أَبولّو مَرحَباً بِكِ يا أَبولّو

أَبولّو مَرحَباً بِكِ يا أَبولّو

فَإِنَّكِ مِن عُكاظِ الشِعرِ ظِلُّ

فَإِنَّكِ مِن عُكاظِ الشِعرِ ظِلُّ

Apollo, welcome to you, O Apollo!

Apollo, welcome, O Apollo

For you are a shadow of poetry's Ukaz.

For you are from Ukaz, the poetry's shade

عُكاظُ وَأَنتِ لِلبُلَغاءِ سوقٌ

عُكاظُ وَأَنتِ لِلبُلَغاءِ سوقٌ

عَلى جَنَباتِها رَحَلوا وَحَلّوا

عَلى جَنَباتِها رَحَلوا وَحَلّوا

Ukaz! And you are a marketplace for the eloquent,

Ukaz, and you are for the eloquent a market

Along whose sides they journeyed and settled.

Upon its sides they pitched their tents and lodged

وَيَنبوعٌ مِنَ الإِنشادِ صافِ

وَيَنبوعٌ مِنَ الإِنشادِ صافِ

صَدى المُتَأَدِّبينَ بِهِ يُقَلُّ

صَدى المُتَأَدِّبينَ بِهِ يُقَلُّ

And a clear spring of poetic recitation,

A fountain of beautiful reciting

By which the thirst of lovers of literature is eased.

The echo of the cultivated with it is little

وَمِضمارٌ يَسوقُ إِلى القَوافي

وَمِضمارٌ يَسوقُ إِلى القَوافي

سَوابِقُها إِذا الشُعَراءُ قَلّوا

سَوابِقُها إِذا الشُعَراءُ قَلّوا

And a racecourse that leads toward rhymes

And a racecourse leading to rhymes

Its front-runners, when poets are few.

Its racers, when the poets speak

يَقولُ الشِعرَ قائِلُهُم رَصيناً

يَقولُ الشِعرَ قائِلُهُم رَصيناً

وَيُحسِنُ حينَ يُكثِرُ أَو يُقِلُّ

وَيُحسِنُ حينَ يُكثِرُ أَو يُقِلُّ

Their poet speaks in well-wrought verse,

He says poetry orderly

And excels whether he produces much or little.

And excels when he makes much or little

وَلَولا المُحسِنونَ بِكُلِّ أَرضِ

وَلَولا المُحسِنونَ بِكُلِّ أَرضِ

لَما سادَ الشُعوبُ وَلا اِستَقَلّوا

لَما سادَ الشُعوبُ وَلا اِستَقَلّوا

Were it not for those who excel in every land,

And were it not for the excellent everywhere

Peoples would neither rise to greatness nor gain independence.

No nations would prevail or become independent

عَسى تَأتينَنا بِمُعَلَّقاتٍ

عَسى تَأتينَنا بِمُعَلَّقاتٍ

نَروحُ عَلى القَديمِ بِها نُدِلُّ

نَروحُ عَلى القَديمِ بِها نُدِلُّ

May you bring us Mu‘allaqat,

May you bring us some Mu’allaqat

We go forth with them, boasting that they surpass the poetry of old.

We walk with it on the ancient softly

لَعَلَّ مَواهِباً خَفِيَت وَضاعَت

لَعَلَّ مَواهِباً خَفِيَت وَضاعَت

تُذاعُ عَلى يَدَيكِ وَتُستَغَلُّ

تُذاعُ عَلى يَدَيكِ وَتُستَغَلُّ

Perhaps talents that lay hidden and went to waste

Maybe talents hidden were lost

Will be made known through your hands and put to use.

Broadcast through you and exploited

صَحائِفُكِ المُدَبَّجَةُ الحَواشي

صَحائِفُكِ المُدَبَّجَةُ الحَواشي

رُبى الوَردِ المُفَتَّحِ أَو أَجَلُّ

رُبى الوَردِ المُفَتَّحِ أَو أَجَلُّ

Your pages, with their richly adorned margins,

Your leaves gilded margins

Are hills of roses in bloom—or more splendid still.

Were brought up on roses or more beautiful

رَياحينُ الرِياضِ يُمَلُّ مِنها

رَياحينُ الرِياضِ يُمَلُّ مِنها

وَرَيحانُ القَرائِحِ لا يُمَلُّ

وَرَيحانُ القَرائِحِ لا يُمَلُّ

One tires of the gardens' fragrant blooms,

The gardens’ fragrances one would be fed up of

But never of the fragrant bloom of poetic genius.

Yet the scent of talents is never tiring

يُمَهِّدُ عَبقَرِيُّ الشِعرِ فيها

يُمَهِّدُ عَبقَرِيُّ الشِعرِ فيها

لِكُلِّ ذَخيرَةٍ فيها مَحَلُّ

لِكُلِّ ذَخيرَةٍ فيها مَحَلُّ

The genius of poetry prepares the way there;

The genius of poetry in it paves the way

Every treasure has a place there.

For every treasure in it a place

وَلَيسَ الحَقُّ بِالمَنقوصِ فيها

وَلَيسَ الحَقُّ بِالمَنقوصِ فيها

وَلا الأَعراضُ فيها تُستَحَلُّ

وَلا الأَعراضُ فيها تُستَحَلُّ

And no right is diminished there,

Truth is not diminished in it

Nor is anyone's honor violated there.

Nor chastity in it made licit

وَلَيسَت بِالمَجالِ لِنَقدِ باغٍ

وَلَيسَت بِالمَجالِ لِنَقدِ باغٍ

وَراءَ يَراعِهِ حَسَدٌ وَغِلُّ

وَراءَ يَراعِهِ حَسَدٌ وَغِلُّ

Nor is it a forum for a transgressor's criticism,

It is no place for critic’s abuse

Behind whose reed pen lie envy and rancor.

Beyond his pasture envy and rancor