عَجِبتُ لِحادينا المُقَحِّمِ سَيرُهُ

عَجِبتُ لِحادينا المُقَحِّمِ سَيرُهُ

بِنا مُزحِفاتٍ مِن كِلالٍ وَظُلَّعا

بِنا مُزحِفاتٍ مِن كِلالٍ وَظُلَّعا

I marveled at our camel-driver, whose driving forced onward

I wondered at our guide urging his camel on,

camels bearing us, worn out with fatigue and limping,

Bringing her to us slowly through the darkness of night,

لِيُدنينَنا مِمَّن إِلَينا لِقاؤُهُ

لِيُدنينَنا مِمَّن إِلَينا لِقاؤُهُ

حَبيبٌ وَمِن دارٍ أَرَدنا لِتَجمَعا

حَبيبٌ وَمِن دارٍ أَرَدنا لِتَجمَعا

so they might bring us near to one whose meeting, to us,

To bring us close to the one whose meeting with us

was dear, and to a home we hoped would unite us.

Would be a beloved event and from a house to which we aspire to be united,

وَلَو نَعلَمُ العِلمَ الَّذي مِن أَمامِنا

وَلَو نَعلَمُ العِلمَ الَّذي مِن أَمامِنا

لَكَرَّ بِنا الحادي الرِكابَ فَأَسرَعا

لَكَرَّ بِنا الحادي الرِكابَ فَأَسرَعا

And had we known what lay ahead of us,

And if we knew the knowledge of what was ahead of us,

the camel-driver would have turned the mounts back with us and hastened.

The guide would have turned back his riding camel and rode faster,

لَقُلتُ اِرجِعَنها إِنَّ لي مِن وَرائِها

لَقُلتُ اِرجِعَنها إِنَّ لي مِن وَرائِها

خَذولَي صِوارٍ بَينَ قُفٍّ وَأَجرَعا

خَذولَي صِوارٍ بَينَ قُفٍّ وَأَجرَعا

I would have said, “Turn them back! Behind them I have

I would have said to him, “Turn it back, for beyond it

two antelope does apart from their herd, between a rocky rise and sandy ground,

Lies for me the humiliation of a panting fox between two hills,

مِنَ العوجِ أَعناقاً عِقالٌ أَبوهُما

مِنَ العوجِ أَعناقاً عِقالٌ أَبوهُما

تَكونانِ لِلعَينَينِ وَالقَلبِ مَقنَعا

تَكونانِ لِلعَينَينِ وَالقَلبِ مَقنَعا

with curved necks—Iqal is their father—

With crooked necks, their ropes held by their owners

both a source of contentment to my eyes and my heart.”

Who would be veils for my eyes and heart,

نَوارُ لَها يَومانِ يَومٌ غَريرَةٌ

نَوارُ لَها يَومانِ يَومٌ غَريرَةٌ

وَيَومٌ كَغَرثى جِروُها قَد تَيَفَّعا

وَيَومٌ كَغَرثى جِروُها قَد تَيَفَّعا

Nawar has two kinds of day: one day she is guileless,

Its young during two days: one day noisy

and another like a famished she-beast whose cub has grown up.

And the next like muddy torrents that have overflowed,

يَقولونَ زُر حَدراءَ وَالتُربُ دونَها

يَقولونَ زُر حَدراءَ وَالتُربُ دونَها

وَكَيفَ بِشَيءٍ وَصلُهُ قَد تَقَطَّعا

وَكَيفَ بِشَيءٍ وَصلُهُ قَد تَقَطَّعا

They say, “Visit Hadra,” though earth bars the way to her;

They say, “Visit Hadra and the ground beneath it,”

and how can one reach someone whose bond has been severed?

But how can one reach what is already severed?

وَلَستُ وَإِن عَزَّت عَلَيَّ بِزائِرٍ

وَلَستُ وَإِن عَزَّت عَلَيَّ بِزائِرٍ

تُراباً عَلى مَرسومَةٍ قَد تَضَعضَعا

تُراباً عَلى مَرسومَةٍ قَد تَضَعضَعا

And I will not, though she was dear to me, visit

And I, though it saddens me, am not

earth that has crumbled over a marked-out grave.

One who visits dust upon an effaced inscription,

وَأَهوَنُ مَفقودٍ إِذا المَوتُ نالَهُ

وَأَهوَنُ مَفقودٍ إِذا المَوتُ نالَهُ

عَلى المَرءِ مِن أَصحابِهِ مَن تَقَنَّعا

عَلى المَرءِ مِن أَصحابِهِ مَن تَقَنَّعا

And the least grievous loss, when death claims someone,

And less painful than something lost when death takes it

for a man, among his companions, is that of one who wore the veil.

Is to a man his friends who have masked themselves.

يَقولُ اِبنُ خِنزيرٍ بَكَيتَ وَلَم تَكُن

يَقولُ اِبنُ خِنزيرٍ بَكَيتَ وَلَم تَكُن

عَلى اِمرَأَةٍ عَيني إِخالُ لِتَدمَعا

عَلى اِمرَأَةٍ عَيني إِخالُ لِتَدمَعا

The son of a pig says, “You wept; yet never would

The son of Khinzīr says, “You cried and your eyes

my eye, I think, shed tears over a woman;

Were not juicy for crying over a woman.”

وَأَهوَنُ رُزءٍ لِاِمرِئٍ غَيرِ عاجِزٍ

وَأَهوَنُ رُزءٍ لِاِمرِئٍ غَيرِ عاجِزٍ

رَزِيَّةُ مُرتَجِّ الرَوادِفِ أَفرَعا

رَزِيَّةُ مُرتَجِّ الرَوادِفِ أَفرَعا

and the lightest affliction for a man who is not helpless

And less petty to a man who is not weak

is the loss of one with swaying buttocks and long hair.”

Is the mockery of the mocking backbiters,

وَما ماتَ عِندَ اِبنِ المَراغَةِ مِثلُها

وَما ماتَ عِندَ اِبنِ المَراغَةِ مِثلُها

وَلا تَبِعَتهُ ظاعِناً حَيثُ دَعدَعا

وَلا تَبِعَتهُ ظاعِناً حَيثُ دَعدَعا

Yet no one like her died in Ibn al-Maragha’s household,

And none has died in the land of Ibn Māragha like her,

nor followed him as he traveled, wherever he drove his herd with cries.

Nor followed him, wandering wherever he wandered.