Arabic Poetry
Arabic poetry is not merely a transient expression; it represents a realm of its own. Through it, individuals convey their emotions, painting them with words as if one is living the very moment. It stands as a source of inspiration, a beacon of hope, profound wisdom, and commendable ethics. This form of artistry resonates as musical notes that delight the ears and stir the heart, remaining harmonious without faltering or becoming tiresome. This is the Arabic poetry we take pride in, and although it may bear some imperfections, its pure essence remains untarnished.
She Threw the Heart of a Beautiful Maiden
This poem is attributed to the renowned poet, Antarah ibn Shaddad (525-608 AD), one of the most illustrious poets of the pre-Islamic era. He is celebrated for his chivalric verses and is notably recognized for his famous Mu’allaqa. Antarah was not only a knight of unmatched prowess but also a master of eloquence, with a penchant for portraying tender love in his poetry dedicated to Abla. One of his notable poems includes:
She threw the heart of a beautiful maiden,
With arrows from glances, for which there is no remedy.
The time of festivity passed among the lovely ones,
Like the sun, for their gazes are doe-like.
A malady seized me from what lies within,
Concealed, yet the concealment betrayed me.
She passed by, and I said, “A slender branch, she stirred,
Bending southward, after the winds of spring.”
She gazed, and I said, “A frightened doe,
Startled in the wilderness by a calamity.”
And she appeared, and I said, “The full moon of its night,
It has adorned itself with the stars in the evening sky.”
She smiled, and the light of her pearlescent mouth,
Holds the cure for the ailments of the lovers.
Greed and Avarice Have Humiliated Many
This poem is penned by Abu Ishaq, famously known as Abu al-Attahiyah, a prolific poet known for his rapid mental agility. His creativity was remarkable, composing up to a hundred or a hundred and fifty lines a day, making it nearly impossible to encompass all his works. He belongs to the generation of poets like Bashar and Abu Nuwas. Imam Yusuf ibn Abdallah ibn Abd al-Barr al-Namri al-Qurtubi compiled the wisdom and ethical poetry of Abu al-Attahiyah, including this notable piece:
Greed and avarice have humiliated many,
Yet the noble may forgive, if they doubt.
When the truth is clear, do not forsake it,
For you seldom taste what is right.
You will find it lies cool upon the palate,
Like cool water when it is clear and pure.
A judge is not one who does not care,
Whether they have erred in judgement or not.
Every summary has its face,
And every issue has an answer.
Every occurrence has its appointed time;
And every laborer shall have reckoning.
Each guardian has its limit,
And every one with a deadline has their scroll.
Every safety measures the inevitability of mortality;
Every construction is preparing for ruin.
All that is owned will one day transition,
And all that is grasped will ultimately be soil.
The eyes of every seemingly calm one,
Will inevitably sway, and transform.
As if life’s beauties were mirage,
And which hand can seize the illusion?
And if fate hastens something,
To delight you, it ultimately departs.
O the wonder! You die, yet you build,
And pursue the luxuries and grandeur.
Have you not seen, whenever you open a door,
A new doorway opens, revealing challenges?
Did you not see that with every dawn,
You draw closer to your inevitable end?
Indeed, he who is certain of death should not,
Delight himself in food or drink.
For what you see is a glorious dominion,
Testified by its occurrences, in brutal fashion.
Is not Allah near to all,
Indeed, wherever the plea is uttered, He answers.
You have never seen anyone asking Allah and being denied,
Nor have you seen anyone depending on Him who has failed.
I saw the soul poverty of life, when
You understood joy merely as hardship.
You cannot conquer appetites until
You count patience and accountability.
For every calamity that is severe and exalted,
Will ease when you hope for its reward.
We have grown, O companions, until,
It seems we have never been youthful.
We were like the branches, when they bend,
From the fragrant blooms, withheld from moisture.
So how long will we yearn for a dwelling,
Where we saw autonomy and plunder?
What has the elderly to do with youth,
When any adult deceived, young again arises?
I sought refuge in the caress of gray hairs,
While its advance revealed the dye.
You departed youth without returning,
So with Allah, I wait on youth’s loss.
And there is no ultimate goal but death,
For whom the youth was created and aged.
I Love You Until the Sky Rises Slightly
Nizar Qabbani is one of the most famous Arab poets known for his romantic poetry, often referred to as “the poet of women.” He was born in Damascus in 1923. Nizar’s early poetry was not romantic but rather traditional, later evolving into a modern era that left a significant mark on contemporary poetry. This poem stands as one of his most celebrated romantic works:
Do you doubt you are the most beautiful woman in the world?
And the most important woman in the world?
Do you doubt that when I stumbled upon you,
I possessed the keys to the universe?
Do you doubt that your entrance into my heart
Is the greatest day in history?
And the most beautiful news in the world?
Do you doubt who you are,
O one who occupies time with your eyes?
O woman who breaks the sound barrier when you pass?
I do not know what is happening to me,
For it seems you are my first feminine.
And before you, I do not recall loving,
Nor did I experience love or kiss before you.
You are my rebirth, and before your tenderness,
I do not remember living.
And it seems, O queen,
From your womb, I emerged like a fledgling.
Do you doubt you are part of my essence?
And that I stole fire from your eyes?
And ignited my most perilous revolts?
O rose, ruby, and myrrh,
And the sovereign,
And legitimate among all queens?
O fish swimming in the waters of my life,
O moon that rises every evening from the window of words,
O greatest opening amongst all my triumphs,
O last homeland I was born in,
And where I will die,
And where I will share my writings.
O woman of wonder, O my wife,
I know not how the waves cast me at your feet,
I know not how I walked toward you,
And how you walked toward me.
Do Not Wear the World, For Its Garb
This poem is written by Ahmad ibn Abd Allah ibn Sulayman al-Tanukhi, known as al-Ma’arri, a poet and philosopher. Al-Ma’arri consistently employed a direct style, avoiding allegory or imagery, aiming for his message to resonate across all societal levels to perhaps mitigate their overwhelming attachment to worldly pursuits. This poem portrays that notion:
Do not wear the world, for its garb is decay,
And it strips the body of its clothing.
I am afraid of its evil, anticipating
its despondency, not drinking from its cups.
Let the soul perform kindness, for it is,
Better and more commendable, not for its reward.
In its home, the rule is steadfast,
So visit the people’s homes through their doors.
And the contradictory leaders affirm, swearing
That the companions have not found their right.
And if the thieves of the land confound a ruler,
They place the inquiry before their repenter.
A wilderness embraced wealth, but found it,
A crowd, and veils of concealment from its travelers.
God has sheltered humankind with it, yet none found
Home with its companions, nor have they repented.
A Lover from Palestine
The poet Mahmoud Darwish (March 13, 1941 – August 9, 2008), is one of the most significant Palestinian and Arab poets associated with the poetry of resistance and homeland. He is regarded as a prominent contributor to the development of modern Arabic poetry and the incorporation of symbolism within it. In Darwish’s work, love intertwines with national feelings, and one of his most beautiful revolutionary poems expressing his love for Palestine is as follows:
Your eyes are thorns in my heart,
They pain me, and I worship them,
And shield them from the winds,
And bury them behind the night and the pains, I bury them.
Igniting the wound with the light of lamps,
And my present is dearer than my soul.
After a moment in the gaze of eye to eye,
I forget that we were once behind the door, two.
Your words were a song,
And I struggled to sing,
Yet the misfortune surrounded the springtime compassion.
Your words flew like a swallow from my home,
So the gate of our home surrounded by autumn.
Behind you, where longing commanded,
Our mirrors shattered;
Sadness became two thousand.
We gathered the shards of sound,
We mastered only the dirge of the homeland.
We shall remove it together from the chest of the guitar,
And upon the rooftops of our plight, we shall play it,
For distorted moons and stones.
But I forgot, forgotten, O unknown voice,
Did your departure rust the guitar or my silence?
I saw you yesterday in the port,
Traveling without family, without provisions,
I ran to you like orphans,
Asking the wisdom of the ancestors.
Why does the green citrus tree pull away
To prison, exile, or a port,
And despite its journey,
And the scents of salt and longing,
It always remains green?
And I write in my notebook,
I love oranges and hate the port,
And I add in my notebook,
At the port,
I stood, and the world was the eyes of winter,
And the orange peel is for us, and behind me was the desert.
I saw you in the mountains of thorns,
A shepherd without sheep,
Pursued, and among the ruins,
And you were my garden, while I was a stranger.
I knock on the door, O my heart,
Upon my heart,
The door, the window, and the concrete, and the stones arise.
I saw you in the vessels of water and wheat,
Shattered, I saw you in the cafes of the night, serving,
I saw you in the rays of tears and wounds,
And you are the other lung within my chest.
You are you, the voice upon my lips,
And you are the water, you are the fire.
I saw you at the cave’s entrance, at the home,
Hanging on the washing line your orphans’ clothes,
I saw you in the hearths, in the streets,
In the blood of the sun,
I saw you in the songs of orphanhood and misery,
I saw you, filled with the salt of the sea and sand,
And you were as beautiful as the earth, as children, as jasmine.
And I swear,
From the lashes of the eye, I will sew a handkerchief,
And etch your name upon it,
When I water it, a heart melts in tune.
It extends the vines of the thicket,
I will write a line dearer than martyrs and kisses,
Palestinian it was and remains.
Opened the door and window in the nights of storms,
To a moon solidified in our nights,
And I said to my night, “Play your role,
Behind the night and the wall,
For I have an appointment with words and light.”
And you are my virgin garden,
As long as our songs
Are swords when we unsheathe them,
And you remain faithful like wheat,
As long as our songs
Are the seeds when we plant them,
And you are a palm tree in consciousness,
Unbroken by the tempest or the woodcutter.
And her braids were never cut,
By wilderness beasts or thickets.
But I am the exile behind the wall and the door.
Take me beneath your eyes,
Take me wherever you are,
Take me however you are,
Restore the hue of my face and body,
The light of the heart and eye,
The salt of the bread, the melody,
The taste of the earth and homeland.
Take me beneath your eyes,
Take me as an oil painting in a shed of regrets,
Take me as a verse from the narrative of my tragedy,
Take me as a stone from home,
For future generations to remember
Our paths home,
Palestinian in eyes and tattoos,
Palestinian in name,
Palestinian in dreams and concerns,
Palestinian in the handkerchief, the feet, and the body,
Palestinian in words and silence,
Palestinian in voice,
Palestinian in birth and death.
I carried you in my old notebooks,
The fire of my poems,
I carried you as the provisions of my travels,
And in your name, I cried out in the valleys.
The horses of Rome I recognize,
And if the battlefield changes,
Be cautious,
Of the thunder that my song struck upon the flint.
I am the beauty of youth and the knight of knights,
I and the shatterer of idols.
I plant the borders of the Levant,
With poems that launch eagles,
And in your name, I cried out to the enemies.
Devour my flesh if I slumber, O maggots,
For the ant’s egg does not produce eagles.
And the snake’s egg…
Hides its shell from a serpent!
I recognize the horses of Rome,
And I know before them that I
Am the beauty of youth and the knight of knights.