Stop Remember Weep
for the one I loved and the place we would meet
where the sands thin between al-Dakhool and Hawmal
Traces are still there at Toodih and Miqraa
woven by the north wind and the south wind
The morning she left
everyone saddled up by the acacia stand
while I cut bitter colocynth
My companions reined in their mounts
don’t be a baby they said to me
take it like a man etcetera
But tears are my medicine
so where in these ruins is a place I can cry
Weeping is what I do
before this it was Umm Huwayrith
before that it was Rabab her neighbor at Ma’sal
When they stood up musk breathed out
like an eastern breeze carrying the scent of cloves
So many fine days you had with them
but especially that day at Juljul
That was the day I butchered my camel for the virgins
they were very merry
loading shares into their saddles
They tossed the meat back and forth
and the fat was like unraveling strands of Damascene silk
Another day I went in to the howdah
it was Unizah’s howdah
Damn you she shrieked
Get down or I’m walking
Then she simpered as the swaying howdah
swayed us into each other’s arms
poet you’re chaffing my mount
please go down please
Keep riding I said
let go of the reins
don’t push me away from your musky fruit
You’re not the first one I’ve visited at dusk
while she was big bellied and nursing
whom I helped to forget the newborn hung with amulets
When he cried behind her she turned one half to suckle
but the other half
the one beneath me
stayed where it was
Another day in back of the dunes she refused me
and swore an oath she could not break
Enough my darling
if you’re going to cut the cords then do it
but do it gently
Were you wrong about me
my love for you is killing me
whatever you say is what my heart does
When your eyes well up arrows hit my heart
I am like a camel submitting to slaughter
One night I crept past her brothers’ tents
they would like to boast of killing me
and arrived at her chamber
The Pleiades flashed in the sky
like gemstones in a whirling kilt
I went in
she had taken off all her clothes
except her nightgown
So I took her out for a walk
and she dragged a heavy skirt behind us
erasing our prints
We left her people’s camp
and headed for the open desert
dim hollows and twisting sands
I pulled her down by her sidelocks
she bent over me
slim hips and big ankles
She is lean and blazingly white
taut-bellied
her breasts shine like a mirror
She turns and shows a smooth cheek
a wary eye
this mother gazelle at Wajra
A shock of hair black as burnt wood
thick and clustered
like a date palm heavy with fruit
She puts it up but it is still a wilderness
some in braids some combed straight
A thin waist like the nose halter I put on my camel
plump thighs like stalks of watered papyrus
She stretches out her fingers
trimmed of meat like sandworms
or tamarisk toothpicks
At dusk she lights up the darkness
radiant as a lone monk’s lantern
Love’s enemies spoke against you
but I turned away from their counsels
Men put away the passions of youth
but my heart still rages for you
When the night stretched out
raising its rump and pushing forth its chest
I spoke to it
O you long long night
I want more light
a dawn without love is darkness on darkness
What a night
as if its stars were anchored by ropes to Mount Yadhbul
As if the constellations
suspended
were harnessed to hard stones
In the early mornings
with the birds still in their aeries
I leapt on my short-haired thoroughbred
faster than any beast in the desert
Revving up
rushing down
reversing and racing
speed in the form of an avalanche
A red charger
saddle slipping from his back
running like smooth stones loosed in a downpour
He is feverishly thin
and his neigh is the snorting of a kettle about to blow
He has the flanks of a gazelle
the legs of an ostrich
the easy lope of a wolf
a fox’s pounce
On any hunt the blood of the fastest prey
stains his white chest like henna
We approached a herd of wild oxen
the ewes were like virgins
circling the idol of Dawaar in long trailing robes
He ran down a bull
he ran down a ewe
he did not
break a sweat
While he stood still in his saddle and reins
my admiring eye would not stand still
Look at him
your glance is never at rest
passing from perfection to perfection
My friend look at the lightning
a pair of hands flickering
among the banked-up clouds
Its flash lights up
like a hermit’s lamp when the oil tilts toward the wick
I watched it coming from Daarij and al-Udhayb
I gauged its distance
it was still far far away
There was so much rain
it fell to the right over Qatan
it fell to the left over al-Sitaar
it even fell over Yadhbul
The water began running over Kutayfa
slamming the Kanahbul trees’ faces to the ground
It passed over Mount Qanan
sluicing the mountain goats from their mountain
It passed over Tayma’
uprooting the date palms and smashing roofed houses
leaving only those built with stone
It was as if Mount Thabeer
under the storm’s first showers
was an old man wrapped in a woolen cloak
In the early mornings the summits of Mujaymir
wreathed with flood-scum
were like the whirl of a spindle
The great rains made the dead earth
a Yemeni trader’s rainbow display
It was as if the songbirds singing in their hollows
had drunk the first pressings of spiced wine
Or as if the legs of desert fauna
drowned at the furthest flood-reaches
sticking up straight toward the sky
were the waving green tops of wild onions
Background
According to the Library of Congress, long, traditional Arabic poetry known as the Muallaqaat (The Suspended Ode) were written during the time before Islam. They received this moniker because it was said that Arab critics of the time hung them on the Kaaba in Mecca, a sacred site for Arabian tribes before Islam, as a mark of respect for their grandeur and to establish the bar for all subsequent Arabic poetry. They often begin with a moment of silence observed by the lover and his companions to remember the remains of his lady's former tent. The poet then continues to depict other facets of Bedouin culture, such as camels, the scenery, and animals, as well as honor, bravery, conflict, and peace. It is generally accepted that there are between seven and ten of these poems, while the precise number and which ones are genuine muallaqaat are still up for debate.
Author
Imru al-Qays, an Arab poet who passed away around 500, was hailed as the greatest pre-Islamic poet by the Prophet Muhammad, Al, the fourth caliph, and Arab critics from the illustrious Basra school. One of the seven odes in the renowned book of pre-Islamic poetry known as Al-Mu'allaqat is written by him.
Although there is disagreement on his ancestry, the most popular legend names Imru al-Qays as the youngest child of Ujr, the final king of Kindah. Due to his love of penning sensual poetry, he was twice exiled from his father's court and took on the life of a wanderer.
Unsatisfied after successfully attacking and defeating the Ban Asad, he futilely sought assistance from other tribes. Imru al-Qays met the Byzantine emperor Justinian I through King al-rith of Ghassn in northern Arabia, who agreed to provide him with the forces he required to retake his kingdom. According to legend, the emperor gave him a poisoned cloak upon his return to Arabia, which resulted in his demise at Ancyra (modern Ankara). (Source from britannica.com)
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