ذَكَرتُI remembered أَخيmy brother المُخَوَّلَal-Mukhawwal بَعدَafter يَأسٍdespair
ذَكَرتُ أَخي المُخَوَّلَ بَعدَ يَأسٍ
فَهاجَthen stirred عَلَيَّwithin me ذِكراهُhis memory اِشتِياقيmy longing
فَهاجَ عَلَيَّ ذِكراهُ اِشتِياقي
I remembered my brother al-Mukhawwal after despair,
I recalled my beloved brother after despair had set in
And his memory stirred my longing within me.
And the memory of him stirred my yearning
فَلاso not أَنسىI forget أَخيmy brother ماas long as دُمتُI remain حَيّاًalive
فَلا أَنسى أَخي ما دُمتُ حَيّاً
وَإِخوانيand my brothers بِأَقرِيَةِin the villages of العَناقِal-Anaq
وَإِخواني بِأَقرِيَةِ العَناقِ
I shall not forget my brother as long as I live,
I shall never forget my brother as long as I live
Nor my brothers in the villages of al-Anaq.
And my brothers in the bosom of intimacy
فَوارِسُناour horsemen بِدارَأَat Dara ذيof قِساءٍQisa
فَوارِسُنا بِدارَأَ ذي قِساءٍ
وَأَيسارُand the camel-lottery players الهَرِيَّةِof al-Hariyya وَالطِراقِand al-Tiraq
وَأَيسارُ الهَرِيَّةِ وَالطِراقِ
Our horsemen at Dara of Qisa,
Our horsemen in the abode of Dara were steadfast
And the camel-lottery players of al-Hariyya and al-Tiraq,
As were the cavalry on the right and the left flank
يَجُرّونَthey drag الفِصالَthe weaned camel calves إِلىto النَدامىthe drinking companions
يَجُرّونَ الفِصالَ إِلى النَدامى
بِرَوضِin the meadow of الحَزنِal-Hazn مِنfrom كَنَفَيthe two flanks of أُفاقِUfaq
بِرَوضِ الحَزنِ مِن كَنَفَي أُفاقِ
Drag weaned camel calves to their drinking companions
They dragged away the captives to the women mourners
In the meadow of al-Hazn, from either flank of Ufaq.
In the garden of sorrow from the horizon’s embrace
وَيُغلونَand they pay dearly for السِباءَpurchased wine إِذاwhen لَقوهُthey find it
وَيُغلونَ السِباءَ إِذا لَقوهُ
بِرُبعِwith young stock of الخَيلِhorses وَالشَولِand dry she-camels الحِقاقِof riding age
بِرُبعِ الخَيلِ وَالشَولِ الحِقاقِ
And they pay dearly for wine whenever they find it,
And they captured the prisoners whenever they met them
With young horses and dry she-camels of riding age.
With the cavalry and the drawn swords clashing
إِذاwhen اِتَّصَلواthey rally وَقالواand say يالَO men of غَرفٍGharf
إِذا اِتَّصَلوا وَقالوا يالَ غَرفٍ
وَراحواand they go forth فيin المُحَبَّرةِembroidered garments الرِقاقِfine; thin
وَراحوا في المُحَبَّرةِ الرِقاقِ
When they rally and cry, “O men of Gharf!”
When they joined ranks and said, come closer!
And go forth in fine embroidered garments,
They marched off in the wide open desert
أَجابَكَanswers you كُلُّevery أَروَعَgallant man شَمَّرِيٌّresolute
أَجابَكَ كُلُّ أَروَعَ شَمَّرِيٌّ
رَخِيُّeasy البالِof mind مُنطَلِقُloosened الخَناقِthe neck-cord
رَخِيُّ البالِ مُنطَلِقُ الخَناقِ
Every gallant, resolute man answers you,
Every noble spirited and easy going Shammar knight responded
Easy of mind, with his neck-cord loosened.
One who sheds cares and charges into the fray
أُناسٌpeople صالحونَgood; upright نَشَأتُI grew up فيهُمamong them
أُناسٌ صالحونَ نَشَأتُ فيهُم
فَأَودَواthen they perished بَعدَafter إِلفٍcompanionship وَاِتِّساقِand concord
فَأَودَوا بَعدَ إِلفٍ وَاِتِّساقِ
Good men, among whom I grew up,
Righteous people I was raised among
They perished after companionship and concord.
After intimacy and harmony they passed away
مَضَواthey departed لِسَبيلِهِمon their way وَلَبِثتُand I remained عَنهُمbehind them
مَضَوا لِسَبيلِهِم وَلَبِثتُ عَنهُم
وَلَكِنbut لاno مَحالَةَescape مِنfrom لَحاقfollowing
وَلَكِن لا مَحالَةَ مِن لَحاق
They went their way, while I remained behind them;
They went about their business and I was left without them
But there is no escaping following them.
But meeting later is inevitable
كَذيlike one with الأُلّافِfamiliar companions إِذwhen أَدلَجنَthey departed by night عَنهُaway from him
كَذي الأُلّافِ إِذ أَدلَجنَ عَنهُ
فَحَنَّthen he pined وَلاand not يَتوقُhe yearns إِلىtoward مَتاقِan object of yearning
فَحَنَّ وَلا يَتوقُ إِلى مَتاقِ
Like one whose companions departed from him by night,
Like a camel missing its accustomed herd
He pined, with nowhere to turn his longing.
Yearning and not ceasing its desire for them
أَرىI see الدُنياthe world وَنَحنُwhile we نَعيثُrun riot فيهاin it
أَرى الدُنيا وَنَحنُ نَعيثُ فيها
مُوَلِّيَةًturning away تَهَيَّأُprepares itself لِاِنطِلاقِto depart
مُوَلِّيَةً تَهَيَّأُ لِاِنطِلاقِ
I see the world, while we run riot within it,
I see the world as we lead debauched lives in it
Turning away, preparing to depart.
Ready to move on from it
أَعاذِلَO reproacher قَدindeed بَقيتُI have remained بَقاءَfor the lifespan of نَفسٍa soul
أَعاذِلَ قَد بَقيتُ بَقاءَ نَفسٍ
وَماand no حَيٌّliving being عَلىon الدُنياthe world بِباقِenduring
وَما حَيٌّ عَلى الدُنيا بِباقِ
O reproacher, I have lasted a mortal’s span,
My peers have passed away and only my soul remains
And no living being endures in this world.
No living soul lasts forever in this world
كَأَنَّas though الشَيبَgray hair وَالأَحداثَand misfortunes تَجريrace
كَأَنَّ الشَيبَ وَالأَحداثَ تَجري
إِلىtoward نَفسِthe life of الفَتىthe young man فَرَساtwo horses in سِباقِa race
إِلى نَفسِ الفَتى فَرَسا سِباقِ
It is as though gray hair and misfortunes race
It is as if old age and vicissitudes race
Toward a young man’s life, two horses in a race.
To reach the soul of a youth like racers
فَإِمّاso either الشَيبُgray hair يُدرِكُهُovertakes him وَإِمّاor else
فَإِمّا الشَيبُ يُدرِكُهُ وَإِمّا
يُلاقيhe meets حَتفَهُhis death فيماamong what يُلاقيhe encounters
يُلاقي حَتفَهُ فيما يُلاقي
Either gray hair overtakes him, or
Either old age will overtake him
He meets his death among the things he encounters.
Or he will meet his death as decreed
فَإِنso if تَكُbe لُمَّتيmy locks بِالشَيبِwith gray hair أَمسَتhave become
فَإِن تَكُ لُمَّتي بِالشَيبِ أَمسَت
شَميطَblack-and-white اللَونِin color واضِحَةَbright المشاقِthe hair-partings
شَميطَ اللَونِ واضِحَةَ المشاقِ
So if my locks have, through gray hair, become
If the locks of my hair turn white in the evening
Mingled in color, bright along the partings,
Becoming gray of color and white at the temples
فَقَدyet indeed أَغدوI go forth in the morning بِداجِيَةٍwith dark hair أُرانيI see myself
فَقَد أَغدو بِداجِيَةٍ أُراني
بِهاbecause of it المُتَطَلِّعاتِthe women looking out مِنfrom الرِواقِthe portico
بِها المُتَطَلِّعاتِ مِن الرِواقِ
Yet I see myself once going forth with dark hair,
I walk in the mornings with a staff that makes me look
For which women peered out from the portico
To those watching from balconies like zebras terrified
إِلَيَّtoward me كَأَنَّهُنَّas though they were ظِباءُgazelles of قَفرٍa wilderness
إِلَيَّ كَأَنَّهُنَّ ظِباءُ قَفرٍ
بَرهَبىBarhaba أَوor بِباعِجَتيin the two broad tracts of فِتاقِFitaq
بَرهَبى أَو بِباعِجَتي فِتاقِ
Toward me, as though they were gazelles of a waste
Or like a camel with mange amazed by me
At Barhaba, or in Fitaq’s two broad tracts.
And some coquettish beauties glance at me
وَقَدand indeed تَلهوturn fondly إِلَيَّtoward me مُنَعَّماتٍpampered women
وَقَد تَلهو إِلَيَّ مُنَعَّماتٍ
سَواجيlanguid الطَرفِof eye بِالنَظَرِwith a gaze البِراقِsparkling
سَواجي الطَرفِ بِالنَظَرِ البِراقِ
And pampered women would turn fondly toward me,
Batting their lashes with shining eyes
Languid of eye, with glittering glances.
They gaze at possibilities without fulfillment
يُرامِقنَthey eye الحِبالَthe cords بَغَيرِwithout وَصلٍjoining
يُرامِقنَ الحِبالَ بَغَيرِ وَصلٍ
وَلَيسَand is not وِصالُthe joining of حَبليmy cord بِالرِماقِby glances
وَلَيسَ وِصالُ حَبلي بِالرِماقِ
They eye the cords of love without joining them,
For binding ties with me are not within reach
But my cord is not joined by mere glances.
The promise of singers is like the promise of the treacherous
وَعَهدُand the pledge of الغانِياتِbeautiful women كَعَهدِlike the pledge of قَينٍa smith
وَعَهدُ الغانِياتِ كَعَهدِ قَينٍ
وَنَتhave dwindled عَنهُfor him الجَعائِلُthe commissions مُستَذاقِtried and tested
وَنَت عَنهُ الجَعائِلُ مُستَذاقِ
Beautiful women’s pledge is like a smith’s pledge,
And the twisting curling locks turn away from it
One tried and tested, whose commissions have dwindled.
Like the arrival of misfortune, he who sees it is amazed
كَجُلبِlike imported merchandise of السَوءِpoor quality يُعجَبُpleases مَنwhoever رَآهُsees it
كَجُلبِ السَوءِ يُعجَبُ مَن رَآهُ
وَلاand not يَشفيquenches الحَوائِمَthe thirsty circlers مِنwith لَماقِa sip
وَلا يَشفي الحَوائِمَ مِن لَماقِ
Like bad merchandise, pleasing to whoever sees it,
But it does not quench the thirst of the bereaved for their loved ones
Yet unable to quench the thirsty circlers with a sip.
So my demise while leading the camel train is not far off
فَلاso may not يَبعَدbe lost مَضائيmy onward journey فيthrough المَواميthe deserts
فَلا يَبعَد مَضائي في المَوامي
وَإِشرافيand my ascending العلايَةَthe high ground وَاِنصِفاقيand my roaming
وَإِشرافي العلايَةَ وَاِنصِفاقي
So may my journeying through the wastes not be lost,
As is my stumbling in my cloak and tripping over it
Nor my scaling the heights and my roaming.
And the dust of twilight, I try to avert it from myself
وَغَبراءَand a gray waste القَتامِof swirling dust جَلَوتُI cleared away عَنّيfrom me
وَغَبراءَ القَتامِ جَلَوتُ عَنّي
بِعَجلىon a swift one الطَرفِof eye سالِمَةِsound المَآقِin the eye-corners
بِعَجلى الطَرفِ سالِمَةِ المَآقِ
And many a waste, gray with dust, I cleared from before me
By quickly glancing while my eyes are still clear
On a swift-eyed mount, with sound eye-corners.
And I roamed the horizons until
وَقَدand indeed طَوَّفتُI ranged widely بِالآفاقِthrough the horizons حَتّىuntil
وَقَد طَوَّفتُ بِالآفاقِ حَتّى
سَئِمتُI grew weary of النَضَّtraveling بِالقُلُصِon young she-camels العِتاقِhigh-bred
سَئِمتُ النَضَّ بِالقُلُصِ العِتاقِ
I have ranged through the horizons until
I grew weary of roving around from place to place
I grew weary of traveling on high-bred young she-camels.
When one place wearied me I moved to another
إِذاwhenever أَفنَيتُهاI use it up بُدِّلتُI am given in exchange أُخرىanother
إِذا أَفنَيتُها بُدِّلتُ أُخرى
أَعُدُّI count شُهورَهاits months عَدَدَas the count of الأَواقيounces
أَعُدُّ شُهورَها عَدَدَ الأَواقي
Whenever I use one up, I am given another;
Counting its months like lunar mansions
I count its months as one counts ounces.
But the years wore me out and do not themselves wear out
فَأَفنَتنيso they wore me out السُنونَthe years وَلَيسَyet do not تَفنىcome to an end
فَأَفنَتني السُنونَ وَلَيسَ تَفنى
وَتَعدادُand the counting of الأَهِلَّةِcrescent moons وَالمُحاقِand moonless phases
وَتَعدادُ الأَهِلَّةِ وَالمُحاقِ
The years have worn me out, though they do not end,
Nor do the counting of months and seasons
And the counting of crescents and moonless phases.
What fate has decreed marches on like a lion in the wild
وَماnor سَبَقَoutran الحَوادِثَmisfortunes لَيثُa lion of غابٍthickets
وَما سَبَقَ الحَوادِثَ لَيثُ غابٍ
يَجُرُّhe drags لِمَرسِهِto his lair جَزَرَslaughtered camels of الرِفاقِcaravans
يَجُرُّ لِمَرسِهِ جَزَرَ الرِفاقِ
Nor has a lion of the thickets outrun calamities,
Dragging the caravan of comrades behind it
Dragging slaughtered caravan camels to his lair:
A dense darkness that even bright stars cannot penetrate
كُمَيتٌreddish-brown تَعجِزُare powerless الخُلَعاءُthe outlaws عَنهُagainst him
كُمَيتٌ تَعجِزُ الخُلَعاءُ عَنهُ
كَبَغلِlike a mule of المَرجِthe meadow حَطَّreleased مِنَfrom الزِناقِthe nose-rein
كَبَغلِ المَرجِ حَطَّ مِنَ الزِناقِ
Reddish-brown, beyond the outlaws’ power,
Like a stubborn mule that broke free of its tether
Like a meadow mule freed from its nose-rein.
It wrestles the prey from the mother of cubs
تُنازِعُهُcontests with him الفَريسَةَthe prey أُمُّthe mother of شِبلٍa cub
تُنازِعُهُ الفَريسَةَ أُمُّ شِبلٍ
عَبوسُgrim الوَجهِof face فاحِشَةُmassive in العِناقِthe neck
عَبوسُ الوَجهِ فاحِشَةُ العِناقِ
A cub’s mother contests the prey with him,
Glowering, with a hideous embrace
Grim-faced, massive of neck.
No hero whom the horses shied away from out of fear
وَلاnor بَطَلٌa champion تَفادىscatter الخَيلُthe horses مِنهُfrom him
وَلا بَطَلٌ تَفادى الخَيلُ مِنهُ
فِرارَlike the flight of الطَيرِbirds مِنfrom بَرَدٍhail بُعاقِpelting
فِرارَ الطَيرِ مِن بَرَدٍ بُعاقِ
Nor has a champion, from whom horses scatter
Like the flight of birds from lightning's brilliance
As birds flee from pelting hail:
A generous soul from Khuzaymah or Tamim
كَريمٌnoble مِنfrom خُزَيةَKhuzaya أَوor تَميمٌTamim
كَريمٌ مِن خُزَيةَ أَو تَميمٌ
أَغَرُّbright-faced عَلىon مُسافِعَةٍa battling mare مِزاقِswift; tearing ahead
أَغَرُّ عَلى مُسافِعَةٍ مِزاقِ
A noble man of Khuzaya or Tamim,
Noble in the face of hardships and trials
Bright-faced, on a battling mare that tears along.
But if the fates mistake him
فَذلِكَso that one إِنif تَخَطَّأَهُpass him by المَناياthe fates of death
فَذلِكَ إِن تَخَطَّأَهُ المَنايا
فَكَيفَthen how يَقيهِcan shield him طولَthroughout الدَهرِall time واقِa guardian
فَكَيفَ يَقيهِ طولَ الدَهرِ واقِ
So if death’s blows should pass that man by,
How can length of days protect him from death?
How can any guardian shield him for all time?
Partial English translation: 63 of 64 Arabic lines translated.
Sol 6.1