قالَت وَصَفَت لَنا الرَحيق وَكوبَها
وَصَريعَها وَمُديرَها وَالعاصِرا
She said: You have described for us the nectar and its cup,
And its victim, its server, and the one who presses it;
وَالحَقل وَالفَلّاحَ فيهِ سائِراً
عِندَ المَسا يَرعى القَطيعَ السائِرا
And the field, and the farmer walking within it,
Tending the wandering flock at the fall of evening;
وَوَقَفتُ عِندَ البَحرِ يَهدُرُ مَوجُهُ
فَرَجِعتُ بِالأَلفاظِ بَحراً هادِرا
And you stood by the sea while its waves were roaring,
And returned with words that were themselves a roaring sea;
صَوَّرتَ في القِرطاسِ حَتّى الخاطِرا
فَخَلَبَتنا وَسَحَرتَ حَتّى الساحِرا
You depicted upon the parchment even the fleeting thought,
Captivating us, and enchanting even the magician;
وَأَرَيتَنا في كُلِّ قَفرٍ رَوضَةً
وَأَرَيتَنا في كُلِّ رَوضٍ طائِرا
You showed us a garden in every barren wasteland,
And showed us a bird in every garden;
لَكِن إِذا سَأَلَ اِمرُؤٌ عَنكَ اِمرَأً
أَبصَرتَ مُحتاراً يُخاطِبُ حائِرا
But if a person were to ask another about you,
You would see a bewildered soul speaking to a confused one.
مَن أَنتَ يا هَذا فَقُلتُ لَها أَنا
كَالكَهرُباءِ أُرى خَفِيّاً ظاهِرا
"Who are you, O man?" So I said to her: "I...
...Am like electricity: seen both hidden and revealed."
قالَت لَعَمرُكَ زِدتَ نَفسي ضَلَّةً
ما كانَ ضَرَّكَ لَو وَصَفتَ الشاعِرا
She said: "By your life, you have only increased my confusion;
What harm would it have been if you had described the Poet?"
فَأَجَبتُها هُوَ مَن يُسائِلُ نَفسَهُ
عَن نَفسِهِ في صُبحِه وَمَسائِهِ
So I answered her: "He is one who questions his own soul,
Asking about himself in his morning and his evening;
وَالعَينَ سِرَّ سُهادِها وَرُقادِها
وَالقَلبَ سِرَّ قُنوطِه وَرَجائِهِ
Asking the eye the secret of its insomnia and its slumber,
And the heart the secret of its despair and its hope;
فَيَحارُ بَينَ مَجيإِه وَذَهابِهِ
وَيَحارُ بَينَ أَمامِه وَوَرائِهِ
He stands bewildered between his coming and his going,
And confused between what lies ahead and what lies behind;
وَيَرى أُفولَ النَجمِ قَبلَ أُفولِهِ
وَيَرى فَناءَ الشَيءِ قَبلَ فَنائِهِ
He sees the setting of the star before it actually sets,
And perceives the annihilation of a thing before its end;
وَيَسيرُ في الرَوضِ الأَغَنِّ فَلا تَرى
عَيناهُ غَيرَ الشَوكِ في أَرجائِهِ
He walks through the lush garden, yet his eyes see nothing,
Within its corners, other than the thorns;
إِن نامَ لَم تَرقُد هَواجِسُ روحِهِ
وَإِذا اِستَفاقَ رَأَيتَهُ كَالتَائِهِ
If he sleeps, the obsessions of his spirit do not rest,
And if he wakes, you see him like one lost and wandering;
ما إِن يُبالي ضِحكَنا وَبُكاءَنا
وَيُخيفُنا في ضِحكِه وَبُكائِهِ
He cares not for our laughter or our weeping,
Yet he frightens us in his laughter and his weeping;
كَالنارِ يَلتَهِمُ العَواطِفَ عَقلُهُ
فَيُميتُها وَيَموتُ في صَحرائِهِ
Like fire, his intellect consumes emotions,
Killing them, while he dies within his own desert."
قالَت أَتَعرِفُ مَن وَصَفتَ فَقُلتُ مَن
قالَت وَصَفتَ الفَيلَسوفَ الكافِرا
She said: "Do you know whom you have described?" I said: "Who?"
She said: "You have described the unbelieving philosopher;
يا شاعِرَ الدُنيا وَفيكَ حَصافَةٌ
ما كانَ ضَرَّكَ لَو وَصَفتَ الشاعِرا
O Poet of the World, you possess wisdom—
What harm would it have been if you had described the Poet?"
فَقُلتُ هُوَ اِمرُؤٌ يَهوى العُقارا
كَما يَهوى مُغازَلَةَ العَذارى
So I said: "He is a man who loves strong drink,
Just as he loves courting young maidens;
إِذا فَرَغَت مِن الراحِ الدِنانُ
تَوَهَّمَ أَنَّما فَرَغَ الزَمانُ
If the casks become empty of wine,
He imagines that Time itself has run empty;
يُعاقِرُها عَلى ضَوءِ الدَراري فَإِن
غَرُبَت عَلى ضَوءِ النَهارِ
He drinks it by the light of the stars, and if,
They set, he drinks by the light of day;
وَيَحسَبُ مِهرَجانَ الناسِ مَأتَم
بِلا خَمر وَجَنَّتُهُم جَهَنَّم
He considers the festivals of people a funeral,
If without wine, and their paradise a hell;
مَلولٌ لا يَدومُ عَلى وَلاءٍ
وَلَكِن لا يَدومُ عَلى عِداءِ
Fickle, he does not remain constant in loyalty,
But neither does he remain constant in enmity;
أَخو لُب وَلَكِن لا إِرادَه
وَذو زُهد وَلَكِن بَِلزَهادَه
A man of intellect, yet devoid of will,
An ascetic figure, yet lacking all restraint;
يَميلُ إِلى الدُعابَة وَالمُزاحِ
وَلَو بَينَ الأَسِنَّة وَالصِفاحِ
He leans towards humor and jesting,
Even if standing between spearheads and broadswords;
وَيوشِكُ أَن يُقَهقِهَ في الجَنازَةِ
وَيَرقُصَ كَالعَواصِفِ في المَفازَه
He is on the verge of guffawing at a funeral,
And dancing like a storm in the wasteland;
إِذا بَصُرتَ بِهِ عَينُ الأَديبِ
فَقَد وَقَعَت عَلى رَجُلٍ مُريبِ
If the eye of a cultured man falls upon him,
It has fallen upon a suspicious man;
يُعَنِّفُهُ الصَحابُ فَلا يُنيبُ
وَيَزجُرُهُ المَشيبُ فَلا يَتوبُ
Companions scold him, but he does not repent,
And old age rebukes him, but he does not atone."
فَقالَت جِئتَ بِالكَلَمِ البَديعِ
وَلَكِن ما وَصَفتَ سِوى الخَليعِ
She said: "You have brought forth wonderful words,
But you have described no one but the libertine."
وَخِفتُ إِعراضَها عَنّي فَقُلتُ إِذَن
هُوَ الَّذي أَبَداً يَبكي مِنَ الزَمَنِ
I feared she would turn away from me, so I said: "Then...
...He is the one who forever weeps over Time;
كَأَنَّما لَيسَ في الدُنيا سِواهُ فَتىً
مُعَرَّضٌ لِخُطوبِ الدَهر وَالمِحَنِ
As if there is no youth in the world but him,
Exposed to the calamities of fate and trials;
يَشكو السَقام وَما في جِسمِهِ مَرَضٌ
وَالسُهدَ هُوَ قَريبُ العَهدِ بِالوَسَنِ
He complains of illness when there is no disease in his body,
And of insomnia, though he has recently slept;
وَالهَجر وَهوَ بِمَرءٍ مِن أَحِبَّتِهِ
وَالأَسر وَهوَ طَليقُ الروح وَالبَدَنِ
And of abandonment, while he is in plain sight of his loved ones,
And of captivity, while he is free in soul and body;
وَلا يَرى حَسَناً في الأَرضِ يَألَفُهُ
أَو يَشتَهِه وَكَم في الأَرضِ مِن حَسَنِ
He sees nothing beautiful in the earth to embrace,
Or desire, yet how much beauty is in the earth!
يَنوحُ في الرَوض وَالأَشجارُ مورِقَةٌ
كَما يَنوحُ عَلى الأَطلال وَالدِمَنِ
He wails in the garden while the trees are leafy,
Just as he wails over ruins and vestiges."
فَقاطَعَتني وَقالَت قَد بَعدتَ بِنا
ما ذي الصِفاتُ الشاعِرِ الفَطِنِ
She interrupted me and said: "You have taken us far afield;
These are not the traits of the astute Poet."
قُلتُ مَهلاً إِذا ضَلَلت وَعُذراً
رُبَّما أَخطَأَ الحَكيم وَضَلّا
I said: "Patience, if I have strayed, and pardon me;
Perhaps the wise man errs and loses his way.
هُوَ مَن تَرسُمُ الجَمالَ يَداهُ
فَنَراهُ في الطِرسِ أَشهى وَأَحلى
He is the one whose hands sketch beauty,
So we see it on the page more appetizing and sweet;
لَوذَعِيُّ الفُؤادِ يَلعَبُ بِالأَل
بابِ لُعباً إِن شاءَ أَن يَتَسَلّى
Sharp-witted of heart, playing with minds,
A game, if he wishes to be amused;
وَيُرينا ما لَيسَ يَبقى سَيَبقى
وَيُرِنا ما لَيسَ يَبلى سَيَبلى
He shows us what will not remain as eternal,
And shows us what will not decay as decaying;
يَطبَعُ الشُهبَ لِلأَنامِ نُقوداً
وَهوَ يَشكو الإِملاقَ كَيفَ تَوَلّى
He mints the stars as coins for mankind,
While he complains of poverty wherever he turns.
أَفَما ذا مَن تَبتَغين وَأَبغي
وَصفَهُ قالَتِ المَليحَةُ كَلّا
Is this not the one you seek, and whom I seek...
...To describe?" The pretty one said: "No."
يا هَذِهِ إِنّي عَيِّتُ بِوَصفِهِ
وَعَجِزتُ عَن إِدراكِ مَكنوناتِهِ
"O you, I am weary of describing him,
And I have failed to grasp his hidden depths;
لا تَستَطيعُ الخَمرُ سَردَ صِفاتِها
وَالرَوضُ وَصفَ زُهورِه وَنَباتِهِ
Wine is unable to recount its own attributes,
Nor can the garden describe its flowers and plants;
هُوَ مَن نَراهُ سائِراً فَوقَ الثَرى
وَكَأَنَّ فَوقَ فُؤادِهِ خُطُواتِهِ
He is the one we see walking upon the soil,
Yet it is as though his footsteps fall upon his own heart;
إِن ناحَ فَالأَرواحُ في عَبَراتِهِ
وَإِذا شَدا فَالحُبُّ في نَغَماتِهِ
If he laments, the souls are in his tears,
And if he sings, Love is in his melodies;
يَبكي مَعَ الناءِ عَلى أَوطانِهِ
وَيُشارِكُ المَحزونَ في عَبَراتِهِ
He weeps with the exile over his homelands,
And shares with the grieving man in his tears;
وَتُغَيِّرُ الأَيّامُ قَلبَ فَتاتِهِ
وَيَظَلُّ ذا كَلَفٍ بِقَلبِ فَتاتِهِ
The days may change the heart of his young girl,
But he remains infatuated with the heart of his girl;
هُوَ مَن يَعيشُ لِغَيرِه وَيَظُنُّهُ
مَن لَيسَ يَفهَمُهُ يَعيشُ لِذاتِهِ
He is one who lives for others, yet...
...Those who misunderstand him deem he lives for himself."
