بِنعي أميرِ الشِّعرِ قد واصَلوا النَّعبا

بِنعي أميرِ الشِّعرِ قد واصَلوا النَّعبا

إلَى أَن أمِيرَ الشِّعرِ حقا قضَى النحبَا

إلَى أَن أمِيرَ الشِّعرِ حقا قضَى النحبَا

With tidings of the Prince of Poetry's death, they kept up their cawing,

They announced the death of the prince of poetry,

Until the Prince of Poetry truly met his end.

Until the true prince of poetry passed away.

قضَى نَحبَه والأمرُ للهِ وحدُه

قضَى نَحبَه والأمرُ للهِ وحدُه

علَى ما أصابَ الضادَ فافتقَد القَلبا

علَى ما أصابَ الضادَ فافتقَد القَلبا

He met his end, and the decree belongs to God alone,

He passed away, and the matter belongs to God alone,

Concerning what befell the language of ḍād, which lost its heart.

For what has befallen Al-Dad, so the heart missed him.

وللموتِ سهمٌ بالعراق يُرِيشُه

وللموتِ سهمٌ بالعراق يُرِيشُه

ويَرمِي فيُصمي سهمَه الشرقَ والغربَا

ويَرمِي فيُصمي سهمَه الشرقَ والغربَا

And Death has an arrow in Iraq that he feathers,

And death has an arrow in Iraq that it feathers

And shoots, so his arrow strikes East and West dead.

And throws, making its arrow pierce east and west.

تلَظَّت قُلوبُ العالَمين بفقده

تلَظَّت قُلوبُ العالَمين بفقده

وضاقَ مجَال الشعرِ

وضاقَ مجَال الشعرِ

The hearts of all humankind blazed at his loss,

The hearts of both worlds swelled at his loss,

And the realm of poetry grew narrow.

And the realm of poetry narrowed.

فللشِّعرِ ما لِلقلبِ يصبِرُ جَهدُه

فللشِّعرِ ما لِلقلبِ يصبِرُ جَهدُه

وللقلبِ ما للشَّعرِ يندُبه ندبَا

وللقلبِ ما للشَّعرِ يندُبه ندبَا

For poetry shares the heart's grief, enduring with all its strength,

So poetry has what the heart in its effort endures,

And the heart shares poetry's grief, lamenting him deeply.

And the heart has what poetry laments in elegy.

ولَم يبقَ بعدَ اليومِ إربٌ لديه إذ

ولَم يبقَ بعدَ اليومِ إربٌ لديه إذ

بقاؤُكَ قبلَ اليومِ كانَ له إربَا

بقاؤُكَ قبلَ اليومِ كانَ له إربَا

And after today it has no desire left, since

And after this day no pillar remains with it, as

Your continued life, before today, was its desire.

Your existence before this day was a pillar for it.

وما الشِّعرُ إلا ذَوبُ قلبٍ تصُوغُه

وما الشِّعرُ إلا ذَوبُ قلبٍ تصُوغُه

لتسكُبَه في قلبِ سامِعه سَكبَا

لتسكُبَه في قلبِ سامِعه سَكبَا

And poetry is but a heart's molten essence, which you fashion

Poetry is only a melting heart that forms it

To pour it out into the heart of its listener.

To pour it into the heart of its listener pouring.

وما الشِّعرُ إلا وحيُ سحرٍ بَل أنَّه

وما الشِّعرُ إلا وحيُ سحرٍ بَل أنَّه

على السِّحرِ في أخذِ النُفُوسِ لقد أربَى

على السِّحرِ في أخذِ النُفُوسِ لقد أربَى

And poetry is but magic's inspiration—nay, it

And poetry is only the revelation of magic; rather, it

Has indeed surpassed magic in captivating souls.

Has surpassed magic in capturing souls.

بَدا في خَفاءٍ واختفَى في ظُهورهِ

بَدا في خَفاءٍ واختفَى في ظُهورهِ

It appeared in concealment and vanished in its manifestation.

It appeared in secrecy and disappeared in its appearance,

And death is not a disaster if it befalls some of us,

وما الموتُ خطبٌ إِن يُلمَّ ببعضِنا

وما الموتُ خطبٌ إِن يُلمَّ ببعضِنا

وإمامُهُ بالبعضِ أعظِم به خَطبا

وإمامُهُ بالبعضِ أعظِم به خَطبا

And death is no calamity if it befalls some of us;

And its imam to some is greatest in disaster.

But its [befalling] certain others—what a great calamity!

Beautiful Al-Zahawi, you left no poet

جَميلَ الزّهَاوِي ما تركتَ لِشاعِرٍ

جَميلَ الزّهَاوِي ما تركتَ لِشاعِرٍ

درَّاكٍ على بُعدٍ فأفعَمتَه حُبَّا

درَّاكٍ على بُعدٍ فأفعَمتَه حُبَّا

Jamil al-Zahawi, what have you left for a poet

Of your caliber from afar, so you made him love.

Keen of insight, though far away? You filled him with love.

And how many a poet came to me with his ode

وكَم شاعرٍ قد جَاءني بِقَريضِه

وكَم شاعرٍ قد جَاءني بِقَريضِه

فأمعنتُ فيه ثم قلتُ له تبَّا

فأمعنتُ فيه ثم قلتُ له تبَّا

And many a poet has come to me with his verse,

So I examined it then said to him "begone!"

So I studied it closely, then told him, 'Perish!'

You rested my heart then slept and did not die,

تَوسَّدتَ قلبِي ثُم نِمتَ ولم تَمت

تَوسَّدتَ قلبِي ثُم نِمتَ ولم تَمت

فمَا ماتَ مَن صار الفؤادُ لَهُ تِربَا

فمَا ماتَ مَن صار الفؤادُ لَهُ تِربَا

You took my heart for a pillow, then slept, but did not die.

So one whose heart became his burial did not die.

For he has not died for whom the heart has become a companion.