جَلَلاً كَما بِيَ فَليَكُ التَبريحُ
أَغِذاءُ ذا الرَشَأِ الأَغَنِّ الشيحُ
Let torment be immense, like what afflicts me!
Glory as my house, so let there be congratulations,
Let the torment be vast, just as my suffering is vast;
Is wormwood the food of this soft-voiced fawn?
Food for the one with a flowing beard and melody,
Is wormwood the nourishment of this fawn with the melodious voice?
لَعِبَت بِمِشيَتِهِ الشُمولُ وَغادَرَت
صَنَماً مِنَ الأَصنامِ لَولا الروحُ
Wine has toyed with his gait and left him
Destiny played with its inclusiveness and left
Wine has toyed with his gait, making him sway,
An idol among idols, but for his soul.
An idol among idols, had it not been for the spirit,
Like a carved idol he would be, were it not for the spirit within.
ما بالُهُ لاحَظتُهُ فَتَضَرَّجَت
وَجَناتُهُ وَفُؤادِيَ المَجروحُ
What ails him? I glanced at him, and crimson suffused
What is wrong with him? I noticed him blushing,
Why is it that when I glanced at him, a crimson flush
His cheeks and my wounded heart.
While his gardens and my wounded heart,
Covered his cheeks, while my own wounded heart bled?
وَرَمى وَما رَمَتا يَداهُ فَصابَني
سَهمٌ يُعَذِّبُ وَالسِهامُ تُريحُ
He shot, though his two hands did not, and I was struck by
He shot his arrows but his hands did not aim at me,
He struck—though his hands released no shaft—and I was pierced
An arrow that torments, while arrows bring rest.
An arrow that hurts while arrows give comfort,
By an arrow that tortures, whereas arrows of war bring rest.
قَرُبَ المَزارُ وَلا مَزارَ وَإِنَّما
يَغدو الجِنانُ فَنَلتَقي وَيَروحُ
The meeting-place is near, yet there is no visit; only
The shrine is near but no shrine, rather
The meeting place is near, yet no meeting is granted;
The heart goes out at dawn; we meet, and it returns at dusk.
The gardens where we meet then part,
Only my imagination travels there, so we meet, then he departs.
وَفَشَت سَرائِرُنا إِلَيكَ وَشَفَّنا
تَعريضُنا فَبَدا لَكَ التَصريحُ
And our secrets reached you, and we were worn thin by
Our secrets were exposed to you and our
Our secrets have spread to you, and we are worn thin
Our hints; thus open avowal became plain to you.
Allusions appeared clear to you,
By mere hints, until the plain truth stood revealed to you.
لَمّا تَقَطَّعَتِ الحُمولُ تَقَطَّعَت
نَفسي أَسىً وَكَأَنَّهُنَّ طُلوحُ
When the laden camels parted, torn apart was
When the camels were cut off my soul was cut off,
When the caravan departed, severing ties, my soul was severed
My soul with grief, as though they were acacia trees.
As if they were my family, and torn apart,
With grief, as though the camels bore a fatal omen.
وَجَلا الوَداعُ مِنَ الحَبيبِ مَحاسِناً
حُسنُ العَزاءِ وَقَد جُلينَ قَبيحُ
And farewell unveiled beauties in the beloved;
Farewell revealed from the beloved, virtues
The farewell unveiled such beauties in the beloved,
Graceful consolation, with those unveiled, is ugly.
The beauty of consolation, though the ugly appears,
That seeking solace, in the face of such sights, seemed a sin.
فَيَدٌ مُسَلِّمَةٌ وَطَرفٌ شاخِصٌ
وَحَشىً يَذوبُ وَمَدمَعٌ مَسفوحُ
So a hand bidding farewell, and a fixed gaze,
A hand waving, an eye glancing,
A hand waving peace, an eye fixed in a stare,
And a melting heart, and a stream of tears poured out.
Yearning melting, and pouring tears,
A heart melting within, and tears pouring down.
يَجِدُ الحَمامُ وَلَو كَوَجدي لَاِنبَرى
شَجَرُ الأَراكِ مَعَ الحَمامِ يَنوحُ
The doves yearn; were their yearning like mine, there would rise
The doves would lament even if my lament was absent
The dove feels sorrow, but were its passion like mine,
The arak trees, lamenting along with the doves.
The lotus tree would mourn with the doves,
The very Arak trees would wail alongside the bird.
وَأَمَقَّ لَو خَدَتِ الشَمالُ بِراكِبٍ
في عَرضِهِ لَأَناخَ وَهيَ طَليحُ
And a vast desert: if the north wind trotted with a rider
It leaned if the north blew on a rider
Many a barren wasteland—if the North Wind raced a rider
Across its breadth, he would make her kneel, exhausted.
On its expanse, it would rest while the winds blow,
Across its breadth, he would rest while the wind collapsed in fatigue.
نازَعتُهُ قُلَصَ الرِكابِ وَرَكبُها
خَوفَ الهَلاكِ حُداهُمُ التَسبيحُ
I pitted young riding-camels against it; their riders,
I competed with the trotting of the riders and rode
I challenged the waste with lean camels, while their riders,
Fearing death, had God's praises for their camel-song.
Fearing death, praising God made them slow,
Fearing destruction, made prayer their only caravan song.
لَولا الأَمينُ مُساوِرُ بنُ مُحَمَّدٍ
ما جُشِّمَت خَطَراً وَرُدَّ نَصيحُ
But for the trustworthy Musawir ibn Muhammad,
Had it not been for the trusted one, the son of Muhammad
Were it not for the Trustee, Musawir ibn Muhammad,
They would not have been made to brave danger, nor a sincere adviser rebuffed.
No danger would have been predicted or advice given,
No risk would be run, and the cautious advisor would be heeded.
وَمَتى وَنَت وَأَبو المُظَفَّرِ أَمُّها
فَأَتاحَ لي وَلَها الحِمامَ مُتيحُ
And if they ever flag, with Abu al-Muzaffar as their goal,
Whenever soft nor strong wind blew
But when they flagged, with Abu al-Muzaffar as their goal,
Then may a disposer of fate grant death to me and them.
It allowed me and her the doves a place to go,
Only the Decree of Death could determine our fate.
شِمنا وَما حُجِبَ السَماءُ بُروقَهُ
وَحَرىً يَجودُ وَما مَرَتهُ الريحُ
We watched his lightning, though the sky was not veiled;
We sensed it before the sky clouded with its lightning
We watched his lightning—unveiled by any sky—
And well may he pour bounty, though no wind has milked him.
And the free-flowing generosity before the winds blow,
A rain-cloud pouring freely, though no wind milked it dry.
مَرجُوُّ مَنفَعَةٍ مَخوفُ أَذِيَّةٍ
مَغبوقُ كاسِ مَحامِدٍ مَصبوحُ
His favors are hoped for, his harm is feared;
Hoping for benefit, fearing harm,
Hoped for in benefit, feared for his might,
He is served a cup of praises at evening and at morning.
Defeated, the cup of glory poured out,
Drinking the cup of praises at evening and at dawn.
حَنِقٌ عَلى بِدَرِ اللُجَينِ وَما أَتَت
بِإِساءَةٍ وَعَنِ المُسيءِ صَفوحُ
He rages at bags of silver, though they have done
Angry at the full moon that brought no harm
He holds a grudge against bags of silver, though they committed
No wrong, yet forgives the wrongdoer.
And forgiving the one who wronged me,
No offense; yet he forgives the sinner while casting the silver away.
لَو فُرِّقَ الكَرَمُ المُفَرِّقُ مالَهُ
في الناسِ لَم يَكُ في الزَمانِ شَحيحُ
If the generosity that scatters his wealth were divided
Had he divided the generosity that divided his money
If the generosity that scatters his wealth were shared
Among people, there would be no miser in the age.
Among the people, none would be stingy,
Among mankind, no miser would remain in all the world.
أَلغَت مَسامِعُهُ المَلامَ وَغادَرَت
سِمَةً عَلى أَنفِ اللِئامِ تَلوحُ
His ears dismissed reproach, and left
His hearing ignored blame and left
His ears have deafened themselves to rebuke, leaving
A brand on the noses of the base, plain to see.
A mark on the faces of villains that still show,
A brand of shame visible upon the noses of the vile.
هَذا الَّذي خَلَتِ القُرونُ وَذِكرُهُ
وَحَديثُهُ في كُتبِها مَشروحُ
This is he: ages have passed, while his renown
This is the one, time passed and his mention
This is he, whose fame outlasts the passing centuries,
And his story stand set forth in their books.
And story in its books still overflow,
His story expounded upon in the chronicles of time.
أَلبابُنا بِجَمالِهِ مَبهورَةٌ
وَسَحابُنا بِنَوالِهِ مَفضوحُ
Our minds are dazzled by his beauty;
Our minds dazzled by his beauty
Our intellects are dazzled by his splendor,
And our clouds are shamed by his bounty.
Our clouds opened by his irrigation flow,
And our rain-clouds are put to shame by his gifts.
يَغشى الطِعانَ فَلا يَرُدُّ قَناتَهُ
مَكسورَةً وَمِنَ الكُماةِ صَحيحُ
He plunges into spear-combat, and does not bring back his lance
He covers the skeptic so his irrigation channel is not
He plunges into the fray and withdraws not his spear
Broken while any armored champion remains unhurt.
Returned broken, and the silent are made whole,
Broken, so long as a single warrior remains standing.
وَعَلى التُرابِ مِنَ الدِماءِ مَجاسِدٌ
وَعَلى السَماءِ مِنَ العَجاجِ مُسوحُ
And upon the earth are crimson robes of blood,
On dust, corpses from blood, while on the sky
Upon the dust, bodies lie clad in crimson blood,
And upon the sky, sackcloths of swirling dust.
Erased marks from fighting still show,
While the sky wears a sackcloth of rising dust.
يَخطو القَتيلَ إِلى القَتيلِ أَمامَهُ
رَبُّ الجَوادِ وَخَلفَهُ المَبطوحُ
Over one slain man toward another before him strides
The slain walks to the slain ahead of him
He steps over one corpse to reach the next before him,
The master of the steed, with the fallen behind him.
The lord of generosity, while the fallen behind him lie low,
Master of the steed, leaving the fallen in his wake.
فَمَقيلُ حُبِّ مُحِبِّهِ فَرِحٌ بِهِ
وَمَقيلُ غَيظِ عَدُوِّهِ مَقروحُ
So the resting place of his admirer's love rejoices in him;
So the place of loving lover is delighted with him
The heart where his lover's affection rests is joyous,
And the resting place of his enemy's rage is wounded.
While the place of the angry enemy is struck with woe,
While the heart holding his enemy's rage is ulcerated.
يُخفي العَداوَةَ وَهيَ غَيرُ خَفِيَّةٍ
نَظَرُ العُدُوِّ بِما أَسَرَّ يَبوحُ
He hides his enmity, though it is not hidden;
He hides his enmity though it is not hidden
The foe conceals hatred, yet it is plainly seen;
The enemy's gaze divulges what he keeps secret.
The look of the enemy reveals what he would hide,
For the enemy's glance betrays what he hides within.
يا اِبنَ الَّذي ما ضَمَّ بُردٌ كَاِبنِهِ
شَرَفاً وَلا كَالجَدِّ ضَمَّ ضَريحُ
O son of one whose son's equal no cloak has enclosed
Oh son of one who did not gather with his son
O son of him who never wrapped a cloak around a son
In nobility, nor has a tomb enclosed the grandfather's equal.
Nobility, nor did the grandfather gather the grave,
Of such honor, nor did a tomb embrace a grandsire so great.
نَفديكَ مِن سَيلٍ إِذا سُئِلَ النَدى
هَولٍ إِذا اِختَلَطا دَمٌ وَمَسيحُ
We would be your ransom—a torrent when bounty is sought,
We would sacrifice ourselves against a flood if asked for help,
We ransom you—a torrent when generosity is sought,
A terror when blood and sweat mingle.
Against horror when blood and Messiah mix,
A terror when blood and sweat mingle in the fray.
لَو كُنتَ بَحراً لَم يَكُن لَكَ ساحِلٌ
أَو كُنتَ غَيثاً ضاقَ عَنكَ اللوحُ
If you were a sea, you would have no shore;
Had you been an ocean no coast contained you,
Were you a sea, you would have no shore;
Or were you rain, the open air would be too narrow to hold you.
Or a rain, the horizon would be too narrow,
Were you rain, the vast horizon could not hold you.
وَخَشيتُ مِنكَ عَلى البِلادِ وَأَهلِها
ما كانَ أَنذَرَ قَومَ نوحٍ نوحُ
And I would fear you might bring upon the lands and their people
I feared for the country and its people because of you
I would fear for the lands and their people because of you—
What Noah once warned Noah's people of.
As Noah fearfully warned his folk long ago,
The very deluge that Noah warned his people against.
عَجزٌ بِحُرٍّ فاقَةٌ وَوَراءَهُ
رِزقُ الإِلَهِ وَبابَكَ المَفتوحُ
It is weakness for a noble man to suffer want, when behind him stand
Incapacity at confusion, beyond it,
It is helplessness for a free man to suffer want, when behind him
God's provision and your open door.
God’s provision and your open door,
Lies God's provision and your ever-open door.
إِنَّ القَريضَ شَجٍ بِعِطفي عائِذٌ
مِن أَن يَكونَ سَواءَكَ المَمدوحُ
Indeed, poetry, grieving, seeks refuge at my side,
This poem sorely needs your kindness
Poetry clings to my side, seeking refuge and choking,
Lest anyone other than you be the one praised.
To be your equal when praised, that is far too much to hope,
Lest anyone other than you be the subject of its praise.
وَذَكِيُّ رائِحَةِ الرِياضِ كَلامُها
تَبغي الثَناءَ عَلى الحَيا فَتَفوحُ
And the gardens' rich fragrance is their speech;
The scent of the gardens, their words
Its words possess the fragrant scent of gardens;
They seek to praise the life-giving rain, and so waft their scent.
Seek praise of the living and thus diffuse,
Seeking to praise the rain, they waft their perfume.
جُهدُ المُقِلِّ فَكَيفَ بِاِبنِ كَريمَةٍ
توليهِ خَيراً وَاللِسانُ فَصيحُ
The utmost of one with little—what, then, of a noble woman's son
The effort of the insignificant, so what about the son
This is the offering of one with little; so how will the noble son respond
Whom you favor with bounty, and whose tongue is eloquent?
Of a generous woman who gives him good speech,
When you bestow good upon him, and his tongue is eloquent?
Sol 6.1