe bloom of الصِّبَاyouth
وَأَنَا مَا زِلْتُ فِي شَرْخِ الصِّبَا
فَلِمَاذَاso why فَرَّطَneglected الْأَهْلُونَthe family بِيregarding me؟
فَلِمَاذَا فَرَّطَ الْأَهْلُونَ بِي؟
And I am still in the bloom of youth;
And I remain yet in the very flower of my youth,
So why did my family fail me?
So why have my kin cast me away so carelessly?
لِيَI have قَدٌّa figure وَجَمَالٌand beauty يَزْدَرِيlooks down
لِيَ قَدٌّ وَجَمَالٌ يَزْدَرِي
ذَاكَthat one بِالْغُصْنِon the bough وَذَاand this one بِالْكَوْكَبِon the star
ذَاكَ بِالْغُصْنِ وَذَا بِالْكَوْكَبِ
I have a figure and a beauty that put to shame—
I possess a figure and beauty that look with disdain—
The former a bough, the latter a star.
The former upon the willow branch, the latter upon the stars.
قَدْindeed جَرَىflowed حُبُّlove of الْعُلَاexcellence مَجْرَىthe course of دَمِيmy blood
قَدْ جَرَى حُبُّ الْعُلَا مَجْرَى دَمِي
فَهْيَso it is سُؤْلِيmy desire وَالْوَفَاand fidelity مِنْpart of مَشْرَبِيmy nature
فَهْيَ سُؤْلِي وَالْوَفَا مِنْ مَشْرَبِي
Love of excellence has coursed through me like my blood;
The love of high virtue courses through my veins like blood;
For it is my desire, and fidelity is in my nature.
It is my sole desire, and loyalty is the spring from which I drink.
أَنَاI، لَوْif يَعْلَمُknows أَهْلِيmy family، دُرَّةٌa pearl
أَنَا، لَوْ يَعْلَمُ أَهْلِي، دُرَّةٌ
ظُلِمَتْwas wronged فِيin الْبَيْعِthe sale كَالْمَخْشَلَبِlike glass beads
ظُلِمَتْ فِي الْبَيْعِ كَالْمَخْشَلَبِ
I am—if my family only knew—a pearl,
I am—if only my family knew—a precious pearl,
Undervalued in the sale, as though a glass bead.
Unjustly traded away as if it were mere glass.
أَخَذُواthey took الدِّينَارَthe dinar مِنِّيfor me بَدَلًاin exchange
أَخَذُوا الدِّينَارَ مِنِّي بَدَلًا
أَتُرَانِيdo you see me as سِلْعَةًa commodity لِلْمَكْسَبِfor profit؟
أَتُرَانِي سِلْعَةً لِلْمَكْسَبِ؟
They took the dinar in exchange for me;
They accepted the dinar in exchange for me;
Do you see me as a commodity for profit?
Do they deem me a mere commodity for profit?
لَاno، وَلَكِنْand yet رَاعَهُمْalarmed them عَصْرٌan age بِهِin it
لَا، وَلَكِنْ رَاعَهُمْ عَصْرٌ بِهِ
سَادَprevailed فِيamong الْفِتْيَانِyoung men حُبُّlove of الذَّهَبِgold
سَادَ فِي الْفِتْيَانِ حُبُّ الذَّهَبِ
No; but they were alarmed by an age in which
No, but they were swayed by an age wherein
Love of gold held sway among young men.
The love of gold holds dominion over the hearts of young men.
لَيْسَthere is no لِلْآدَابِfor refinement قَدْرٌworth بَيْنَهُمْamong them
لَيْسَ لِلْآدَابِ قَدْرٌ بَيْنَهُمْ
آهِah لَوْif only كَانَwere نُضَارًاpure gold أَدَبِيmy refinement!
آهِ لَوْ كَانَ نُضَارًا أَدَبِي!
Refinement has no worth among them;
Literature and culture hold no worth in their eyes;
Ah, if only my refinement were pure gold!
Ah, would that my poetry were minted gold!
حَسِبُونِيthey considered me حِينَwhen لَازَمْتُI persisted in الْبُكَاweeping
حَسِبُونِي حِينَ لَازَمْتُ الْبُكَا
طِفْلَةًa little girl أَجْهَلُI do not know مَاwhat يَدْرِيknows أَبِيmy father
طِفْلَةً أَجْهَلُ مَا يَدْرِي أَبِي
They thought me, when I kept on weeping,
They mistook me, when I clung to constant weeping,
A little girl, ignorant of what my father knows.
For a naive child, ignorant of what my father knows.
ثُمَّthen بِالْغُولِwith the ghoul أَبِيmy father هَدَّدَنِيthreatened me
ثُمَّ بِالْغُولِ أَبِي هَدَّدَنِي
أَيْنَwhere مِنْfrom غُولِthe ghoul of الْمَنَاياdeaths مَهْرَبِيmy escape؟
أَيْنَ مِنْ غُولِ الْمَنَايا مَهْرَبِي؟
Then my father threatened me with the ghoul;
Then my father threatened me with the Ghoul;
Where is my escape from the ghoul of death?
Yet where is my escape from the true monster of Death?
أَشْيَبٌa gray-haired man لَوْif أَنَّهُthat he يَخْشَىfears الدُّجَىthe darkness
أَشْيَبٌ لَوْ أَنَّهُ يَخْشَى الدُّجَى
شَابَturned gray ذُعْرًاin terror مِنْهُof him رَأْسُthe head of الْغَيْهَبِpitch darkness
شَابَ ذُعْرًا مِنْهُ رَأْسُ الْغَيْهَبِ
A gray-haired man—were he to fear the dark,
A gray-haired man who, were he to fear the night,
The head of deepest night would turn gray in terror of him.
The very head of darkness would turn white in terror of him.
لَيْتَif only مَاwhat بَيْنِيbetween me وَبَيْنَand between النَّومِsleep مِنْof
لَيْتَ مَا بَيْنِي وَبَيْنَ النَّومِ مِنْ
فُرْقَةٍseparation بَيْنِيbetween me وَبَيْنَand between الْأَشْيَبِthe gray-haired man
فُرْقَةٍ بَيْنِي وَبَيْنَ الْأَشْيَبِ
Would that what lies between me and sleep—
Would that the distance currently between me and sleep
Separation—lay between me and the gray-haired man!
Were the distance separating me from this hoary elder.
يَاoh لَهُfor him (exclamatory) فَظًّاharsh كَثِيرَfull of الْحُزْنِsorrow لَاnot
يَا لَهُ فَظًّا كَثِيرَ الْحُزْنِ لَا
يَعْرِفُknows الْأُنْسَcompanionship قَلِيلَlittle الطَّرَبِjoy
يَعْرِفُ الْأُنْسَ قَلِيلَ الطَّرَبِ
How harsh he is, so full of sorrow, never
Oh, what a boorish soul, heavy with gloom, who does not
Knowing companionship, with so little joy!
Know companionship, and possesses scant mirth.
يُخْضِبُdyes الشَّعْرَthe hair وَلَكِنْand yet عَبَثًاin vain
يُخْضِبُ الشَّعْرَ وَلَكِنْ عَبَثًا
لَيْسَis not تَخْفَىhidden لُغَةُthe speech of الْمُسْتَعْرِبِone who has adopted Arabic
لَيْسَ تَخْفَى لُغَةُ الْمُسْتَعْرِبِ
He dyes his hair, but in vain;
He dyes his hair, yet it is all in vain;
The speech of one who has adopted Arabic cannot be disguised.
The tongue of the pretender cannot be concealed.
قُلْsay لِأَهْلِto the people of الْأَرْضِthe earth لَاdo not تَخْشُواfear الرَّدَىdeath
قُلْ لِأَهْلِ الْأَرْضِ لَا تَخْشُوا الرَّدَى
إِنَّهُindeed, it is مُشْتَغِلٌbusy فِيin طَلَبِيseeking me
إِنَّهُ مُشْتَغِلٌ فِي طَلَبِي
Tell the people of earth: do not fear death;
Tell the people of the earth: do not fear Death,
It is busy pursuing me.
For he is entirely occupied in pursuing me.
وَلِمَنْand to whoever يَعْجَبُmarvels مِنْat بُغْضِيmy hatred لَهُfor him
وَلِمَنْ يَعْجَبُ مِنْ بُغْضِي لَهُ
أَيُّهَاO you الْجَاهِلُignorant of أَمْرِيmy plight اتَّئِبِbe ashamed
أَيُّهَا الْجَاهِلُ أَمْرِي اتَّئِبِ
And to whoever marvels at my hatred of him:
And to the one who marvels at my loathing for him,
You who know nothing of my plight, be ashamed!
O you who are ignorant of my plight, hold your judgment.
إِنَّمَاonly الْغُصْنُthe bough إِذَاwhen هَبَّblew الْهَوَاthe breeze
إِنَّمَا الْغُصْنُ إِذَا هَبَّ الْهَوَا
مَالَleaned لِلْأَغْصَانِtoward the boughs لَاnot لِلْحَطَبِtoward firewood
مَالَ لِلْأَغْصَانِ لَا لِلْحَطَبِ
A bough, when the breeze blows, only
For truly, when the wind blows, the slender branch
Leans toward boughs, not toward firewood.
Inclines toward living boughs, not toward dead firewood.
وَإِذَاand when الْمَرْءُa man قَضَىhas passed عَصْرَthe age of الصِّبَاyouth
وَإِذَا الْمَرْءُ قَضَى عَصْرَ الصِّبَا
صَارَbecomes أَوْلَىmore deserving بِالرَّدَىof death مِنْfrom مَذْهَبِيmy standpoint
صَارَ أَوْلَى بِالرَّدَى مِنْ مَذْهَبِي
And when a man has passed the age of youth,
And when a man has spent the era of his youth,
He is fitter for death, in my view.
He becomes more suited for the grave than for my path.
Sol 6.1