Arabic & Persian
Abu al-Ala al-Ma'arri
Abu al-Ala al-Ma'arri (973–1057) was a blind poet, philosopher and sceptic born in Ma'arrat al-Nu'man in northern Syria. Blinded by smallpox in childhood, he studied in Aleppo and Antioch, spent a short period in Baghdad, and returned to his home town, where he lived for decades as a celebrated ascetic and teacher, a vegetarian who called himself a prisoner of three things: blindness, solitude and the body. His verse questions revelation, priestly authority and the claims of every rival creed, and he has often been called the Voltaire or Lucretius of the Arabs.
His two great collections are Saqt al-zand (Sparks of the Tinder) and the Luzum ma la yalzam (The Necessity of What Is Not Necessary), the latter known as the Luzumiyat. The poems here are from Ameen Rihani's 1918 English version, a free rendering in quatrains selected from those books; they follow the sense and spirit of the Arabic rather than its form, which is monorhymed and in a different metre.
Poems (230)
- The sable wings of Night pursuing day
- O my Companion, Night is passing fair
- Hark, in the minarets muazzens call
- And hear the others who with cymbals try
- Mohammed or Messiah! Hear thou me
- Come, let us with the naked Night now rest
- The Pleiads follow; and our Ethiop Queen
- The secret of the day and night is in
- But whether of dust or fire or foam, the glaive
- The Grave and Cradle, the untiring twain
- Ay, like the circles which the sun doth spin
- And what avails it then that Man be born
- And he the Messenger, who takes away
- But now the funeral is passing by
- With tombs and ruined temples groans the land
- Of Fate. Alas! and we shall follow soon
- And from the last days of Thamud and 'Ad
- Tread lightly, for the mighty that have been
- Many a grave embraces friend and foe
- The silken fibre of the fell Zakkum
- And still we weave, and still we are content
- Nor king nor slave the hungry Days will spare
- Then Jannat or Juhannam? From the height
- Or sleep--and shall it be eternal sleep
- Upon the threshing-floor of life I burn
- And like a spider's house or sparrow's nest
- So, too, the creeds of Man: the one prevails
- Seek not the Tavern of Belief, my friend
- By fearing whom I trust I find my way
- Or wilt thou commerce have with those who make
- Religion is a maiden veiled in prayer
- Why linger here, why turn another page
- Some day the weeping daughters of Hadil
- Of Ababil! I would the tale were true
- Methinks Allah divides me to complete
- And round the Well how oft my Soul doth grope
- Ah, many have I seen of those who fell
- The I in me standing upon the brink
- And she: "How long must I the burden bear
- But once when we were quarreling, the door
- One draught, more bitter than the Zakkum tree
- We reach a door and there the legend find
- How like a door the knowledge we attain
- Hither we come unknowing, hence we go
- Apply thy wit, O Brother, here and there
- And why so much ado, and wherefore lay
- I heard it whispered in the cryptic streets
- Another said: "The creeping worm hath shown
- And still another: "We are coins which fade
- And in the pottery the potter cried
- The Earth then spake: "My children silent be
- Now, I believe the Potter will essay
- With better skill he even will remould
- Sooth I have told the masters of the mart
- I muse, but in my musings I recall
- I laugh, but in my laughter-cup I pour
- I wheedle, too, even like my slave Zeidun
- But in the fatal coils, without intent
- And even the repentant sinner's tear
- Between the white and purple Words of Time
- How oft, when young, my brothers I would shun
- Now, mosques and churches--even a Kaaba Stone
- To humankind, O Brother, consecrate
- The tavern and the temple also shun
- "The wine's forbidden," say these honest folk
- Or in the house of lust. The priestly name
- For after she declaims upon the vows
- Carouse, ye sovereign lords! The wheel will roll
- And silent drink. The tumult of our mirth
- The Prophets, too, among us come to teach
- And though around the temple they should run
- Oh! let them in the marshes grope, or ride
- "What is thy faith and creed," they ask of me
- Swathe thee in wool, my Sufi friend, and go
- Ay! suddenly the mystic Hand will seal
- Among the crumbling ruins of the creeds
- Among us falsehood is proclaimed aloud
- And why in this dark Kingdom tribute pay
- Thy way unto the Sun the spaces through
- Hear ye who in the dust of ages creep
- Arise! for lo! the Laughter and the Weeping
- Evil and Virtue? Shadows on the street
- And thus the Sun will write and will efface
- For all my learning's but a veil, I guess
- And all my years, as vapid as my lay
- Allah, my sleep is woven through, it seems
- The subtle ways of Destiny I know
- I give and go, grim Destiny,--I play
- If my house-swallow, laboring with zest
- Thy life with guiltless life-blood do not stain
- Oh! cast my dust away from thee, and doff
- Behold! the Veil that hid thy soul is torn
- A prince of souls, 'tis sung in ancient lay
- But I was not. Oh! that the Fates decree
- "Thou shalt not kill!"--Thy words, O God, we heed
- Oh! that some one would but return to tell
- Once I have tried to string a few Pearl-seeds
- And in the palaces of wealth I found
- Thy wealth can shed no tears around thy bier
- For me thy silks and feathers have no charm
- The guiding hand of Allah I can see
- My life's the road on which I blindly speed
- O Rabbi, curse us not if we have been
- And like the dead of Ind I do not fear
- Now, at this end of Adam's line I stand
- Ay, thus thy children, though they sovereigns be
- And in the labyrinth both son and sire
- If miracles were wrought in ancient years
- Fan thou a lisping fire and it will leap
- The way of vice is open as the sky
- Whence come, O firmament, thy myriad lights
- Whence does the nettle get its bitter sting
- How many like us in the ages past
- Why try to con the book of earth and sky
- The Sultan, too, relinquishing his throne
- To clay the mighty Sultan must return
- Turned to a cup, who once the sword of state
- For this I say, Be watchful of the Cage
- Yea, kiss the rosy cheeks of new-born Day
- But I, the thrice-imprisoned, try to troll
- Howbeit, my inner vision heir shall be
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