أَبَابِلُIs it Babylon رَأْيَin the sight of الْعَيْنِthe eye أَمْor هَذِهِthis مِصْرُEgypt
أَبَابِلُ رَأْيَ الْعَيْنِ أَمْ هَذِهِ مِصْرُ
فَإِنِّيfor indeed I أَرَىsee فيهاin it عُيُوناًeyes هِيَthey are السِّحْرُmagic
فَإِنِّي أَرَى فيها عُيُوناً هِيَ السِّحْرُ
Is it Babylon before my very eyes, or is this Egypt?
Is this Babylon that dazzles my eyes, or is it Egypt?
For I see in it eyes that are magic itself:
For I see eyes here that are sheer magic.
نَوَاعِسdrowsy eyes أَيْقَظْنَthey awakened الْهَوَىpassion بِلَوَاحِظٍwith glances
نَوَاعِس أَيْقَظْنَ الْهَوَى بِلَوَاحِظٍ
تَدِينُbow لَهَاto them بِالْفَتْكَةِin deadly force الْبِيضُthe bright swords وَالسُّمْرُand the dusky spears
تَدِينُ لَهَا بِالْفَتْكَةِ الْبِيضُ وَالسُّمْرُ
Drowsy eyes that have awakened desire with glances
Sleepy-eyed charmers awakened desire with a glance,
to whose deadly force bright swords and dusky spears bow.
And the fair and the dark submit to their bewitching.
فَلَيْسَso there is no لِعَقْلٍfor any mind دُونَagainst سُلْطَانِهاtheir dominion حِمىًa refuge
فَلَيْسَ لِعَقْلٍ دُونَ سُلْطَانِها حِمىً
وَلاnor لِفُؤادٍfor any heart دُونَagainst غِشْيَانِهَاtheir onslaught سِتْرُa veil
وَلا لِفُؤادٍ دُونَ غِشْيَانِهَا سِتْرُ
No mind has a refuge from their dominion,
No mind can find safety from their dominion,
nor any heart a veil against their onslaught.
Nor any heart concealment from their swooning.
فَإِنْso if يَكُbe مُوسَىMoses أَبْطَلَnullified السِّحْرَmagic مَرَّةًonce
فَإِنْ يَكُ مُوسَى أَبْطَلَ السِّحْرَ مَرَّةً
فَذَلِكَthen that عَصْرُthe age of الْمُعْجِزَاتِmiracles وَذَاand this عَصْرُan age
فَذَلِكَ عَصْرُ الْمُعْجِزَاتِ وَذَا عَصْرُ
If Moses once rendered magic powerless,
If Moses once foiled magic, that was an age
that was the age of miracles, and this is another age.
Of miracles - but this is an age of magic.
فَأَيُّthen what فُؤادٍheart لاdoes not يَذُوبُmelt صَبَابَةًwith ardent longing
فَأَيُّ فُؤادٍ لا يَذُوبُ صَبَابَةً
وَمُزْنَةِand a rain cloud of عَيْنٍan eye لاdoes not يَصُوبُfall لَهَاfor them قَطْرُrain
وَمُزْنَةِ عَيْنٍ لا يَصُوبُ لَهَا قَطْرُ
What heart, then, does not melt with longing,
What heart could fail to melt, flow down in drops,
and what cloud of an eye lets no rain fall for them?
At a languishing gaze that rains its sorcery?
بِنَفْسِيwith my soul وَإِنْthough عَزَّتْit is precious عَلَيَّto me رَبِيبَةٌa tenderly reared maiden
بِنَفْسِي وَإِنْ عَزَّتْ عَلَيَّ رَبِيبَةٌ
مِنَamong الْعينِthe wide-eyed ones فيin أَجْفَانِthe eyelids of مُقْلَتِهَاher eye فَتْرُlanguor
مِنَ الْعينِ في أَجْفَانِ مُقْلَتِهَا فَتْرُ
I would ransom with my soul, precious though it is to me, a tenderly reared maiden,
A damsel over whom the moon's radiance trembles
one of the wide-eyed, with languor in the lids of her eyes.
And in whose tresses stirs a verdant bough,
فَتَاةٌa maiden يَرِفُّshimmers الْبَدْرُthe full moon تَحْتَbeneath قِناعِهَاher veil
فَتَاةٌ يَرِفُّ الْبَدْرُ تَحْتَ قِناعِهَا
وَيَخْطِرُand sways gracefully فِيin أَبْرَادِهَاher robes الْغُصنُthe bough النَّضْرُfresh and verdant
وَيَخْطِرُ فِي أَبْرَادِهَا الْغُصنُ النَّضْرُ
A maiden beneath whose veil the full moon shimmers,
Offers you the wine of dew in a snare -
and in whose robes the fresh green bough sways.
A cleft-lipped one they call "Temptation's Lip."
تُرِيكَshe shows you جُمَانَpearls of الْقَطْرِrain فيin أُقْحُوانَةٍa daisy
تُرِيكَ جُمَانَ الْقَطْرِ في أُقْحُوانَةٍ
مُفَلَّجَةِspaced apart الأَطْرَافِat the edges قِيلَit was said لَهَاof it ثَغْرُa mouth
مُفَلَّجَةِ الأَطْرَافِ قِيلَ لَهَا ثَغْرُ
She shows you the pearls of rain within a daisy
The enchanters of Babylon bow down before her eyes
with spaced petals, which is called a mouth.
And reel drunken from the nectar of her spittle.
تَدِينُbow لِعَيْنَيْهَاto her two eyes سَوَاحِرُthe sorceresses of بَابِلٍBabylon
تَدِينُ لِعَيْنَيْهَا سَوَاحِرُ بَابِلٍ
وَتَسْكَرُand grows drunk مِنْfrom صَهْبَاءِthe tawny wine of رِيقَتِهَاher saliva الْخَمْرُwine
وَتَسْكَرُ مِنْ صَهْبَاءِ رِيقَتِهَا الْخَمْرُ
The sorceresses of Babylon bow to her eyes,
O queen of the tent that was guarded from strangers
and wine grows drunk on the tawny wine of her saliva.
By a darkness of lances now vanished into night!
فَيَاso, O رَبَّةَmistress of الْخِدْرِthe secluded chamber الَّذِيwhich حَالَstood as a barrier دُونَهُbefore it
فَيَا رَبَّةَ الْخِدْرِ الَّذِي حَالَ دُونَهُ
ضَرَاغِمُlions of حَرْبٍwar غَابُهَاtheir thicket الأَسَلُthe spears السُّمْرُdusky
ضَرَاغِمُ حَرْبٍ غَابُهَا الأَسَلُ السُّمْرُ
So, O mistress of the chamber, whose approach is barred
Is there no reunion I can beg, to revive
by lions of war whose thicket is dusky spears:
A life made barren by the dearth of your presence?
أَمَاis there not مِنْany وِصَالٍunion أَسْتَعِيذُI seek refuge بِأُنْسِهِin its comfort
أَمَا مِنْ وِصَالٍ أَسْتَعِيذُ بِأُنْسِهِ
نَضَارَةَthe freshness of عَيْشٍlife كَانَhad أَفْسَدَهُspoiled it الْهَجْرُseparation
نَضَارَةَ عَيْشٍ كَانَ أَفْسَدَهُ الْهَجْرُ
Is there no union whose comfort I could seek as shelter
I found the world's sum in your love, though aware
for the freshness of a life that separation had spoiled?
My craze for you was the best proof of my merit.
رَضِيتُI was content مِنَfrom الدُّنْيَاthe world بِحُبِّكِwith your love عَالِمَاًknowing
رَضِيتُ مِنَ الدُّنْيَا بِحُبِّكِ عَالِمَاً
بِأَنَّthat جُنُونِيmy madness فِيin هَوَاكِlove for you هُوَit is الْفَخْرُpride
بِأَنَّ جُنُونِي فِي هَوَاكِ هُوَ الْفَخْرُ
I have been content with your love as my share of the world, knowing
Think not my longing a jest. It is fire
that my madness in loving you is my pride.
Unquenchable, or less than unquenchable fire.
فَلاso do not تَحْسَبِيyou think شَوْقِيmy longing فُكَاهَةَthe jest of مَازحٍa jester
فَلا تَحْسَبِي شَوْقِي فُكَاهَةَ مَازحٍ
فَمَاfor ... not هُوَit إِلَّاbut الْجَمْرُburning embers أَوْor دُونَهُless than it الْجَمْرُburning embers
فَمَا هُوَ إِلَّا الْجَمْرُ أَوْ دُونَهُ الْجَمْرُ
So do not think my longing a jester's joke:
A passion, like the soul of heated steel. If my tears
it is nothing but burning embers—or embers are less fierce than it.
Held back from feeding it, my breast would ignite.
هَوىًa passion كَضَمِيرِlike the hidden fire of الزَّنْدِthe fire-stick لَوْif أَنَّthat مَدْمَعِيmy tears
هَوىً كَضَمِيرِ الزَّنْدِ لَوْ أَنَّ مَدْمَعِي
تَأَخَّرَwere delayed عَنْin سُقْيَاهُwatering it لاحْتَرَقَwould surely burn الصَّدْرُthe breast
تَأَخَّرَ عَنْ سُقْيَاهُ لاحْتَرَقَ الصَّدْرُ
A passion like the hidden fire in a fire-stick: if my tears
When I come to the quarter, men's hearts fill with rage -
were late in watering it, my breast would burn.
Hearts stuffed with perfidy, guile, and treason.
إِذَاwhenever مَاan emphatic particle أَتَيْتُI came الْحَيَّthe encampment فَارَتْseethed بِغَيظِهَاwith their rage
إِذَا مَا أَتَيْتُ الْحَيَّ فَارَتْ بِغَيظِهَا
قُلُوبُthe hearts of رِجَالٍmen حَشْوُthe contents of آماقِهَاtheir eye-corners الْغَدْرُtreachery
قُلُوبُ رِجَالٍ حَشْوُ آماقِهَا الْغَدْرُ
Whenever I come to the encampment, there seethe with rage
They think ill of me, though I merit it not;
the hearts of men whose eye-corners are filled with treachery.
For a man to think, lacking proof, is sin's burden.
يَظُّنُّونَthey suspect بِيof me شَرَّاًevil وَلَسْتُthough I am not بِأَهْلِهِdeserving of it
يَظُّنُّونَ بِي شَرَّاً وَلَسْتُ بِأَهْلِهِ
وَظَنُّand the suspicion of الْفَتَىa young man مِنْin غَيْرِthe absence of بَيِّنَةٍevidence وِزْرُa sin
وَظَنُّ الْفَتَى مِنْ غَيْرِ بَيِّنَةٍ وِزْرُ
They suspect me of evil, though I do not deserve it;
What fault is it of theirs if a poet intones
and a man's suspicion without evidence is a sin.
A verse without flaw or defect?
وَمَاذَاand what harm عَلَيْهِمْto them إِنْif تَرَنَّمَsings شَاعِرٌa poet
وَمَاذَا عَلَيْهِمْ إِنْ تَرَنَّمَ شَاعِرٌ
بِقَافِيَةٍwith a rhyme لاno عَيْبَfault فِيهَاin it وَلاnor نُكْرُoffense
بِقَافِيَةٍ لا عَيْبَ فِيهَا وَلا نُكْرُ
What harm is it to them if a poet sings
Is it not natural for turtledoves to moan their love,
a rhyme with neither fault nor offense?
While the stallion, though cut, does not weep for himself?
أَفِيis it in accord with الْحَقِّjustice أَنْthat تَبْكِيweep الْحَمَائِمُthe doves شَجْوَهاtheir sorrow
أَفِي الْحَقِّ أَنْ تَبْكِي الْحَمَائِمُ شَجْوَها
ويُبْلَىand is afflicted فَلاyet does not يَبْكِيweep عَلَىfor نَفْسِهِhimself حُرُّa free man
ويُبْلَى فَلا يَبْكِي عَلَى نَفْسِهِ حُرُّ
Is it just that doves should weep for their sorrow,
What shame in a passion my brother poet's fervor
yet a free man, afflicted, should not weep for himself?
Betrayed in his verse that decency spurned?
وَأَيُّand what نَكِيرٍgrounds for censure فِيin هَوىًa passion شَبَّblazed وَقْدُهُits flame
وَأَيُّ نَكِيرٍ فِي هَوىً شَبَّ وَقْدُهُ
بِقَلْبِin the heart of أَخِيone possessed of شَوْقٍlonging فَبَاحَthen revealed بِهِit الشِّعْرُpoetry
بِقَلْبِ أَخِي شَوْقٍ فَبَاحَ بِهِ الشِّعْرُ
What is there to condemn in a passion whose flame has blazed
So let no critic reproach me. For love, to the smitten,
in a longing man's heart, and which poetry then revealed?
Is always a valid defense.
فَلاso let no يَبْتَدِرْنِيrush toward me بِالْمَلامَةِwith blame عَاذِلٌa reprover
فَلا يَبْتَدِرْنِي بِالْمَلامَةِ عَاذِلٌ
فَإِنَّfor indeed الْهَوَىlove فِيهِin it لِمُعْتَذِرٍfor one pleading his case عُذْرُan excuse
فَإِنَّ الْهَوَى فِيهِ لِمُعْتَذِرٍ عُذْرُ
Let no reprover rush to blame me,
Were love not nobler than censure, never would
for in love there is an excuse for one who pleads his case.
Anyone pine for love or acknowledge its rights.
إِذَاif لَمْnot يَكُنْthere were لِلْحُبِّfor love فَضْلٌsuperiority عَلَىover النُّهَىreason
إِذَا لَمْ يَكُنْ لِلْحُبِّ فَضْلٌ عَلَى النُّهَى
لَمَاthen ... would not ذَلَّbow حَيٌّa living man لِلْهَوَىto passion وَلَهُwhile he has قَدْرُstanding
لَمَا ذَلَّ حَيٌّ لِلْهَوَى وَلَهُ قَدْرُ
If love had no superiority over reason,
How bridle my heart with patience toward passion
no living man of standing would bow to passion.
When nothing of heart or of patience to me now pertains?
وَكَيْفَand how أَسُومُcan I require الْقَلْبَthe heart صَبْراًpatience عَلَىin enduring الْهَوىlove
وَكَيْفَ أَسُومُ الْقَلْبَ صَبْراً عَلَى الْهَوى
وَلَمْand ... not يَبْقَremains لِيto me فِيin الْحُبِّlove قَلْبٌa heart وَلاnor صَبْرُpatience
وَلَمْ يَبْقَ لِي فِي الْحُبِّ قَلْبٌ وَلا صَبْرُ
And how can I require my heart to endure love patiently,
To tame my desire, I yield to its rule,
when love has left me neither heart nor patience?
Though mine were the nays and the yea.
لِيَهْنَlet ... rejoice الْهَوَىlove إِنِّيindeed I خَضَعْتُhave submitted لِحُكْمِهِto its rule
لِيَهْنَ الْهَوَى إِنِّي خَضَعْتُ لِحُكْمِهِ
وَإِنْthough كَانَis لِيmine فِيin غَيْرِهِother than it النَّهْيُforbidding وَالأَمْرُand commanding
وَإِنْ كَانَ لِي فِي غَيْرِهِ النَّهْيُ وَالأَمْرُ
Let love rejoice: I have submitted to its rule,
I am a man whose nature brooks insult reluctantly,
though in other matters the power to forbid and command is mine.
One apt to draw blood wherever swords clash.
وَإِنِّيand indeed I امْرُؤٌa man تَأْبَىrefuses لِيَfor me الضَّيْمَhumiliation صَوْلَةٌfierce might
وَإِنِّي امْرُؤٌ تَأْبَى لِيَ الضَّيْمَ صَوْلَةٌ
مَوَاقِعُهَاwhere it strikes فِيin كُلِّevery مُعْتَرَكٍbattlefield حُمْرُred
مَوَاقِعُهَا فِي كُلِّ مُعْتَرَكٍ حُمْرُ
And I am a man whose fierce might will brook no humiliation,
No fledgling, I, to take umbrage at some trifle,
its blows crimson in every fray.
No coward to seek refuge behind my ramparts.
أَبِيٌّunyielding عَلَىagainst الْحِدْثَانِtime's calamities لاnot يَسْتَفِزُّنِيunnerves me
أَبِيٌّ عَلَى الْحِدْثَانِ لا يَسْتَفِزُّنِي
عَظِيمٌa great ordeal وَلاnor يَأْوِيseeks shelter إِلَىin سَاحَتِيmy courtyard ذُعْرُterror
عَظِيمٌ وَلا يَأْوِي إِلَى سَاحَتِي ذُعْرُ
Unyielding against time's calamities, I am not unnerved
When I bare my blade for carnage, terror bolts
by any great ordeal, nor does terror seek shelter in my courtyard.
From its lair, though verse from my lips softly purls.
إِذَاwhen صُلْتُI charge صَالَcharges الْمَوْتُdeath مِنْfrom وَكَرَاتِهِits lairs
إِذَا صُلْتُ صَالَ الْمَوْتُ مِنْ وَكَرَاتِهِ
وَإِنْand if قُلْتُI speak أَرْخَىslackens مِنْsome of أَعِنَّتِهِits reins الشِّعْرُpoetry
وَإِنْ قُلْتُ أَرْخَى مِنْ أَعِنَّتِهِ الشِّعْرُ
When I charge, death charges forth from its lairs,
and when I speak, poetry slackens its reins.
Partial English translation: 50 of 52 Arabic lines translated.
Sol 6.1