تَرَنَّمْchant بِأَشْعَارِيmy poems وَدَعْand leave aside كُلَّall مَنْطِقٍspeech
تَرَنَّمْ بِأَشْعَارِي وَدَعْ كُلَّ مَنْطِقٍ
فَمَاfor there is no بَعْدَbeyond قَوْلِيmy words مِنْany بَلاغٍeloquence لِمُفْلِقِfor a master poet
فَمَا بَعْدَ قَوْلِي مِنْ بَلاغٍ لِمُفْلِقِ
Sing my verses, and leave all logic behind;
Chant my poems, and leave all other speech aside,
for after my utterance, no eloquence is left to the master orator.
for no master poet has eloquence beyond my words.
هُوَit is الْعَسَلُthe honey الْمَاذِيُّpure and white طَوْرَاًat times وَتَارَةًand at other times
هُوَ الْعَسَلُ الْمَاذِيُّ طَوْرَاً وَتَارَةً
يَثُورُsurges الشَّجَاchoking sorrow مِنْهُfrom it مَكَانَat the place of الْمُخَنَّقِthe throat's constriction
يَثُورُ الشَّجَا مِنْهُ مَكَانَ الْمُخَنَّقِ
It is smooth-flowing honey at one moment; at another,
At times it is pure, white honey, and at others
choking sorrow wells from it in the throat.
choking sorrow surges from it in the throat.
يُغَنِّيsings بِهِwith it شَادٍa singer وَيَحْدُوand urges onward by chanting رِكَابَهُhis riding camels
يُغَنِّي بِهِ شَادٍ وَيَحْدُو رِكَابَهُ
بِهِwith it كُلُّevery حَادٍcamel-driver بَيْنَamid بَيْدَاءَa desert سَمْلَقِbare and level
بِهِ كُلُّ حَادٍ بَيْنَ بَيْدَاءَ سَمْلَقِ
A singer sings it; and the caravan is urged onward
A singer sings it; and, urging his mounts onward,
by it—each cameleer amid a barren wilderness.
every camel-driver chants it amid a bare, level desert.
فَطَوْرَاًso at times تَرَاهُyou see it زَهْرَةًa flower بَيْنَamid مَجْلِسٍa gathering
فَطَوْرَاً تَرَاهُ زَهْرَةً بَيْنَ مَجْلِسٍ
وَطَوْرَاًand at times تَرَاهُyou see it لَهْذَماًa keen blade بَيْنَamid فَيْلَقِan army
وَطَوْرَاً تَرَاهُ لَهْذَماً بَيْنَ فَيْلَقِ
Now you see it as a blossom amid a gathering,
So at times you see it as a flower in a gathering,
and now as a keen, long spear amid an army.
and at times you see it as a keen blade amid an army.
وَمَاand not كَلَفِيmy passion بِالشِّعْرِfor poetry إِلَّاexcept لأَنَّهُbecause it is
وَمَا كَلَفِي بِالشِّعْرِ إِلَّا لأَنَّهُ
مَنَارٌa beacon لِسَارٍfor a night traveler أَوْor نَكَالٌa deterrent punishment لأَحْمَقِfor a fool
مَنَارٌ لِسَارٍ أَوْ نَكَالٌ لأَحْمَقِ
My passion for poetry is only because it is
And my passion for poetry is only because it is
a beacon for the traveler, or a scourge for the fool.
a beacon for a night traveler, or a chastisement for a fool.
عَلِقْتُI became attached بِهِto it طِفْلاًas a child وَشِبْتُand I grew gray وَلَمْand did not يَزَلْcease
عَلِقْتُ بِهِ طِفْلاً وَشِبْتُ وَلَمْ يَزَلْ
شَدِيدَاًstrong بِأَهْدَابِto the fringes of الْكَلامِspeech تَعَلُّقِيmy attachment
شَدِيدَاً بِأَهْدَابِ الْكَلامِ تَعَلُّقِي
I clung to it as a child and grew gray, yet never has
I loved it as a child and grew gray, yet still
my attachment to the fringes of language ceased to be intense.
my attachment to the fringes of speech remains strong.
إِذَاwhen قُلْتُI utter بَيْتَاًa verse سَارَtravels فِيthrough الدَّهْرِtime ذِكْرُهُits fame
إِذَا قُلْتُ بَيْتَاً سَارَ فِي الدَّهْرِ ذِكْرُهُ
مَسِيرَlike the passage of الْحَيَاrain مَاwhat lies بَيْنَbetween غَرْبٍwest وَمَشْرِقِand east
مَسِيرَ الْحَيَا مَا بَيْنَ غَرْبٍ وَمَشْرِقِ
Whenever I compose a verse, its renown travels through the ages,
When I utter a verse, its fame travels through time,
like life-giving rain journeying from west to east.
as rain travels between west and east.
يَهِيمُis enraptured بِهِby it رَبُّthe wielder of الْحُسَامِthe sword حَمَاسَةًwith martial ardor
يَهِيمُ بِهِ رَبُّ الْحُسَامِ حَمَاسَةً
وَتَلْهُوand delights بِهِin it ذَاتُshe who wears الْوِشَاحِthe sash الْمُنَمَّقِornately adorned
وَتَلْهُو بِهِ ذَاتُ الْوِشَاحِ الْمُنَمَّقِ
The wielder of the sword is transported by it, fired with valor,
The sword's wielder is enraptured by it with martial ardor,
and the lady of the embroidered sash delights in it.
and she who wears the ornate sash delights in it.
بَلَغْتُI attained بِشِعْرِيthrough my poetry مَاwhat أَرَدْتُI desired فَلَمْso did not أَدَعْI leave
بَلَغْتُ بِشِعْرِي مَا أَرَدْتُ فَلَمْ أَدَعْ
بَدَائِعَmarvels فِيin أَكْمَامِهَاtheir flower-sheaths لَمْnot تُفَتَّقِbe opened
بَدَائِعَ فِي أَكْمَامِهَا لَمْ تُفَتَّقِ
Through poetry I attained all I desired, leaving
Through my poetry I attained what I desired, and left no
no marvel in its calyx still unopened.
marvels unopened in their flower-sheaths.
فَهَذَاso this is نَمِيرُthe pure water of الشِّعْرِpoetry فَاقْصِدْso make for حِيَاضَهُits pools
فَهَذَا نَمِيرُ الشِّعْرِ فَاقْصِدْ حِيَاضَهُ
لِتَرْوَىso you may quench your thirst وَهَذَاand this is مُرْتَقَىthe height of الْفَضْلِexcellence فَارْتَقِso ascend
لِتَرْوَى وَهَذَا مُرْتَقَى الْفَضْلِ فَارْتَقِ
Here, then, is poetry’s sweet water—make for its pools,
So this is poetry's pure water: make for its pools,
that you may drink your fill; and here is the ascent to excellence—climb.
to quench your thirst; and this is the height of excellence, so ascend.
