اللهم صل وسلم وبارك على سيدنا محمد وعلى آله وصحبه وسلم تسليما كثيرا أجمعين
This blog is dedicated to my translations of Arabic poetry, or prose, of different eras of history. I may also include analyses or explanations of the text in question.
"Turjamānī" (Ar: تُرْجَمَانِي) means "My Translation" and is composed of:
Turjumān (Ar: تُرْجُمَان), which is an old way to say "translation", and
The suffix "-ī" (ـي) which is appended to a noun to indicate posession.
This is not a blog for anything personal, but rather is just a hobby. It'll be updated as I post more, God-willing.
مَا لِي نَهَارًا مَيِّتٌ فِي شَمْسَتِي … وَاللَّيْلُ مَا كَفَّى وَرَاحَتْ نَوْمَتِي
What's with me? In my days, I'm dead in my sun!
And night didn't suffice, and my sleep's all gone!
نَفْسِي فِدَاءٌ لِوِسَادَتِي أَلَا … أَكُونُ عَبْدًا شَاكِرًا بِمَخَدَّتِي
Would that I ransom myself for my pillow!
Should I not be a thankful servant for my pillow?
Notes:
The poet is essentially saying: night is too short, he's dead tired, and his sleep is perpetually empty.
After expressing how he wishes to ransom himself for his pillow, the poet defiantly asks, "Shall I not be a thankful servant" — i.e. to God — "for my pillow?", for the pillow is a blessing.
The poet's a sleepy guy. Maybe he's procrastinating instead of sleeping on time.
أَبْرِقِي أَرْعِدِي أَبْطَالًا وَعَدُوكِ أَنْبَلَ وَعْدْ
Flash on, thunder on, as heroes! As they vowed the noblest vows!
جَاؤُوكِ بِصَوْتِ الْحَقِّ الْهَادِرِ كَهَزِيمِ الرَّعْدْ
They came for you in a truthful call, hailing with thunderous roars!
بِسُيُوفٍ أَقْوَى مِنْ نَارٍ عَرَفَتْ كَيْفَ الرَّدّْ
With blades stronger than fanning fire, knowing best how to strike,
مَا هُنْتِ وَلَنْ تَهِنِي بَلْ مِنْ أَجْلِكِ ثَارَ اشْتَدَّ هَزِيمُ الرَّعْدْ
You never faltered, nor will you — Nay, for you all thunder surged!
مَا عَاشَ الظَالِمُ يَسْبِيكِ وَفِينَا نَفَسٌ بَعْدْ
The tyrant will never live to chain you while breath still burns in us...
بِحَنِينِي بِدَمِي أَفْدِيكِ وَرُوحِي تُنْبِتُ مَجْدَ هَزِيمِ الرَّعْدْ
In longing and blood I redeem you; and my soul births glory of the thunder's roar!
Notes:
These are the Arabic lyrics to the Spacetoon Arabic dub opening of the anime Ginga Sengoku Gun'yūden Rai, airing on Spacetoon in the Arab world between 2000 and 2004.
The lyrics' words are inspired in part and dedicated to the Palestinian people, as they were written during the events of the second intifada against the Zionist occupation.
Supposedly, this song was suggested in some Arab governments to become the national anthem. Thankfully it wasn't adopted as such, as that'd be an insult to the song, the anime, Spacetoon, its fans, and the lyricist.
نباتية من بلاد الشمال … لبشرتها لمعان السمك
A vegan maiden of northern clime,
Her complexion is that of a sardine’s shine!
ومن حقها أكل ما تشتهي … ولكنها تشتهي لي ولك
Her due right is to eat what she craves,
And yet she craves — for your behalf and mine!
وتغضب أنَّا أكلنا الحنيذ … وكادت تنادي علينا الدرك
She raged that we ate roasted meat,
And nearly called us the guards to dine!
فقلت لها إن كل امرئ … وكيل على ما أتى أو ترك
So I told her, “Each soul stands for its deeds,
Whatever it does or else leaves behind.
وشعبك يأكل مال اليتيم … وكحل الحريم ونجم الفلك
Thy folk devour the orphan’s bread,
The kohl of the wives, and the stars that shine!
ويشرب خمسين بحراً ويظما … ويبلع حيتانها بالشبك
They drink fifty seas and yet thirst even more,
Swallowing their whales in nets like brine!
بكرشك هند وأمريكتان … ودمعك يجري لتيس هلك
In your gut’s an India and both ‘Mericas,
Yet weepest you for a dead goat’s decline!?
ومصر وسودانها والعراق … وحيث سعى جمل أو برك
And Egypt, its Sudan and Iraq —
And wherever a camel had knelt to rest!
سنام الجمال وخبز العيال … وثلج الجبال وطين البرك
The hump and the loaf and the mountain’s snow,
The marsh’s clay — all thine possessed!
وكم ليك من بلد كاللُّبان … وآخر مزدرد لم يُلك
How many lands thou’st chewed like gum?
How many more thine throats compressed?
بياضك هذا سواد دماء … تخثرن في مئتي معترك
Your whiteness this, it’s curdled blood —
Two hundred battlefields confessed!
وجسم القتيل يغطيه ليلا … ن هذا ينافس ذا في الحلك
The slain lie wrapped in twin dark shrouds,
Each night with night contends for rest.
دم ذو نجوم يغطي السماء … وليل بحد السلاح انسفك
Their star-spattered blood dost veil the skies,
Their swords spilled manifest darkness.
فلولا دمي راية لم تطر … ولولا دمي مَلِكٌ ما ملك
For without our blood, no flag had flown!
Without our blood no king would reign!
وحين تمدون سلك الحدود … فما بين جسمي وجسمي سلك
When you stretch your thin border’s wire,
It cuts through bodies and mine uncontained;
فهٰذي القصور وسكانها … لعمرك ملك لنا مشترك
Thus these palaces and their proud folk,
By oath! Are our common wealth and pain!
وسيد عبد يظل قروناً … يقول له: أنت عبد، فشك
A slave’s master may yap centuries
Telling him “O slave!” So he strains.
وأدرك قوته فاستدار … وحدق في ربه فارتبك
Sensing his strength he turned and he faced
His “lord” and so the latter enstrained;
وقام من القيد حراً جميلاً … بحد الحسام احتبى واحتبك
He then rose from chains free-born and fair,
With the sword’s blade unsheathed, unrestrained!
ففي شاطئ المتوسط كوم … تراكم من ألف قيد وصك
On the Mediterranean’s shore there lies
A thousand chains and contracts that strain.
وفي الغد لن يحمل اللاجئين … بل الجنَّ يا صاحبي والمَلَكْ
Thus the ‘morrow shan’t carry refuge,
Rather jinn and angels, no longer profaned!
فيا ذهباً من قيود العبيد … لنمض إلى من سبى أو سبك
O gold once forged from slaves’ old chains,
Let’s march to those who forged and who feigned!
وقالوا: انتهكتم حدود البلاد … بلادكم دمنا المنتهك
They said, ‘You breached our borders and lands!’
Rather your land is our blood when profaned!
أرى عالماً بعد طول انتظار … رمى بعباءته واشتبك
I see a world, at long last having woke,
Its cloak of fear and its slumber away’d.”
فقلت لصاحبتي: هونيها … فإن قام قائمها لم يرك
So I told her, ‘Be calm, O my dear,
When the uprising comes, do abstain.
وتاجك مال اليتامى اخلعيه … وتوجتها بجميد الكرك
This crown of yours of the orphans’ wealth, rid yourself!
I crown thee now with Karak’s jamid, unstained!
أظل دم بعد لم تسفكوه … فلا بأس أن تحملي منسفك
Is there blood you’ve yet to spill?
No harm then — carry your mansaf again!’”
Notes:
This is part of a larger Arabic work by Tamim al-Barghouthi available to view on YouTube. The poem is part of the rhymed prose story he composed.
The context of the poem is that the main character, al-Harith ibn Hammam, writes a letter to Tamim while the former was in exile in the modern age. He met with an African migrant to Europe (the "Northern Clime". It can also be the United States or Canada) and a white woman of the area. She was vegan, he was not. The trio went to an Arabic restaurant. Our protagonist ordered shawarma, the girl ordered vegetables, and the African ordered mansaf. When the mansaf was placed upon the table, the girl shrieked and began sermonizing about veganism and how eating animals is oppression, and persisted despite al-Harith explaining how Arabia is arid and has little edible greenery, such that if any of his (Arab) forefathers walked this lady's path, they'd have perished. The woman persisted and when she ended up slighting against Islam, the African and the protagonist got angry, so he took his companion's mansaf and chucked it at her before reciting the above poem.
The word mansaf (Ar: مَنْسَف) refers to a wonderful southern Levantine dish done best by the people of Karak in Jordan. The dish is described by al-Harith ibn Hammam in the prose before the poem as follows (translation my own as well):
Now, to the uninitiated: al-Karak, in the blessed lands of the Levant, is a country famed for its mansaf; and it is — may God bless you! — mountains upon mountains: layers of lamb and rice piled upon flatbread wider than cloaks of the mountains, vaster than deserts and their dusty dunes. Were a horse to carry it, it would return counted as a turtle entombed! It is heavier than the stubborn heretic, yet man, nonetheless, devours it standing and crescentic. Among them, it ranks in cuisine as the Great Pyramid among monuments — to be called simply “lamb with rice” is injustice, for it is far too majestic.
They crown it with a yogurt-sort named jamīd — a marvel of the Creator’s creation, nay, a marvel among marvels! Craved alike by the full and the famished, and eaten only by the boldness of fingers, unblemished.
Linguistically, the word mansaf does also refer more broadly speaking to that which removes or uproots. The entendre in the poem is that al-Harith ibn Hammam made the vegan lady carry her own uprooting, ie: her own fall from grace after being uprooted from power. Alternatively, it could be read as al-Harith saying, "no harm then, carry the consequences of your actions again!" with said actions being uprooting people from their homes like in Palestine, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Syria, etc.
There is obvious political satire and commentary here. The moral of the story is not that veganism is an inherently bad idea, but rather that the individual in the story propagating it refused to hear other views that were born from other contexts, and thus shamed those of the differing view.
My main curiosity is why the heck a vegan would go to an Arab restaurant, as our cuisine is full of meat. But alas. The moral is in the political commentary, not the whimsy common to this genre of Arabic literature. The whimsy and silliness is what makes it funny.
al-Harith ibn Hammam mentions, after the poem, the following:
So no sooner had I crowned her with jamid, that evening found in chains my comrade and me; so if you could appoint us a lawyer or few, we would be grateful for your virtue—and God is the Patron of the patient and Friend of the forsaken.
Know, moreover, that whoever has a companion like ours is defrauded: they exit the restaurants just as they enter. And of all that befell us, nothing weighed heavier on our souls save that our stomachs remained empty. There is no way nor might save by God, to Him we belong and to Him we shall return!
And peace.
سَأَحمِلُ روحي عَلى راحَتي … وَأَلقي بِها في مَهاوي الرَّدى
I shall carry my soul upon my palm,
And cast it away into death’s abysses,
فَإِمّا حَياةٌ تَسُرُّ الصَديقَ … وَإِمّا مَماتٌ يَغيظُ العِدى
For either a life that gladdens the friend;
Or a great death enraging the foe.
وَنَفسُ الشَريفِ لَها غايَتانِ … وُرودُ المَنايا وَنَيلُ المُنى
The soul of a noble one has but two ends:
Embracing death, attaining the Utmost Wish.
وَما العَيشُ لا عِشتَ إِن لَم أَكُن … فَخَوفَ الجِنابِ حَرامَ الحِمى
What is life—may I not live!—if I’m not one
Whose approach is feared, and precinct untouch’d?
إِذا قُلتُ أَصغى لي العالَمونَ … وَدَوّى مَقالي بَينَ الوَرى
When I speak, the world listens to me,
My words resound amongst all the people.
لَعَمرُكَ إِنّي أَرى مَصرَعي … وَلكِن أَغذُّ إِلَيهِ الخُطى
By your life! I see the land where I'll fall!
Yet, I hasten forth in quickening steps!
أَرى مَقتَلي دونَ حَقّي السَليب … وَدونَ بِلادي هُوَ المُبتَغى
I see my slaying ‘fore my stolen right,
And ‘fore my homeland—that is the goal!
يَلِذُّ لِأُذني سَماعُ الصَليل … يَهيِّجُ نَفسي مَسيلُ الدِّما
My ears delight when they hear the blades clash;
And the coursing of blood stirs up my soul;
وَجِسمٌ تَجَدَّلَ فَوقَ الهِضابِ … تُناوشُهُ جارِحاتُ الفَلا
And a body struck down upon the high hills,
Torn at by the predators of the wasteland;
فَمِنهُ نَصيبٌ لِأُسدِ السَماءِ … وَمِنهُ نَصيبٌ لِأُسدِ الشَرى
So a share of him is heaven’s lions’,
And a share of him to lions of earth.
كَسا دَمُهُ الأَرضَ بِالأُرجُوانِ … وَأَثقَلَ بِالعِطرِ ريحَ الصَبا
His blood blanketed the earth in deep crimson,
And weighed the winds with a fragrant perfume.
وَعَفَّرَ مِنهُ بَهِيَّ الجَبينِ … وَلكِن عَفاراً يَزيدُ البَها
And dust had soiled his radiant brow—
Yet ‘tis a dusting that deepens beauty!
وَبانَ عَلى شَفَتَيهِ اِبتِسام … مَعانيهِ هُزءٌ بِهذي الدُنا
Upon his lips came a radiant smile,
Its meanings mocking this lowly world!
وَناَم لِيَحلمَ حُلمَ الخُلودِ … وَيَهنَأَ فيهِ بِأَحلى الرُّؤى
He slumbered to dream eternity’s dream,
Delighting therein with visions most sweet!
لَعُمرُكَ هذا مَماتُ الرِجالِ … وَمَن رامَ مَوتاً شَريفاً فَذا
By your life! This is the death of great men!
And those who seek a noble death: here it is!
فَكَيفَ اِصطِباري لِكَيدِ الحُقودِ … وَكَيفَ اِحتِمالي لِسومِ الأَذى
So how could I wait for the spiteful ones’ plot?
How could I endure the infliction of harm?
أَخَوفاً وَعِندي تَهونُ الحَياةُ … وَذُلّاً وَإِنّي لَرَبُّ الإِبا
Is it fear, when life is trifling to me?
Or dishonor, when I'm dignity's lord?
بِقَلبي سَأَرمي وُجوهَ العُداة … وَقَلبي حَديدٌ وَناري لَظى
With my heart I'll strike faces of foes—
My heart is steel, my flame blazing Hell!
وَأَحمي حِياضي بِحَدِّ الحُسامِ … فَيَعلَمُ قَومي بِأَنّي الفَتى
—And defend my precincts with the blade's edge—
So my people know: I’m their valiant!
Notes:
This poem was written when the poet, Abd al-Rahim Mahmoud was around 27 years old, before he set off for battle against the Zionists in 1948 in Palestine. The poem was published in Arabic and titled al-Shahid, meaning: The Martyr.
Abd al-Rahim Mahmoud came from a scholarly family from Anabta, near Tulkarm in Palestine. His father was a Hanbali graduate from al-Azhar, and his teacher in his youth was Ibrahim Tuqan, one of the most famous Palestinian poets. As such, he employs many ideas with roots in Islamic thought. He later attended a military academy in Iraq, and then returned to Palestine leading various battalions in battle, before his martyrdom in the Battle of al-Shajara near Tiberias. He was buried in Nazareth, as per his final wishes.
The life and death that both gladdens a friend and enrages the foe is martyrdom in battle. In Islam, martyrdom is seen as the highest possible achievement in the court of God, and the greatest life only begins in paradise post-martyrdom. This bliss subsequently enrages the enemy who seeks to quash the fighter seeking martyrdom, for the enemy loses either way. As some early Muslims put it: either victory, or paradise.
Death is therefore not seen as blameworthy, but it’s intimate and loving instead. Hence why I rendered the third line to say “consummating” instead of simply “attaining” death.
For line 3, a more literal translation would read “The soul of a noble one has but two ends: / Coming upon deaths and attaining his dream.” However, this doesn’t make much sense in English. The word al-muna (Ar: المُنى) could refer to a wish or aspiration; or it could most likely refer to the ultimate aspiration, in this context being death by martyrdom. Meanwhile al-manaya (Ar: المَنايا) is the plural of al-maniya (Ar: المنية) which means death. It is pluralized in Arabic to indicate each soul’s different occasions of death, and for emphasis.
"Utmost Wish" has been capitalized to refer to how a good death in Islam is seen as meeting God in the best way, for martyrdom is the ultimate aim only insofar as He is intended; and the martyr thus seeks it for His sake alone.
Furthermore, in Islam, it is said that the angel of death appears to the pious individual in a form that is most pleasing to them. This adds another dimension to the line reading as “embracing death” by highlighting the intimacy of death in such a noble state.
The Arabic of line 3 has been embroidered on the cloth that many resistance leaders and fighters in Palestine are shrouded in when they finally consummate death.
I have employed asyndeton (dropping the conjunction) on various lines, starting with line 3.
The word “untouch’d”, with the apostrophe replacing the “e”, is an archaic way of saying “inviolable”. Thus the speaker is essentially asking, “What’s life worth living if: 1) I’m not the fear of my enemies, and 2) my sanctities are not inviolable and untouchable? I’d rather be dead!”
While the oath la ‘ishta (Ar: لا عِشتَ) in the line is second person in Arabic, it can be read as a rhetoric address of the speaker to himself, hence why it is rendered as “may I not live!” in English.
The speaker is ardently desirous of martyrdom in specific, as indicated in the lines where he mentions hastening towards his death place, then explicitly stating that being slain is his goal in the next line.
The next several lines describe a scene of heroic martyrdom, starting with an expression of delight at its proximity (the swords clashing, blood flowing), and then zooming in to describe the fallen martyr in battle.
While “heaven’s lions” is a reference to birds of prey, the line could alternatively be read as a share of the martyr belonging to the angels. In Islamic tradition, the angel of death and his servants of the angels take the souls of the deceased upon death. Angels in Islamic lore are also powerful warriors, as understood in the testimonies of the Battles of Badr and Hunayn during the Prophet’s time (God bless him and give him peace). Furthermore, another reading could see the lions of heaven as the fallen comrades in battle before the martyr. In Arabic, to be called a lion is ennobling, indicating ferocity, chivalry, and valor.
While the “lions of earth” also refers to beasts of prey, it can also refer to comrades still fighting, for they fight like lions. Their share in their comrade’s martyrdom is his eternal life in paradise, which gladdens them, pushing them forward to keep fighting.
Where blood is described as both dye and fragrance, the allusion is to musk. Visually, fresh musk is crimson the way blood is, fitting the crimson description. Classically, poets often referred to musk as “gazelle’s blood”. Furthermore, there are traditions in Islam that explicitly note that the martyr’s blood will smell like musk on Resurrection Day.
The martyr slumbering with a smile, eternally dreaming with sweet visions, is the direct outcome of consummating death. The smile mocks this world, as it is seen as lesser than the hereafterly abode so heavily emphasised in Islamic tradition. The martyr is glad to be with his Lord in the hereafter, and is at peace even as he dies. There is an echo of the famous traditions indicating how martyrs will ask God to revive them so that they may be slain again in the same way, ten times, repeatedly.
The speaker then reiterates the hastiness and ardent desire for martyrdom, impatient to the plotting of his enemies and the scars of battle, before declaring how he will fight against every enemy and strike them in defense of his people and sanctities.
The entire poem resounds with Khalid ibn al-Walid’s famous cry before battle to his enemies: “We bring you men who love death as ardently as you love life.” Abd al-Rahim Mahmoud’s verse is the living echo of that same creed, the inheritance of Khalid ibn al-Walid’s spirit across centuries. And where Khalid lamented at the end of his life, saying, “I have faced countless hosts in battle, and there is not an inch of my body without the mark of a sword or the wound of an arrow. Yet here I am, dying upon my bed, a natural death, like a beast’s. May the eyes of cowards never sleep.” Abd al-Rahim’s martyrdom fulfilled that wish: he found on the battlefield what Khalid had yearned for.
الرُّومُ تَضْرِبُ فِي الْبِلَادِ وَتَغْنَمُ … وَالْجَوْرُ يَأْخُذُ مَا بَقِي وَالْمَغْرَمُ
The Romans strike the lands and take spoils,
While tyranny consumes what’s left, and tribute;
وَالْمَالُ يُورَدُ كُلَّهُ قَشْتَالَةً … وَالْجُنْدُ تُسْقَطُ وَالرَّعِيَّةُ تُسْلَمُ
And all the wealth is handed to Castille,
As soldiers fall and our people given off.
وَذَوُو التَّعَيُّنِ لَيْسَ فِيهِمْ مُسْلِمُ … إِلَّا مُعِينٌ فِي الْفَسَادِ مُسَلِّمُ
Of those in power there is not a Muslim,
Except an aide in corruption, surrendering!
أَسَفِي عَلَى تِلْكَ الْبِلَادِ وَأَهْلِهَا … اللهُ يَلْطُفُ بِالْجَمِيعِ وَيَرْحَمُ
Alas for those lands and their people;
May God be gentle to all, and have mercy.
Notes:
“Romans” here is used as a general term to refer to Christendom, even if the “Romans” were all the way in Constantinople. The Byzantines would call themselves Roman and be referred to as such until a century after the Conquest of Constantinople, when historians began to refer to the fallen empire as Byzantium to distinguish it from Rome’s Roman empire.
The poem was discovered in the poet’s pocket when he died, around 1224 AD (621 AH). At the time, the Almohads ruled Muslim Iberia, but were in rapid decline after the battle of al-‘Uqab / Las Navas de Tolosa in 1212 AD (609 AH).
At that point, tribute to Alfonso VIII and his successors and fellow Christian rulers was routine. Sultans were signing away entire fortresses and cities and large swaths of land, essentially giving away the Iberian Muslim people to the coalition. This would see the Muslims given away massacred or forcefully converted to Christianity. Princes and commanders would be allying with the Castillians and Aragonese against each other, while also disputing with the Berber rulers from Morocco.
This poem marks the beginning of the rapid decline of Muslim Iberia, with the Fall of Granada happening in 1492 AD (897 AH) happening at the hands of Ferdinand II of Aragon and his wife Isabelle I of Castille. After the fall, non-Christian civilians were either expelled, slaughtered, or forcefully converted. Funnily enough even the forceful conversion was unsatisfactory, as the Christianized descendants would be accused of “crypto-Islam” or “crypto-Judaism”, and then tortured and slaughtered again.
It’s said that these verses were brought to the sultan of the poet’s city. After the sultan cried, he said “By God, he has spoken the truth, God have mercy on him. If he were alive today, I’d strike his neck.”
عِشِ ابْقَ اسْمُ سُدْ قُدْ جُدْ مُرِ انْهَ رِفِ اسْرِ نَلْ … غِظِ ارْمِ صِبِ احْمِ اغْزُ اسْبِ رُعْ زَعْ دِلِ اثْنِ نُلْ
Live! Stay! Rise! Reign! Lead! Give! Rule! Halt! Soar! Ride! Gain!
Wrath! Cast! Strike! Guard! Raid! Chase! Scare! Shake! Spoil! Praise! Grant!
وَهٰذَا دُعَاءٌ لَوْ سَكَتُّ كُفِيتَهُ … لِأَنِّي سَأَلْتُ اللهَ فِيكَ وَقَدْ فَعَلْ
'Tis my prayer — if silent, it suffice;
For I have verily asked God for thee, and He hath done.
Notes:
This poem is, as are many of al-Mutanabbi's, in praise of Ali ibn Abd-Allah ibn Hamdan al-Taghlibi, better known as Sayf al-Dawla al-Hamadani.
Sayf al-Dawla was a major player for a time in the Arab-Byzantine wars. During his stay in Aleppo, al-Mutanabbi fought alongside Sayf al-Dawla and wrote poetry for the prince.
al-Mutanabbi here is encouraging Sayf al-Dawla to be a ruler that the Byzantines fear, and one that his people love. Unfortunately for both, after the poet left Aleppo, Sayf al-Dawla began losing battles and land, eventually dying of sickness and having lost a large chunk of southern Anatolia to the Byzantines.
The entire first line of the poem is composed of imperatives. One may think that al-Mutanabbi is commanding Sayf al-Dawla, but this is more like a military encouragement of sorts, known in Arabic poetry as ḥamāsah (Ar: حَمَاسَة), a literary genre of Arabic poetry that details military or chivalrous exploits (usually battles and wars).
I attempted a somewhat archaically-styled translation of the poem. Hence, "wrath" was used as a verb, and "suffice" was kept without an s as it otherwise should have as per modern grammar.
The entire first line is also a tongue twister. Try saying it (in Arabic) 3 times fast. The transliteration is as follows: ʿish ibqa-smu sud qud jud mur inha rif-isri nal ... ghiẓ irmi ṣib-iḥmighzusbi ruʿ zaʿ dil ithni nul. If you end up summoning a demon, the translator will not be held liable.
أذكُرُ يوماً كنتُ بِيافا
خَبّرنا خَبّر عن يافا
وشِراعي في مينا يافا
يا أيّام الصيد بيافا
نادانا البحرُ .. ويومٌ سحرُ
فهَيّأناهُ المِجذافا
نلمح في الخاطرِ أطيافا
عُدنا بالشوق إلى يافا
I remember a day when I was in Yafa.
"Tell us, O tell us of Yafa!"
When my sail was in the port of Yafa—
"O! Those days of fishing in Yafa!"
The sea called us forth one alluring day,
So we readied our course with oars in hand!
Seeing phantasmic visions our way,
We returned to Yafa with longing grand.
فَجراً أقلعنا .. زَنداً وشراعْ
في المطلق ضِعنا .. والشاطئُ ضاعْ
هل كان الصيدُ وفيرا؟
وغَنِمْنا منه كثيرا
قُل من صبحٍ لِمساءْ
نلهو بغيوب الماءْ
At dawn we set forth, with yard and sail.
In the vastness we got lost — and the shore gone!
Was the catch abundant?
We indeed reaped greatly of it.
Say, from true dawn until dusk,
We frolicked, playing in the water's depths.
لكن في الليل .. في الليل
جاءتنا الريح .. في الليل
يا عاصفةً هَوجاء .. وصَلَتْ ماءً بِسماءْ
عاصفةُ المطر الليلية .. قطعانُ ذئابٍ بَحْرِية
أنزلنا الصاري .. أمسكنا المجذافْ
نقسو ونُداري .. والموتُ بِنا طافْ
قاومنا الموجَ الغاضبْ .. قوَّضنا البحرَ الصاخبْ
وتشدُّ وتعنُفُ أيدينا ويشدّ يشدّ القاربْ
And yet, at night — yes, night!
The wind had come — at night!
O! What a tempest of darkness — raising waters above to the sky!
A night of rain like packs of sea wolves on the prowl!
We lowered our mast, we clutched our oar;
Braving the waves, as death circled round!
We fought the raging waves, we defied the roaring sea!
Our arms strained as they pulled our boat in its plight!
ويومها قالوا
إنَّنا ضائعون .. إنَّنا هالكون
في الأبد الباردْ
لكنَّنا عُدنا
عُدنا مع الصباح .. جئنا من الرياح
كما يجيءُ الماردْ
On that day they said,
"Truly, we are lost... Truly, we are doomed...
In the endless cold..."
Yet, we have returned,
We returned by the morn, gently with the breeze,
Like a wild spirit comes!
ودَخَلناها مِينا يافا
يا طِيبَ العَوْدِ إلى يافا
وملأنا الضِفَّة أصدافا
يا أحلى الأيام بِيافا
كُنّا والريحُ .. تهُبُّ تصيحُ
نقول سنرجعُ يا يافا
واليومَ الريحُ .. تهَبُّ تصيحُ
ونحن سنرجعُ يا يافا
وسنرجعُ نرجعُ يا يافا
وسنرجعُ نرجعُ يا يافا
And so we entered the port of Yafa—!
"O! How sweet's the return to Yafa!
And we filled the shore with our many seashells—
"O! How sweet were the days in Yafa!"
We were there with the wind, in its ancient howl,
Vowing, "We will return true, O Yafa!"
And even today in the wind's monsoon,
"We will return true, O Yafa!"
We shall return, and return to you, O Yafa!
Yes we shall return true, to you, O Yafa!
Lyrics (Arabic) sourced from Fairouziyat.
Listen to the song here, performed by Joseph Azar.
Notes:
Yafa is a metaphor for Palestine as a whole in this song, and getting lost at sea is a metaphor for the dispossession and mass exodus during the Nakba.
I was unsure whether the poet was Joseph Azar or the Rahbani Brothers Assi and Mansour Rahbani, but they all worked together on the song, with Azar being the vocalist and the Rahbani brothers setting the lyrics and meter.
The bits where I put quotation marks to indicate a speaker are inspired by the song's performance by Joseph Azar. Azar would sing, and the backup singers would sing the quoted line after while he pauses. This painted to me the image of a speaker addressing an audience, of whom are those dispossessed like him, and others whom are descendants or younger ones born too late to experience Yafa. Hence the prompt: "Tell us, O tell us of Yafa!"
Azar goes quiet and melancholic when he reaches the part "On that day they said, / 'Truly, we are lost... Truly we are doomed... / In the endless cold...'" This entire segment and the one before it, where he describes the raging sea at night, could be an allusion to the Nakba itself.
Alternatively, the metaphor of going out to fish could allude to how many Palestinian and Lebanese families left the middle east during the decline of the Ottoman empire before the Nakba for the US, Latin America, Europe, and other places, then remained settled in those places, seeking economic betterment. Many of these people grew wealthy; "Was the catch abundant? / We indeed reaped greatly of it." As such, the raging sea metaphor could indicate how difficult it was for the first immigrants to assimilate, and how even more difficult it was and still is for their descendants to return home and preserve their ethnic identities. The difficulty of return and identity preservation applies even to Palestinians in diaspora in the middle east such as in Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria, where many have assimilated and intermarried for generations since before and after the Nakba.
The Arabic word mārid (translated here as "wild spirit") usually refers to a rebellious type of disbelieving jinn (En: spirit. Sorta. Some use that translation, others don't) as per Arab folklore and Islamic tradition. This adds an extra layer of meaning to the lines on returning, because returning to Palestine despite the occupation is indeed an act of rebellion against the status quo (occupation).
The last few lines being a promise to Yafa that the speaker shall return is what indicates that the poem is post-Nakba, and that the whole song is to be read as a metaphor for leaving and longing to return.
أَلا كُلُّ ماشِيَةِ الخَيزَلى ... فِدا كُلُّ ماشِيَةِ الهَيذَبى
Ah, let every sway-gaited walk
Be ransomed for every firm-striding steed!
وَكُلِّ نَجاةٍ بُجاوِيَّةٍ ... خَنوفٍ وَما بِيَ حُسنُ المِشى
And every Bujāwī camel, gliding in measured pace—
It’s not their graceful walk that captivates me.
وَلَكِنَّهُنَّ حِبالُ الحَياةِ ... وَكَيدُ العُداةِ وَمَيطُ الأَذى
But rather they’re life’s lifelines indeed,
They thwart the foe and carry away all harm.
ضَرَبتُ بِها التيهَ ضَربَ القِمارِ ... إِمّا لِهَذا وَإِمّا لِذا
I traversed the wastes upon them a gambler:
Bet all on one cast—I either win or I lose.
إِذا فَزِعَت قَدَّمَتها الجِيادُ ... وَبيضُ السُيوفِ وَسُمرُ القَنا
When dread arose, I led them forth with steeds
And gleaming swords and spears of the darkest shaft.
فَمَرَّت بِنَخلٍ وَفي رَكبِها ... عَنِ العالَمينَ وَعَنهُ غِنى
They passed by Nakhl, our caravan in tow—
Needing no one, nor the world entire.
وَأَمسَت تُخَيِّرُنا بِالنِقابِ ... وادي المِياهِ وَوادي القُرى
Come eve by Naqab, they had us choose:
Wādī al-Miyāh or Wādī al-Qurā.
وَقُلنا لَها أَينَ أَرضُ العِراقِ ... فَقالَت وَنَحنُ بِتُربانَ ها
We asked them, “Wherefore lies the land of Iraq?”
And so they answered, “Here: we are in Turbān!”
وَهَبَّت بِحِسمى هُبوبَ الدَبورِ ... مُستَقبِلاتٍ مَهَبَّ الصَبا
They coursed through Ḥismā like western gales,
Heading toward the rising eastern breeze—
رَوامي الكِفافِ وَكِبدِ الوِهادِ ... وَجارِ البُوَيرَةِ وادِ الغَضى
Over the ridges and deep across the plains,
By Buwayrah’s slopes, the Valley Ghaḍā.
وَجابَت بُسَيطَةَ جَوبَ الرِداءِ ... بَينَ النَعامِ وَبَينَ المَها
They swept the broad expanse as a cloak might swirl,
Amid the ostriches and the stately oryx.
إِلى عُقدَةِ الجَوفِ حَتّى شَفَت ... بِماءِ الجُراوِيِّ بَعضَ الصَدى
Until they reached the heart of al-Jawf,
And slaked some thirst at al-Jurāwī’s spring.
وَلاحَ لَها صَوَرٌ وَالصَباحَ ... وَلاحَ الشَغورُ لَها وَالضُحى
And then Ṣawar loomed before them at daybreak;
Then Shaghūr shone clear in the morning blaze.
وَمَسّى الجُمَيعِيَّ دِئداؤُها ... وَغادى الأَضارِعَ ثُمَّ الدَنا
By eve they neared al-Jumay‘ī, pressing on;
By dawn, al-Aḍāri‘, then ad-Danā in turn.
فَيا لَكَ لَيلاً عَلى أَعكُشٍ ... أَحَمَّ البِلادِ خَفِيَّ الصُوى
Ah, what a night upon A‘kush—
A blistering land with hidden markers!
وَرَدنا الرُهَيمَةَ في جَوزِهِ ... وَباقيهِ أَكثَرُ مِمّا مَضى
We reached ar-Ruhaymah at the half mark,
Yet much more of it lay ahead than behind.
فَلَمّا أَنَخنا رَكَزنا الرِماحَ ... فَوقَ مَكارِمِنا وَالعُلا
So when we dismounted, we planted our spears
Above our lofty virtues and renown.
وَبِتنا نُقَبِّلُ أَسيافَنا ... وَنَمسَحُها مِن دِماءِ العِدا
And we spent the night kissing our swords,
Wiping the enemy’s blood clean from their blades—
لِتَعلَمَ مِصرُ وَمَن بِالعِراقِ ... وَمَن بِالعَواصِمِ أَنّي الفَتى
So that Egypt might know, and those in Iraq,
And all in their strongholds, that I am the man—
وَأَنّي وَفَيتُ وَأَنّي أَبَيتُ ... وَأَنّي عَتَوتُ عَلى مَن عَتا
That I stood by my word; that I refused to yield;
And that I subdued the arrogant who rose against me!
وَما كُلُّ مَن قالَ قَولاً وَفى ... وَلا كُلُّ مَن سيمَ خَسفاً أَبى
Not everyone who makes a promise keeps it,
Nor does every man threatened with disgrace defy.
وَلا بُدَّ لِلقَلبِ مِن آلَةٍ ... وَرَأيٍ يُصَدِّعُ صُمَّ الصَفا
For the heart needs its proper instrument:
A resolve that can shatter the hardest of stone;
وَمَن يَكُ قَلبٌ كَقَلبي لَهُ ... يَشُقُّ إِلى العِزِّ قَلبَ التَوى
And he who has a heart like mine
Splits adversity’s core to reach his honor.
وَكُلُّ طَريقٍ أَتاهُ الفَتى ... عَلى قَدَرِ الرِجلِ فيهِ الخُطا
And every road a young man travels upon
Is measured by the stride that he dares to take.
Notes:
After the mentioning of the camels in the first couple of lines, the "they" in the later lines refers to the camels. al-Mutanabbi, in the poem, addresses his camels when he asks "Wherefore lies the land of Iraq?", and he notes that they had him and his men choose between two valleys. Much of the poem details his escape from Egypt, with descriptions of various locales.
The rest of the poem includes much satire against the ruler of Ikhshidid Egypt, Abul-Misk Kafur, who was also a eunuch. I have omitted it since the content may not be pleasant for all readers (and because Tumblr refuses to process the post, whatever that means). The satire's context is al-Mutanabbi escaping Egypt when Kafur held the poet there, refusing to give him any political power, and having al-Mutanabbi write praise of the ruler. Given the political situation at the time, al-Mutanabbi believed himself in need of political power to enact change, so he lost respect for Kafur, and satirised him harsher than his satire to any other king or sultan.
أُحُبُّكِ يا لَيلى وَأُفرِطُ في حُبّي ... وَتُبدينَ لي هَجراً عَلى البُعدِ وَالقُربِ
I love you, O Layla, and I lavish my love upon you;
Yet you bestow upon me abandonment in both absence and intimacy.
وَأَهواكِ يا لَيلى هَوىً لَو تَنَسَّمَت ... نُفوسُ الوَرى أَدناهُ صِحنَ مِنَ الكَربِ
And I adore you, O Layla, with a passion so fierce,
Were it borne on the breeze, the souls below would wail in sorrow!
شَكَوتُ إِلَيها الشَوقُ سِرّاً وَجَهرَةً ... وَبُحتُ بِما أَلقاهُ مِن شِدَّةِ الحُبِّ
I confessed my yearning both in whispers and aloud;
And I revealed all that I had poured forth in love's intensity.
وَلَمّا رَأَيتُ الصَدَّ مِنها وَلَم تَكُن ... تَرِقُّ لِشَكواتي شَكَوتُ إِلى رَبّي
And when I beheld your rejection—which would not
Soothe my plaints—I turned, lamenting to my Lord:
إِذا كانَ قُربَ الدارِ يورِثُ حَسرَةً ... فَلا خَيرَ لِلصَبِّ المُتَيَّمِ في القُربِ
If the nearness of home begets only regret,
Then no solace is found in closeness for the lovesick!
Notes:
Qays is famously known as "Layla's Madman" (Ar: Majnun Layla) due to how maddened he was in love with Layla bint Mahdi, known more famously as Layla Al-'Amiriya.
Layla is known to have been madly in love with Qays in return, but forced to marry someone else due to the taboo in ancient Arabia that came with marrying one's daughter to a poet who expressed love for her before marriage.
وَمَالِي أَرَى وَجْهَ الْكُنافَةِ مُغْضَبًا … وَلَوْلَا رِضَاهَا لَمْ أُرِدْ رَمَضَانَهَا
Why do I see Kunafa's face so angry?
Were it not for her pleasure, I'd not desire her Ramadan.
عَجِبْتُ لَهَا مِنْ رِقَّةٍ كَيْفَ أَظْهَرَتْ … عَلَيَّ قَدْ صَدَّ عَنِّي جَنَاحَهَا
I marveled how tenderly she'd shown herself
To me—then rejected me from her side!
تُرَى اتَّهَمَتْنِي بِالْقَطايِفِ فَاغْتَدَتْ … تَصُدُّ اعْتِقادًا أَنَّ قَلْبِيَ خَانَهَا
I wonder—did she accuse me with Qatayef, then depart,
Pushing me away, thinking my heart has betrayed her?
وَقَدْ قَاطَعَتْنِي مَا سَمِعْتُ كَلَامَهَا ... لِأَنَّ لِسَانِي لَمْ يُخَاطِبْ لِسَانَهَا
And indeed she cuts me whence I hear her words;
Because my tongue hasn't yet spoken to hers.
Notes:
There are variations to the poem, some of which omit the last line; but otherwise all are to the same playful effect.
"Kunafa" (كُنافَة) in Arabic is a feminine word, thus I gendered the translation too, as it maintains the imagery.
In English, "kunafa" may have a number of transliterations. I went with the most accurate-sounding one, being "kunafa".
Kunafa has always been a staple food in Ramadan, eaten as a dessert primarily in Syria, Palestine, Lebanon, Jordan, Egypt, and Iraq.
تَعَلَّمْ فَلَيْسَ الْمَرْءُ يُولَدُ عَالِمًا ... وَلَيْسَ أَخُو عِلْمٍ كَمَنْ هُوَ جَاهِلُ
Learn! For one is not born knowledgeable;
Nor is a learned one alike he who is ignorant.
وَإِنَّ كَبِيرَ الْقَوْمِ لَا عِلْمَ عِنْدَهُ ... صَغِيرٌ إِذَا الْتَفَّتْ عَلَيْهِ الْجَحَافِلُ
Should the chieftan of a people possess no learning,
Belittled he is when armies gather on him.
وَإِنَّ صَغِيرَ الْقَوْمِ إِنْ كَانَ عَالِمًا ... كَبِيرٌ إِذَا رُدَّتْ إِلَيْهِ الْمَحَافِلُ
And the youngest of a people, if he is learned,
Stands ever great when assemblies turn to him.
أحنُّ إلى خبز أمي
وقهوة أُمي
ولمسة أُمي...
وتكبر فيَّ الطفولةُ
يوماً على صدر يومِ
وأعشَقُ عمرِي لأني
إذا مُتُّ،
أخجل من دمع أُمي!
I long for my mother’s bread,
And my mother’s coffee,
And my mother’s touch…
And childhood grows within me Day upon day, upon the chest of day.
I crave my life because—
If I die—
I’d be ashamed of my mother’s tears!
خذيني، إذا عدتُ يوماً
وشاحاً لهُدْبِكْ
وغطّي عظامي بعشب
تعمَّد من طهر كعبك
وشُدّي وثاقي...
بخصلة شعر...
بخيطٍ يلوَّح في ذيل ثوبك...
عساني أصيرُ إلهاً
إلهاً أصيرْ.
إذا ما لمستُ قرارة قلبك!
Take me, if I ever return,
As a shawl for your lashes;
Cover my bones with grass
Baptized by the purity of your footsteps.
Tighten my bonds…
With a lock of hair…
With a thread fluttering from your dress’s hem…
So that I may become a god—
A god I become,
Should I touch the depths of your heart!
ضعيني، إذا ما رجعتُ
وقوداً بتنّور ناركْ...
وحبل غسيل على سطح دارك
لأني فقدتُ الوقوف
بدون صلاة نهارك
هَرِمْتُ، فردّي نجوم الطفولة
حتى أُشارك
صغار العصافير
درب الرجوع...
لعُشِّ انتظارِك!
Place me, if I return,
As fuel for the flame in your oven…
Or as a clothesline on the roof of your house,
For I have lost the strength to stand
Without the prayer of your daylight.
I have grown old—so bring back the stars of childhood
That I might join
The little birds In their path home…
To the nest of your waiting!
Notes:
Although this poem could be read as a eulogy, it could also be read as a metaphor for the Nakba, where the "mother" in question is Palestine.
إِذا غامَرتَ في شَرَفٍ مَرومٍ ... فَلا تَقنَع بِما دونَ النُجومِ
If you venture for a desired honor,
Then stop at nothing short of the stars;
فَطَعمُ المَوتِ في أَمرٍ صَغيرٍ ... كَطَعمِ المَوتِ في أَمرٍ عَظيمِ
For death's taste in a small matter
Is as death's taste in a grand matter.
سَتَبكي شَجوَها فَرَسي وَمُهري ... صَفائِحُ دَمعُها ماءُ الجُسومِ
Your steed and blade shall weep in sorrow,
Their tears flowing as their bodies' blood flow.
قَرَبنَ النارَ ثُمَّ نَشَأنَ فيها ... كَما نَشَأَ العَذارى في النَعيمِ
They approached the fire, then rose anew;
As did paradise maidens in hereafterly bloom.
وَفارَقنَ الصَياقِلَ مُخلَصاتٍ ... وَأَيديها كَثيراتُ الكُلومِ
They parted ways with blades once-pure,
Their hands heavily scarred with langour.
يَرى الجُبَناءُ أَنَّ العَجزَ عَقلٌ ... وَتِلكَ خَديعَةُ الطَبعِ اللَئيمِ
Cowards will see their ineptitude as wise,
A deceit of their base nature disguised.
وَكُلُّ شَجاعَةٍ في المَرءِ تُغني ... وَلا مِثلَ الشَجاعَةِ في الحَكيمِ
And though every courage of a man will suffice,
There is none like the courage of the truly wise.
وَكَم مِن عائِبٍ قَولاً صَحيحاً ... وَآفَتُهُ مِنَ الفَهمِ السَقيمِ
So frequent do blamers blame words that are blameless,
Wrought not but from their own miserable brainlessness!
وَلَكِن تَأخُذُ الآذانُ مِنهُ ... عَلى قَدرِ القَرائِحِ وَالعُلومِ
Thus ears take in whatever is heard,
As per their intellect and knowledge retained.
أصابَكَ عشقٌ أم رُميتَ بأسهمِ … فما هذهِ إلا سجيّةُ مُغرَمِ
Have you been struck by love or pierced by arrows?
For this is naught but the nature of the enamored one.
أصابك سهم أم رُميتَ بنظرةٍ … فما هذه إلا خطيئةُ من رُمي
Were you struck by an arrow, or struck by a single glance?
For that, then, is but the fault of the casting one.
ألا فاسقِني كاساتِ راحٍ وغنِّ لي … بذِكرِ سُليمةَ والكمانِ ونغِّني
Now pour me wine chalices and sing to me
With the lute—of Sulayma—a beautiful melody!
فدَع عنكَ ليلى العامريةِ إنني … أغارُ عليها من فم المتكلمِ
Forgo Layla Al-'Amiriya, for I indeed
Go jealous of the lips speaking of her to me:
أغارُ عليها من أبيها وأمِها … إذا حدّثاها في الكلامِ المُغَمغَمِ
I envy her father and her mother over her;
Should they murmur to her ever quietly!
أغارُ عليها من أخيها وأختِها … ومن خُطوةِ المسواك إن دار في الفم
I envy her brother and sister over her;
And the dance of the miswak if it moves in that mouth of hers!
أغار على أعطافها من ثيابها … إذا ألبستها فوق جسم منْعم
I envy the clothes resting on her back,
That she adorns over a delicate body!
وأحسَدُ أقداحًا تقبّل ثغرها … إذا أوضعتها موضعَ اللثمِ في الفمِ
And I despise the chalices that she'd kiss,
Placing them on her lips, that drink she may!
على شاطيءِ الوادي نظرتُ حمامة … أطالتْ عليَّ حسرتي وتندُمي
By the riverbank - there I glimpsed a dove;
Prolonging my sighs and regrets so wistfully.
خذوا بدمي منها فإني قتيلها … ولا مقصدي إلا تجودُ وتنعَمي
Get from her my blood money, for I'm her slain;
Though I seek from her mercy and to bless me.
ولا تقتلوها إن ظفرتم بقتلها … ولكن سلوها كيف حلّ لها دمي
Do not execute her should you all capture her,
Rather ask what permits that my blood be spilt by her!
وقولوا لها يامنيةَ النفسِ إنني … قتيلُ الهوى والعشق لو كنتِ تعلمي
So tell her, "O Soul's Desire, indeed I am
Passionate love's slain victim, if you knew, only!"
ولا تحسبوا إني قُتلت بصارم … ولكن رمتني من رباها بأسهمِ
Think not that she slew me with a mighty sword;
Rather pierced me, did she, with arrows from above me!
لها حُكمَ لقمانٍ وصورةُ يوسفٍ … ونَغمةُ داودٍ وعفةُ مريم
She has Luqman's wisdom and Joseph's beauty,
And David's melody, and Mary's chastity -
ولي حزنُ يعقوبٍ ووحشةُ يونسٍ … وآلامُ أيوبٍ وحَسرةُ آدمِ
While Jacob's sorrow and Jonah's loneliness,
Job's pain, Adam's remorse are all for me.
Notes:
A miswak is a small branch from the Salvadora persica tree used by Muslims to clean the teeth and mouth.
Luqman is a figure attested to in the holy Quran and Prophetic Tradition as being a man gifted immense wisdom by God, though not a prophet.
In the Islamic tradition, it is said that Prophet Joseph was given immense beauty such that the women of Egypt would cut their own fingers off and not feel it due to how enamored they were.
In the Islamic tradition, King David is said to have sung the Psalms in a beautiful and melodious voice.
