قَلَمٌa pen إِذاwhenever رَكِبَrides الأَنامِلَthe fingertips أَوor جَرىruns
قَلَمٌ إِذا رَكِبَ الأَنامِلَ أَو جَرى
سَجَدَتbowed down لَهُto it الأَقلامُthe pens وَهيَwhile they are جَواريrunning
سَجَدَت لَهُ الأَقلامُ وَهيَ جَواري
A pen—whenever it rides the fingertips or runs,
the pens bow down before it, even as they run.
يَختالُstruts ماin the space بَينَbetween السُطورِthe lines كَضَيغَمٍlike a lion
يَختالُ ما بَينَ السُطورِ كَضَيغَمٍ
يَختالُstruts بَينَamong عَوامِلٍspearheads وَشِفارِand blades
يَختالُ بَينَ عَوامِلٍ وَشِفارِ
It struts between the lines like a lion
strutting among spearheads and blades.
تَأويseek refuge الظِباءُthe gazelles إِلَيهِwith it وَهيَwhile they are أَوانِسٌtame
تَأوي الظِباءُ إِلَيهِ وَهيَ أَوانِسٌ
وَتَحيدُand turn aside عَنهُfrom it الأُسدُthe lions وَهيَwhile they are ضَواريpredatory
وَتَحيدُ عَنهُ الأُسدُ وَهيَ ضَواري
Gazelles seek refuge with it, tame and trusting,
and lions shun it, fierce hunters though they are.
ماnot حالُchanged خُلقُthe temperament of الماءِwater بَينَbetween سُطورِهِits lines
ما حالُ خُلقُ الماءِ بَينَ سُطورِهِ
إِلّاexcept إِلىinto خُلُقِthe temperament of الزِنادِthe firesteel الواريspark-kindling
إِلّا إِلى خُلُقِ الزِنادِ الواري
Within its lines, water's temper has never changed
save into the temper of a spark-kindling firesteel.
فَإِذاso when رَضيتَyou are pleased فَأَحرُفٌthen letters مِنof رَحمَةٍmercy
فَإِذا رَضيتَ فَأَحرُفٌ مِن رَحمَةٍ
وَإِذاand when غَضِبتَyou are angry فَأَحرُفٌthen letters مِنof نارِfire
وَإِذا غَضِبتَ فَأَحرُفٌ مِن نارِ
So when you are pleased, its letters are made of mercy;
and when you are angry, its letters are made of fire.
ياO اِبنَson of الَّذيthe one who غَنّىsang اليَراعُthe reed pen بِكَفِّهِin his hand
يا اِبنَ الَّذي غَنّى اليَراعُ بِكَفِّهِ
فَصَبَتso yearned إِلَيهِtoward it مَسامِعُthe ears of الأَقدارِdestinies
فَصَبَت إِلَيهِ مَسامِعُ الأَقدارِ
O son of the man in whose hand the reed pen sang,
so the ears of fate turned toward it in longing,
لَكَyou have فيin دَميmy blood حَقٌّa claim أَرَدتُI wished وَفاءَهُto fulfill it
لَكَ في دَمي حَقٌّ أَرَدتُ وَفاءَهُ
يَومَon the day of الوَفاءِfulfillment فَقَصَّرَتand fell short أَشعاريmy poems
يَومَ الوَفاءِ فَقَصَّرَت أَشعاري
you have a claim upon my blood that I wished to honor
on the day of fulfillment, but my verses fell short.
لَمdid not يُنسِنيmake me forget مَرُّthe passage of الزَمانِtime وَلَمand did not يَزَلcease
لَم يُنسِني مَرُّ الزَمانِ وَلَم يَزَل
حِفظُpreserving الوِدادِaffection سَجِيَّتيmy nature وَشِعاريand my watchword
حِفظُ الوِدادِ سَجِيَّتي وَشِعاري
Time's passage has not made me forget, and still
preserving affection is my nature and my watchword.
هَذاthis كِتابُكَyour book قَدindeed حَكَتhave mirrored آياتُهُits passages
هَذا كِتابُكَ قَد حَكَت آياتُهُ
آياتِthe signs of موسىMoses التِسعِthe nine فيin الإِكبارِreverence
آياتِ موسى التِسعِ في الإِكبارِ
This is your book; its passages have mirrored
Moses' nine signs in the awe they inspire.
نَسَجَwove الحَريرَsilk أَبوكَyour father نَسجَthe weaving of نِجارِهِhis lineage
نَسَجَ الحَريرَ أَبوكَ نَسجَ نِجارِهِ
وَنَسَجتَand you wove أَنتَyou yourself حَرائِرَthe silks of الأَفكارِthoughts
وَنَسَجتَ أَنتَ حَرائِرَ الأَفكارِ
Your father wove silk in his ancestral fashion,
and you have woven the fine silks of thought.
فَإِذاso when نَثَرتَyou scatter prose عَلىupon الصَحيفَةِthe page خِلتُهاI fancy it
فَإِذا نَثَرتَ عَلى الصَحيفَةِ خِلتُها
غَرساًa planting أَلَحَّpersisted عَلَيهِupon it صَوبُa downpour of قِطارِrain
غَرساً أَلَحَّ عَلَيهِ صَوبُ قِطارِ
So when you scatter prose upon the page, I fancy it
a planting upon which rain has poured unceasingly.
ياO صاحبَmaster of المِصباحِthe lamp ماwhat ذَنبُthe fault of النُهىminds
يا صاحبَ المِصباحِ ما ذَنبُ النُهى
حَتّىthat حَجَبتَyou veiled مَطالِعَthe rising places of الأَنوارِthe lights
حَتّى حَجَبتَ مَطالِعَ الأَنوارِ
O master of the lamp, what wrong have minds done
that you have veiled the horizons where lights rise?
قَدindeed كُنتَyou used to تَهديهاguide them السَبيلَthe way بِضَوئِهِby its light
قَد كُنتَ تَهديها السَبيلَ بِضَوئِهِ
فَتَرَكتَهاthen you left them فيin ظُلمَةٍdarkness وَعِثارِand stumbling
فَتَرَكتَها في ظُلمَةٍ وَعِثارِ
You once guided them along the way by its light,
then left them in darkness, stumbling.
باتَتthey spent the night تُرَجّيhoping for مِنكَfrom you عَودَةَthe return of غائِبٍan absent one
باتَت تُرَجّي مِنكَ عَودَةَ غائِبٍ
نورُthe light of البَصائِرِinsight فيهِin him وَالأَبصارِand sight
نورُ البَصائِرِ فيهِ وَالأَبصارِ
They spent the night hoping you would bring an absent one back,
in whom lies the light of insight and of sight,
وَشَمائِلُand the graces of الفِكرِthought الَّتيwhich أَرسَلتَهاyou sent them forth
وَشَمائِلُ الفِكرِ الَّتي أَرسَلتَها
حِكَماًas maxims فَأَغنَتهاthus made them independent عَنِof الأَسفارِbooks
حِكَماً فَأَغنَتها عَنِ الأَسفارِ
and the graces of thought that you sent forth
as maxims, sparing minds the need for books.
فَاِشرَعso brandish يَراعَكَyour reed pen ياO مُحَمَّدُMuhammad إِنَّهُindeed it is
فَاِشرَع يَراعَكَ يا مُحَمَّدُ إِنَّهُ
نارُthe fire of اللِئامِthe base وَجَنَّةُand the paradise of الأَحرارِthe free
نارُ اللِئامِ وَجَنَّةُ الأَحرارِ
So brandish your reed pen, O Muhammad, for it is
fire for the base and paradise for the free.
وَاِبعَثand send forth لَناto us عيسىIsa فَهَذاfor this is وَقتُهُhis time
وَاِبعَث لَنا عيسى فَهَذا وَقتُهُ
فَالناسُfor people بَينَbetween مُخادِعٍa deceiver وَمُواريand a dissembler
فَالناسُ بَينَ مُخادِعٍ وَمُواري
And send us Isa, for this is his time;
for people are a mix of deceivers and dissemblers,
وَمُطاوِلٍand a boaster فيamong الكاتِبينَwriters وَمُدَّعٍand a pretender
وَمُطاوِلٍ في الكاتِبينَ وَمُدَّعٍ
فيamong العالِمينَthe learned وَمولَعٍand one obsessed بِفَخارِwith boasting
في العالِمينَ وَمولَعٍ بِفَخارِ
and boasters among writers, and pretenders
among the learned, and those obsessed with vainglory.
أَمِنواthey felt safe from يَراعَكَyour reed pen حينَwhen طالَgrew long سُكونُهُits silence
أَمِنوا يَراعَكَ حينَ طالَ سُكونُهُ
فَتَطَلَّعواso they aspired لِمَراتِبِto the ranks of الأَقمارِthe moons
فَتَطَلَّعوا لِمَراتِبِ الأَقمارِ
They felt safe from your reed pen when its silence grew long,
so they aspired to the ranks of the moons.
إِنّيindeed I لَأَنظِمُI do versify ماwhat نَثَرتَyou scattered in prose وَإِنand even if يَكُنis
إِنّي لَأَنظِمُ ما نَثَرتَ وَإِن يَكُن
نَثرُunstringing النَظيمِcomposed verse مَطِيَّةَthe mount of النَثّارِthe prose writer
نَثرُ النَظيمِ مَطِيَّةَ النَثّارِ
Indeed, I string into verse what you scattered in prose, even if
unstringing verse is the prose-writer's mount.
Translation model: Sol 6.1