If He Were Not a Star
ولو لَمْ يكن نجماً لما كانَ باظري وقد غبتُ عنهُ مُظلماً بعد نورِهِ
سـلامٌ على تلك المحاسنِ من شَجٍ تناءت بنعماه وطيبِ سرورِهِ
If he were not a star
I’d be unaware,
now he’s gone,
that I’m here floating in the black.
Do we wish peace
upon the lights
who leave us,
longing for the warmth of illumination?
Beggar
سار شعري لك عنّى زائراَ فأَعرْ سَمْعَ المعالى شِنْفَهُ
وكذاك الروضُ إذْ لم يَسْتطعْ زَورةً أَرْسَلَ عنه عَرْفَهُ
I sent my poem to visit you,
a beggar before majesty—
like scents affected from a garden:
Reaching, yet touchless.
Jamil & Buthaina
أزوركَ أم تزورُ فإنَّ قلبي إلى ما تشتهي أبداً يميلُ
فثَغري موردٌ عذبٌ زلالٌ وفَرْعُ ذُؤَابتي ظِلٌ ظَليلُ
وقد أَمَّلتُ أن تظما وتَضْحَى إذا وافى إليك بيَ المقِيلُ
فَعَجل بالجوابِ فما جميلٌ أنَاتُك عن بُثينةَ يا جميلُ
Come for me
or shall I come to you
for my inclination curls
toward whatever you prefer
So let me
be the recess to restore you
and my embrace be the branches
that melt you into shadow
I wish only
that my sacrifice stirs in you
a sough satisfying enough
to stifle any slander
Now give me
a lovely mouthed reply so I may elude
being the latest adulterous iteration
of Buthaina beholden to her Jamil
Again
ثنائي على تلكَ الثّنايا لأنّني أقول على علم وأنطق عن خُبْرِ
وأُنصفها لا أكذبُ الله إنّني رشفتُ بها ريقاً أرقَّ مِنَ الخمرِ
You come to come
again.
I know you know
these folds.
Tell me true, tell me
something.
I love sipping your words,
thinner than wine.
Undeserving
سـلامٌ يفتحُ في زهرةِ ال كمامَ ويُنْطِقُ وُرقَ الغصونْ
على بازح قد ثَوَى في الحَشا وإن كان تحرم منهُ الجفونْ
فـلا تحسبوا البُعدَ يُنسيكمُ فذلكَ والله ما لا يَكونْ
your peace opens me to phosphor,
to unmuzzle as yet unpronounced blooms
even in eyelids deprived of vision
or the dispossessed sheltering in the soil
forget distance, my ardor’s as undiminishing
as God’s to we, the undeserving
Translator’s Note:
Ḥafṣa bint al-Ḥājj ar-Rukūniyya was born around the year 530 AH (1135 CE) to a wealthy family in the city of Granada, which underwent substantive sociopolitical changes during her lifetime after the Almohad invasion that occurred when she was still a child. She famously initiated an affair with Abū Ja’far, a court poet also serving as secretary to the Almohad governor who unfortunately also fell in love with Ḥafṣa. According to legend, court politics and jealousies led Abū Ja’far to side with a rebellion that ended with his capture and execution. Before his death, he often sent Ḥafṣa customary love poems, to which she responded in varied tones (sometimes coy, sometimes passionate, sometimes cerebral), showcasing her famed range as a poet. She spent her last years, after leaving her homeland, in Marrakesh where she tutored young noblewomen. Although only around 60 lines of her poetry have survived to the present, Ḥafṣa (along with Wallāda bint al-Mustakfī and Nuzhawn bint al-Qilāʿī al-Ghirnātiyya) has long been acclaimed as one of the three greatest of women poets in the Andalusian tradition. Ḥafṣa’s remarkably enigmatic style not only has drawn scores of readers to her work but also has allowed for vastly different translating interpretations of her work over the centuries.
Ḥafṣa bint al-Ḥājj ar-Rukūniyya was a noblewoman from Granada known for her legendary love affair with a vizier that ended tragically when an envious ruled killed him. She later became a royal tutor in Marrakech for daughters of the Almohad dynasty. Only about 60 lines of her poetry have survived to the present.
Translator Will Pewitt teaches global literature at the University of North Florida and publishes in a variety of genres, from poetry and fiction to history and philosophy. More of his work can be found at WPewitt.com.
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