الشاعر — Anwar Al Attar

خَلِّياهُ يَنحْ على عَذَباتِهْ

ويَصُغْ من دُموعه آياتهُ

Let him lament over his sufferings,

And fashion verses from his tears,

ويُرَتلْ ألحانه بخشوع

مُستمدّاً من العُلى نَغَماتهْ

And chant his melodies reverently,

Drawing their notes from on high.

لا تُثيرا به كمائنَ صدرٍ

رَدَّدَتها الأحزانُ في أبياتِهْ

Do not stir within him the hidden griefs of a heart

That sorrows have echoed in his verses.

ورواها فمُ الزَّمانِ بشَجْوٍ

فحسبْنا بَناتِهِ من رُواتِهْ

The mouth of time recounted them mournfully,

So we counted his daughters among its narrators.

ثم جارَتْ بَغياً وعَقَّتْ أباها

غيرَ هَيأبَةٍ أذى سَخَطاتِهْ

Then they wronged their father and turned against him,

Fearing no harm from his anger.

فاستطالتْ من غير ذنبٍ عليهِ

واستباحتْ بصَرْفِها عَزَماتِهْ

They grew overbearing toward him without cause,

And with their reversals laid claim to his resolve.

ورَمتهُ في مَهدهِ بالرزايا

وجَزتْهُ الأسى على حسناتِهْ

They hurled calamities at him in his cradle

And repaid his good deeds with grief.

فجرى والأسى وليدَيْنِ حتى

أدركَ الكُنْهَ من مَطاوي عظاتهْ

He and grief grew up as two children together, until

He grasped the essence hidden in his lessons.

والأسى مَنْهَلُ النفوسِ اللواتي

لم يَرُضها الزمانُ في نَكباتِهْ

Grief is the drinking place of souls

Whom time has not tamed through its calamities.

وتَوارى عن العِيان وأمسى

في مُصَلاّهُ يَشتكي عَثراتِهْ

He withdrew from sight and came to spend his days

At his place of prayer, lamenting his stumbles.

وعِتابُ الأيام شِبهُ صلاةٍ

فاتركاهُ مُستغرقاً في صَلاتِهْ

To reproach the days is a kind of prayer;

So leave him absorbed in his prayer.

واجثُوَا قيدَ ظِلهِ بسكونٍ

وأصيخا لبثّهِ وشَكاتهْ

Kneel quietly beside his shadow,

And listen to his outpouring and complaints.

هَيكلٌ يبعثُ القنوطَ إلى القَلـ

ـب بما لاحَ من جَليّ صِفاتهْ

A figure that sends despair into the heart

Through the features plainly visible in him.

مَنْ يحدّقْ إليه يُبصرْ ملاكاً

نُورُهُ ساطعٌ بكلِّ جهاتهْ

Whoever gazes at him sees an angel

Whose light shines on every side.

باسطاً كَفَّهُ يُناجي مليكاً

خاشِعَ الطرف من جلالةِ ذاتهْ

With his palm outstretched, he addresses a sovereign,

His gaze lowered before that being’s majesty.

كَتَبَ البؤسُ فوق خَديهِ سطراً

تتراءى الآلامُ في كلماته:

Misery has written a line across his cheeks;

Pain shows itself in his words:

للهوى قلبُهُ، وللشجوِ عَينا

هُ ، وللعالمينَ كلُّ هباتِهْ

His heart belongs to love, and his eyes to sorrow,

While all his gifts belong to the world.

وهو نهبٌ لحادثاتِ الليالي

وحلالٌ للدهر قرعُ صَفاتهْ

He is prey to the events of the nights,

And time is free to strike his hard stone.

ينطوي في سبيل أبناءِ دنيا

هُ ويلقى من دهرهِ نائباتهْ

He folds in upon himself for the sake of the people of his world

And meets the misfortunes of his age

بفؤادٍ واهٍ وصدرٍ رحيبٍ

وادعٍ، غير صاخبٍ من أذاتِهْ

With a frail heart and a spacious breast,

Calm, raising no clamor over his hurts.

يَتلقّى بصبرهِ نَزوةَ الدَّهـ

ـر ويشكو لربّهِ نَزَواته

With patience he receives the sudden blows of time

And complains to his Lord of its excesses.

شاعرٌ صاغَهُ الإلهُ من البؤ

سِ وأبدى الأسى على نظراتهْ

A poet whom God shaped from misery

And marked with sorrow in his gaze.

وحَباهُ السِّحرَ الحلالَ فغنّى

شاكراً ربَّه على نَفحاته

God granted him enchanting art, and he sang,

Thanking his Lord for His gifts.

وسَريُّ النظيم ما كانَ وحياً

فالهوى والشعورُ في طيّاته

The excellence of his verse did not come from revelation:

Love and feeling lie within its folds.

وسَرِيُّ النظيم ما كانتِ الحِكـ

ـمةُ فَيّاضةً على جَنباته

Nor did the excellence of his verse come from wisdom

Flowing abundantly through it.

شاعرٌ يمزج المدادَ من الحز

ن يذوبِ اللُّجين من عَبَراته

A poet who mixes ink from sorrow,

While silver melts from his tears.

ثم يستنزفُ النجيعَ من القلـ

ـب فيجري رطباً على صفحاته

Then he drains the lifeblood from his heart,

And it flows wet across his pages.

يستمدُّ اليراعُ منه مِداداً

فهو يُغني عن طرسِهِ ودَواته

His pen draws its ink from him,

So he has no need of paper or inkwell.

عَلَّلَ النفسَ دَهرَهُ بالأماني

غير ما ناظرٍ إلى عقباته

All his life he consoled himself with hopes,

Without looking toward their obstacles.

كلُّ مَنْ في الوجودِ يَجني مُناه

وهو يُقصى عن نيلهِ ثَمراته

Everyone in existence gathers what they desire,

While he is kept from reaping his fruits.

يا سماءَ الخيالِ جودي عليهِ

وامنحيهِ الإلهامَ في نفثاتهِ

O sky of imagination, be generous to him,

And grant him inspiration in his utterances.

واطبعيهِ على الشعورِ يُخلّدْ

لكِ أسمى النظيم في ذِكرياته

Imprint him upon feeling, that he may preserve

For you the finest verse in his memories.

مَعبد الحبِّ شِيدَ في قفص القلـ

ـب مُحاطاً بالظلِّ من قَصَباته

The temple of love was built inside the cage of the heart,

Shaded by its ribs.

والفؤادُ الناقوسُ يقرعُهُ الوَجْـ

ـدُ بأوتارِ حسِّهِ من لَهاته

The heart is a bell that longing strikes

With the strings of its feeling, from its innermost parts.

فيفيضُ الهوى على جانبيه

كلما رنَّ من صَدى دقاتِه

Then love overflows on either side

Whenever the echo of its beats rings out.

يُسمعُ الصخرَ شِعره وشَجاهُ

فتَلينُ الصخورُ من أنّاته

He makes the rocks hear his poetry and sorrow,

And the rocks soften at his moans.

ثم تجري على رَويّ القوافي

وتحاكي الموزونَ من نبراته

Then they move to the rhyme of his verses

And imitate the measured cadence of his voice.

وطيورُ السماءِ تأخذُ عنهُ

حينَ يشدو المثير من سَجعاته

The birds of the sky learn from him

When he sings his stirring refrains.

يَخلُدُ الشاعرُ الحزين إذا قطّـ

ـرَ أنفاسَهُ على صَفَحاته

The sorrowful poet lives on when he pours

His breath, drop by drop, upon his pages.

يومُهُ مثلُ أمسِهِ في شقاءٍ

ولعلَّ الرَّجاء طيَّ غَداتِه

His today is as wretched as his yesterday,

And perhaps hope is hidden in his tomorrows.

إنْ دَجا الليلُ يَرقُبُ النجم أسيانَ

ويُزجي إلى العلى زَفَراته

When night grows dark, he watches the star in sorrow

And sends his sighs toward the heights.

لا الدجَى نازحٌ ولا الفجرُ يَرثي

لشَجيٍّ أدنى الردى خطواته

The darkness does not depart, nor does dawn pity

A grieving man whose steps death has drawn near.

لو تراهُ –والليلُ ساجٍ صموتٌ

لتفطرتَ من شَجا صَعقاته

If you saw him while night lay still and silent,

The anguish of his cries would break your heart.

سادراً في مجاهل الفكر حَيْرا

نَ يُرجِّي نَجاتَهُ من عُداته

Wandering, bewildered, through the unknown reaches of thought,

He hopes for rescue from his foes.

مُنشداً في دَياجر الليل آيا

تٍ طواها الهواءُ في نَسَماته

Chanting verses in the depths of night,

Which the air carries away in its breezes.

... يا فؤادي إذا أجنّكَ ليلٌ

وسَئمتَ الحياةَ في ظُلماته

O my heart, when night envelops you

And you tire of life in its darkness,

وتَطلَّعتَ للصباحِ وقد ضَل

ونورُ العليل في بَسَماته

And you yearn for morning, though it has gone astray,

While a faint light lingers in its smiles,

لا تقلْ: يا ظلامُ سَعَّرتَ نيرا

ناً بقلب يذوبُ من آهاته

Do not say, ‘O darkness, you have kindled a fire

In a heart that melts from its sighs.’

عَلّ في الليل رحمةَ لوجيعٍ

أغرقَته الآلام في سَكَراتِهْ

Perhaps night holds mercy for one in pain

Whom suffering has drowned in its agonies:

مُمعنٍ في الكرى يزيدُ التياعاً

كلما لجّ!َ في عميقِ سُباته

One sunk deep in sleep, whose anguish grows

The deeper he sinks into slumber.

فإذا ما استفاقَ أبصرَ فجراً

حَيّرَ الفكر من سنا لمعاته

And when he wakes, he sees a dawn

Whose gleaming radiance confounds thought.

إنّ في الفجر روعةً قَسَمتها

يَدُ خَلاقِنا على كائناته

In dawn there is a splendor apportioned

By the hand of our Creator among His creatures.

عمّتِ العالمينَ لم تبقِ حتى

مُعدماً طاحَ في هوى حَسَراته

It reaches all the worlds and leaves out no one,

Not even a destitute person fallen into longing and regret.

بهجةُ الكون في الصباح تَجلّى

ولذيذُ الحياة في أولياته

The joy of the universe appears in the morning,

And life’s sweetness lies in its beginnings.

بينما الشاعرُ الحزينُ يُناجي

ربَّه والصباحُ في بشرياته

While the sorrowful poet addresses

His Lord, and morning brings its glad tidings,

غابَ عن عالم الشقاءِ وفاضت

رُوحه وانطوى ببُرد نجاته

He departs the world of suffering, and his

Soul flows forth; he is wrapped in the cloak of deliverance.

فاتركاهُ يَنعمْ بنوم طويل

عَلّ في الموتِ راحةً من حياتهْ

So leave him to enjoy a long sleep;

Perhaps death brings relief from his life.