Natan Alterman: Moon (From Hebrew)

Moon
Nathan Alterman
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Even an old landscape has a moment of its birth.
The strange, impregnable 
And birdless skies. 
Under your window, moonlit on the earth,
Your city bathes in cricket-cries.

But when you see the path still looks afar
To wanderers, and the moon
Rests on a cypress spear,
You ask in wonder "Lord! Are all of these still here?
Can I not ask in whispers how they are?"

The waters look at us from their lagoons.
The tree in red of earrings 
Stays a silent tree.
Never, my God, shall Thy huge playthings' sorrow 
Be rooted out of me.

The Original:

יָרֵחַ
נתן אלתרמן

גַּם לְמַרְאֶה נוֹשָׁן יֵשׁ רֶגַע שֶׁל הֻלֶּדֶת.
שָׁמַיִם בְּלִי צִפּוֹר
זָרִים וּמְבֻצָּרִים.
בַּלַּיְלָה הַסָּהוּר מוּל חַלּוֹנְךָ עוֹמֶדֶת
עִיר טְבוּלָה בִּבְכִי הַצִּרְצָרִים.

וּבִרְאוֹתְךָ כִּי דֶּרֶךְ עוֹד צוֹפָה אֶל הֵלֶךְ
וְהַיָּרֵחַ
עַל כִּידוֹן הַבְּרוֹשׁ
אַתָּה אוֹמֵר- אֵלִי, הַעוֹד יֶשְׁנָם כָּל אֵלֶּה?
הַעוֹד מֻתָּר בְּלַחַשׁ בִּשְׁלוֹמָם לִדְרֹשׁ?

מֵאַגְמֵיהֶם הַמַּיִם נִבָּטִים אֵלֵינוּ.
שׁוֹקֵט הָעֵץ
בְּאֹדֶם עֲגִילִים.
לָעַד לֹא תֵעָקֵר מִמֶּנִּי, אֱלֹהֵינוּ,
תּוּגַת צַעֲצוּעֶיךָ הַגְּדוֹלִים.

Al-Muhalhil: Vengeance at Dawn (From Arabic)

This post's guest of honor is ˁAdī bin Rabīˁa of Taghlib, commonly known as Al-Muhalhil "The Verse-weaver." Born presumably at the very end of the 5th century, he is among the earliest Pre-Islamic Arabian poets to whom any surviving verse of substantive length is attributed. He is chiefly known for poems dealing with the Basūs War, in which a 40-year feud between the tribes of Taghlib and Bakr was supposedly ignited when his brother Kulayb was killed for slaughtering another tribe's stray camel.

Vengeance at Dawn
By Al-Muhalhil of Taghlib
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Long was my night of wake at Anˁamayn  
 While sleepless at the ceaseless stars I gazed.
How can I age in life while a slain man  
 Of Taghlib still calls for a man to slay?
Oh chide the eyes for tears shed over ruins. 
 In the breast a wound is torn over Kulayb.
In the breast there is a need unsatisfied   
 So long as doves among the branches wail.
How can he ever weep over ruined things 
 Who is pledged to war with men in every age?
How can I forget you Kulayb when I've not quelled 
 The sorrow whelming me, the bloodparched rage?
My heart today make good your bloodwit vow 
 When they ride out at dawn retaliate.
They fetch their bows and we flash lightning bolts 
  As stallions threatening their stallion prey.
We steel ourselves beneath their flashing steel 
 Till they fall pounded by our long hard blades
And can keep up no more. We keep attacking  
 For the man who keeps the field is war's true mate.

Audio of me reading this poem in Arabic


The Original:


باتَ لَيلي بالأَنْعَمَين طَويلا  أَرْقُبُ النَجْمَ ساهِراً لَنْ يَزولا
كَيف أٌمدي ولَا يزالُ قتيلٌ مِن بَني وائلٍ يُنادي قتيلا
أُزْجُرِ الْعَينَ أَنْ تُبَكِّي الطُلولا إِنَّ في الصَدْرِ مِنْ كُلَيبٍ فَليلا
إِنَّ في الصَدْرِ حاجةً لَنْ تُقَضَّى ما دَعا في الغُصونِ داعٍ هَديلا
كَيفَ يَبْكي الطُلولَ مَن هو رَهْنٌ بِطِعانِ الأنامِ جيلا فَجِيلا
كَيف أَنساكَ يا كلَيبُ  ولمّا أقضِ حُزناً ينوبُني وغَليلا
أيُّها القَلبُ أَنْجِزِ اليومَ نَحْباً مِن بني الحِصْنِ إذ غَدوا وذُحولا
انتَضَوا مَعْجِسَ القِسي وأَبْرَقْـنا كَما تُوعِد الفُحولُ الفُحولا
وصَبَرْنا تَحتَ البوارِقِ حتَّى دَكْدَكَتْ فيهِمِ السُيوفُ طَويلا
لم يُطيقوا أنْ يَنْزِلوا ونَزَلْنا وَأَخو الحَربِ مَن أَطاقَ النُزولا 


Romanization:

Bāta laylī bi-l-'Anˁamayni ṭawīlā arqubu l-najma sāhiran lan yazūlā
Kayfa umdī wa-lā yazālu qatīlun min Banī Wā'ilin yunādī qatīlā
Uzjuri l-ˁayna an tubakkī l-ṭulūlā inna fī l-ṣadri min Kulaybin falīlā
Inna fī l-ṣadri ḥājatan lan tuqaḍḍā mā daˁā fī l-ġuṣūni dāˁin hadīlā
Kayfa yabkī l-ṭulūla man huwa rahnun bi-ṭiˁāni l-'anāmi jīlan fa-jīlā
Kayfa ansāka yā Kulaybu wa-lammā aqḍi ḥuznan yanūbunī wa-ġalīlā
Ayyuhā l-qalbu anjizi l-yawma naḥban min Banī l-Ḥiṣni iḏ ġadaw wa-ḏuḥūlā
Intaḍaw maˁjisa l-qisiyyi wa-'abraqnā kamā tūˁidu l-fuḥūlu l-fuḥūlā
Wa-ṣabarnā taḥta l-bawāriqi ḥattā dakdakat fīhimi l-suyūfu ṭawīlā
Lam yuṭīqū an yanzilū wa-nazalnā wa-'aḫū l-ḥarbi man aṭāqa l-nuzūlā

Imru' al-Qays: From the Muˁallaqa: The Thunderstorm (From Arabic)

My translation of the finale of the famous Mu'allaqa attributed to Imru'l Qays. A terrific thunderstorm rages over the mountains on the northern edge of the Najd. The scene is imagined over so vast an area that it must be poetic fiction. (As the medieval commentators note:  Sitār, Yaḏbul and Qaṭan cannot possibly all be seen from the same place.) I include a recording in a reconstruction of how literary Arabic may have been prounced in the late Umayyad period (largely based on phonetic descriptions from early grammarians). For more on that see my discussion after.

From the Muˁallaqa: A Mountain Storm
Attributed to Imru' al-Qays
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Do you see lightning, friend? Look there: its flash
forks through the cumulus like fingers, quick
to shed its distant light; there: like the lit
lamp of a monk who tilts oil on the wick.
I sat to watch it with my friends, between
Ḍārij and Al-ˁUdhayb. Oh I gazed far
enough to see the storm raise its right arm
on Mount Qaṭan, its left on Al-Sitār,
and dump its rainload round Kutayfa, slamming
trees' faces to the ground as it went wide.
Its shower bucked on over Mount Qanān
sluicing the mountain goats off every side.
It left no palm-trunk standing at Taymā
nor building built of anything but rock. 
Tall Mount Thabīr stood in its water-onslaught
like a tribe's chieftain in a stripelined cloak.
At dawn, debris on Al-Mujaymir's peaks
lay strewn like spun wool on a spindle-tip.
The storm had left its load upon the desert
like goods a merchant loosens from his hip.
That morning, finches noised about the dales
as if blind drunk on pepper-fiery wine.
That evening, raptors lay drowned at its edge
like ripped-out squills that freakishly entwine.

The Original:


أصَاحِ تَرَِى بَرْقاً أُرِيْكَ وَمِيضَـهُ    كَلَمْـعِ اليَدَيْنِ فِي حَبِيٍّ مُكَلَّـلِ

يُضِيءُ سَنَاهُ أَوْ مَصَابِيْحُ رَاهِـبٍ    أهَانَ السَّلِيْـطَ بِالذُّبَالِ المُفَتَّـلِ

قَعَدْتُ لَهُ وصُحْبَتِي بَيْنَ ضَـارِجٍ    وبَيْنَ العـُذَيْبِ بُعْدَمَا مُتَأَمَّـلِ

عَلَا قَطَنا بِالشَّيْمِ أَيْمَنُ صَوْبِـهِ       وَأَيْسَـرُهُ عَلَى السِّتَارِ فَيَذْبُـلِ

فَأَضْحَى يَسُحُّ المَاءَ حَوْلَ كُتَيْفَةٍ     يَكُبُّ عَلَى الأذْقَانِ دَوْحَ الكَنَهْبَلِ

ومَـرَّ عَلَى القَنَـانِ مِنْ نَفَيَانِـهِ        فَأَنْزَلَ مِنْهُ العُصْمَ مِنْ كُلِّ مَنْـزِلِ

وتَيْمَاءَ لَمْ يَتْرُكْ بِهَا جِذْعَ نَخْلَـةٍ     وَلاَ أٌجُماً إِلاَّ مَشِيْداً بِجِنْـدَلِ

كَأَنَّ ثَبِيْـراً فِي عَرَانِيْـنِ وَبْلِـهِ       كَبِيْـرُ أُنَاسٍ فِي بِجَـادٍ مُزَمَّـلِ

كَأَنَّ ذُرَى رَأْسِ المُجَيْمِرِ غُـدْوَةً    مِنَ السَّيْلِ وَالأَغثَاءِ فَلْكَةُ مِغْـزَلِ

وأَلْقَى بِصَحْـرَاءِ الغَبيْطِ بَعَاعَـهُ    نُزُوْلَ اليَمَانِي ذِي العِيَابِ المُحَمَّلِ

كَأَنَّ مَكَـاكِيَّ الجِـوَاءِ غُدَّبَـةً         صُبِحْنَ سُلافاً مِنْ رَحيقٍ مُفَلْفَـلِ

كَأَنَّ السِّبَـاعَ فِيْهِ غَرْقَى عَشِيَّـةً     بِأَرْجَائِهِ القُصْوَى أَنَابِيْشُ عُنْصُـلِ
Note:

The Arabic of my audio recording is in what I choose to call "Early Classical Arabic" pronunciation. To put it grandiosely, it is a kind of Arabic that hasn't been heard for over a thousand years. To put it plainly, it is a speculative reconstruction of the kind of Arabic pronunciation the grammarian Sibawayh might have used, based on his description of Arabic speech-sounds, and augmented with some inference based on typology. The main differences from textbook Classical Arabic as it is taught and learned today are as follows:

The ج was /ɟ/ (not /dʒ/)
The ش was /ɕ/ (not /ʃ/) 
The ص was (for an indeterminate number of speakers including Sibawayh) an affricate /t͡sˤ/ rather than the fricative /sˁ/.  (For reasoning behind this reconstruction see this article by Ahmad Al-Jallad).
The ض was a pharyngealized lateral, probably /ɮˤ/ or /d͡ɮˤ/ (the modern /dˁ/ pronunciation is much more recent)
The ت and ك appear to have been quite strongly aspirated /kʰ tʰ/. 
In addition to the familiar three vowels /a: i: u:/ there existed /e:/ for many speakers (and, more marginally, /o:/ for some.) 
The vowel /a:/ was optionally raised to [e:] due to i-mutation under a complex of different circumstances, partially neutralizing the contrast between /a:/ and phonemic /e:/ and giving the realizations of /a:/ a range and distribution not commonly heard in modern elevated poetic recitations. 

Although I render ش as alveolo-palatal /ɕ/, full disclosure requires noting that another possibility would be a true palatal non-sibilant /ç/, which is what many (perhaps most) posit based on a strict interpretation of Sibawayhi's statement. Now, Sibawayhi, who doesn't get enough credit as a phonetician, could probably have distinguished palatal from alveolo-palatal articulation. But whether he would have cared to is a different question. Although he groups ي ش ج at the same place of articulation, it is only ش which causes assimilation of the definite article. Thus there was something about šīn that made it pattern, for assimilation purposes, with the coronals rather than the dorsals. The most straightforward interpretation would be that this is because šīn was indeed a sibilant. Sibilants as an articulatory class involve a centerline grooved tongue focusing the airstream such that it strikes the teeth. Whereas non-sibilant fricatives do not involve the teeth as a secondary articulator. Sibilants, probably because of the need to involve the teeth, are always coronal. Alveolo-palatal articulation sits uneasily in a no-man's land between the dorsal and coronals, and is as far back as you can go and still produce a sound that behaves acoustically and structurally like a sibilant. For /ç/ to function as a sibilant, it must thus have front articulation [ç̟], which (notational and theoretical games aside) makes it functionally /ɕ/. 

One phonologically interesting way in which Sibawayhi's Arabic was likely counterintuitive from the standpoint of many modern accents of the standard language, and doubly so for non-native Arabic speakers given how they tend to be taught, is that what we normally think of as voiced plain stops /b d ɟ/ and voiceless plain stops /t k/ did not — strictly speaking — have presence or absence of voicing per se as their distinguishing feature. In this, Sibawayh's Arabic would align with certain modern dialects like San'ani Arabic. (See Phonation and glottal states in Modern South Arabian and San’ani Arabic by Janet Watson and Barry Heselwood for this and more, including a good explanation of a crucial articulatory category in Sibawayh's description.) The chief featural distinction between the two sets was probably aspiration in the latter and non-aspiration (with adductive glottal tension) in the former. In a dialect like this, although /b d ɟ/ probably did not have fully specified voicing, much of the time this would be of little phonetic consequence since in most positions voicing would be triggered positionally. In post-pausal position, however, although /b d ɟ/ would trigger a glottal prephonation state, their actual voice-onset time would not necessarily be different from that of a voiceless non-aspirated stop. 

Théophile de Viau: Lament for Clairac (From French)

Lament for Clairac
Théophile de Viau (1590 – 1626)
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Sweet places where my soul knew charm and wonder,
Today, beneath our wrecked roofs, just a piece
Of a high-handed army's bloody plunder.

Altar cloth gone in smoke, great church now scorched
Unholy ruin, mysteries undone,
Horrific relicts of a city torched:
Men, horses and great halls buried as one.

Deep moats packed with debris from shattered walls,
Tableaux of horror, shrieks and burials,
River where blood will not stop running high.

Slaughterfields where the wolves and crows gorge free,
Clairac! For the one birth you gave to me
How many, many deaths you make me die.

The Original:

Sacrez murs du Soleil où j'adouray Philis,
Doux sejour où mon ame estoit jadis charmee,
Qui n'est plus aujourd'huy soubs nos toits desmoulis
Que le sanglant butin d'une orgueilleuse armee;

Ornemens de l'autel qui n'estes que fumee,
Grand Temple ruiné, mysteres abolis,
Effroyables objects d'une ville allumee,
Palais, hommes, chevaux, ensemble ensevelis;

Fossez larges et creux tous comblés de murailles,
Spectacles de frayeur, de cris, de funerailles,
Fleuve par où le sang ne cesse de courir,

Charniers où les Corbeaux et loups vont tous repaistre,
Clairac pour une fois que vous m'avez fait naistre,
Helas! combien de fois me faictes vous mourir.

Fatemeh Shams: A Poem for Iran (From Persian)

A Poem For Iran
By Fatemeh Shams
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

To never go to sleep because a nightmare terrifies,

to sit awake each night until dawn breaks into the skies,

to stagger woozy somewhere between sleep and wakening

to die in life's own name as blindness teeters on the eyes,

in pointless hollow love that just repeats relentlessly,
 in all that "Oh I love you dear!" and "Oh do you love me?"
 in wanting that all comes to naught for all that never comes
 in pointless work and plunged in out-of-work banality,

to have at last no memory, no border and nowhere,
 to drift through men's and women's cold embraces here and there,
 to haul a suitcase and three hundred books from place to place
 to have, among all colors in the world, a shroud's to wear,

to break the heart away from every face the veils obscure
 from every man whose inmost being is a rancid sewer
 to break the heart away from the strange city of my childhoods
 that still holds within its soil a sorrow clean and pure

from endlessly not going back as hesitations weigh
 through waking dreams in exile's arms without You night and day
 through boundless yearning for what I will never see again,
 through the despair of having turned a word like "hope" cliché

with no love and no homeland in this mad perplexity,
 stuck in this narrow alley whose dead end runs endlessly,
 to vomit You from me and, oh, to ask with all my love
 "Dear wounded country, my sick home! Do You still think of me?"


The Original:

شعرى براى ايران

از ترس یک کابوس تا هرگز نخوابیدن هر شب نشستن تا طلوع صبح را دیدن
جایی میان خواب و بیداری، تلو خوردن در برزخ ِ کوری به نام ِ زندگی مُردن

در جا زدن در عشق‌های پوچ ِ تکراری در دوستت دارم عزیزم! دوستم داری
در خواستن‌هایی که از دم بی‌سرانجامند در شغل‌های آبکی، در قعر ِ بیکاری

بی‌حافظه، بی‌مرز، بی شهر و وطن بودن آواره در آغوش ِ سرد ِ مرد و زن بودن
یک ساک و سیصد جلد را هی جا به جا کردن بین تمام ِ رنگ‌ها، رنگ ِ کفن بودن

دل کندن از هر کس که بر صورت نقابی داشت هر کس که در قعر وجودش منجلابی داشت
دل از کندن از شهر ِ غریب کودکی‌هایم آنجا که در خاکش غم و اندوه نابی داشت

از برنگشتن‌های بی‌پایان ِ پُر تردید بیدارخوابی بی تو در آغوش این تبعید
دلتگی ِ بی‌مرز از هرگز ندیدن‌ها سرخوردگی از ابتذال واژه امید

بی‌سرزمین، بی‌عشق، در اوج همین مستی در کوچه باریک ِ بی پایان ِ بن‌بستی
آوردنت بالا و هی با عشق پرسیدن ای سرزمین خسته! توی فکر من هستی

Al-Mutanabbi: On the Recapture of Al-Ḥadath (From Arabic)

The year is 954 A.D. Al-Ḥadath Al-Ḥamrā is a strategically important town on the Arab-Byzantine border, between Marˁaš and Malaṭiya, which depended for protection on a fortress built on nearby Mount Uḥaydib. After being captured and demilitarized in 950 by the Byzantines, it was retaken in October of 954 by Sayfu l-Dawla Abū Ḥasan Bin Ḥamdān, the Emir of Aleppo (whom I have seen fit to anglicize as Lord Ali the Realmsword) who set about refortifying it, only to be interrupted by the appearance of Byzantine forces under the command of Bardas Phocas. Before the end of the month, a decisive battle was fought around Mount Uhaydib. After a day of heavy fighting, Lord Realmsword with a small company of hardened men broke through the Byzantine line. Bardas' forces retreated, leaving members of his own family as prisoners. Lord Realmsword was then able to finish up the fortification of Al-Hadath, whereupon he had the pleasure of hearing his court poet Abū Ṭayyib Al-Mutanabbī recite the poem translated here in celebration of the occasion.

Oh and here's a recording of me reciting the Arabic text:

In Praise of Lord Realmsword on the Recapture of Al-Hadath
By Al-Mutanabbī
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
This translation is dedicated to Tahera Qutbuddin, in whose wonderful seminar I had the pleasure of reading this and other poems by Al-Mutanabbī and got some idea of how to translate him. 

Resolutions measure a man's resolve
 and noble deeds a noble name.
Small deeds loom large to little eyes
 and great deeds shrink in a great man's gaze.
Behold Lord Ali of the house of Hamdan,
 See how Realmsword is rightly his name.
He wills his forces
 to show the force of his will
 which hardened brigades can hardly attain
He expects of his men
 no more than himself
 but more than the lordliest of lions can claim.
Agelong vultures
 of the vast drylands
 would pledge their lives to protect his blades.
They'd meet no harm though made talonless
 since his sturdy arms of steel were made.
Does that Red City
 still realize her color,(2)
 whether cloudbursts brought the blood or the rain?
Where first she drank of flashing clouds
 she drank of skulls the day he came.
While blade beat blade he built and braced her
 where she shook from the force of the Fates' brute waves.
She lay mad in the hold
 of an unholy spell
 that dead bodies broke at break of day.

Displaced by Fate
 to a foreign creed,
 the strike of your swords restored her Faith.
What nights yield to you
 is yours forever.
 What they steal from you they soon must repay.
Plans you pass are verbs
 in the present now 
 having moved to past before men can negate.
No Roman or Viking
(3)  could raze that stronghold
 raised with pikethrusts  for pillars and base.
No wronged man died and no wrongdoer lived
 when they called her to justice. The Judge was Fate.

So clad in steel they came at you
 their coursers seemed legless crossing the plain.
When they flashed, their blades  all blended in
 with steel garments aglint with day,
An army on the crawl from east and west
 clamoring till the ears of Orion(4) ached,
A horde of tangled tongues and peoples
 with translators for each order relayed. 

Then that molten time melted fake mettle 
 till only war's metal and men remained
Every sword shattered that failed to shatter
 the bulwark of bloodwood and bucklers and mail
Every fool turned gutless in fear of gutting
 fled from the ranks of fighters that day. 
Where standing meant death you stood your ground
 as if on the sleeping eyelids of bane.
While wounded, fright-fouled fighters ran past you
 you fought with a smile and a shining face
and went beyond bounds of bravery and reason
 till they said you knew the Numen's ways.

I know how hawks  will hold birds down
 in a grip to gut  their grounded game.(5)
You squeezed the foe's wings on a squirming heart
 and dealt hard death to downstruck prey.
You skivered their skulls when you still hadn't won
 then their vitals and throats as victory came. 
You detested lances  and tossed them aside,
 your sword spitting on spears at close range. 

Let any who look for the light of conquest
 see it in the luster of lightweight blades.
You strewed them hard over Uháydib like coins
 strewn over a woman on her wedding day.  
Your horses trampled the hilltop nests
 where fodder galore before them lay.
Eaglets imagined  it was their mothers you brought,
 not the sturdy wingfoot  steeds that raced
till they slipped and you had them slide on their bellies 
 across the earth like crawling snakes. 

Will the Domesticus(6) dare every day against you
 with his neck fighting  his advancing face? 
Does he not sense lions'  scent till he tastes it?
 Even wildbeasts can sense a lion on the way. 
Our leader's sorties struck him hard 
 when his son, his wife's brother  and his son were slain.
Troops helped him scamp to escape the swords
 that were busy hacking  their heads away. 
He got the message  of Mashrafi(7) steel
 to his men, though told  in the tongue of strangers. 
He was glad to surrender not in stupidity,
 but after his loss even life was a gain. 
You are no mere king who conquers his peer(8)
     but the one God's triumph over triune pagans,
You have ennobled  all of Adnan(9),
  Pride of the Outlands(10) and all creation. 
The praise is yours for my pearls of verse:
 I just string them.  You set their shape.   
Your gifts(111) gallop with me through the grind of war
 so you bear no regrets and I no blame
On a steed whose feet  fly to battle
 as soon as it hears the howling fray.

Oh Realmsword unsheathed  and ready forever,
 held in no doubt nor held at bay.
Joy to skull-strikers, to stout men's deeds,
 to them that love you and Islam: you are safe. 
And why wouldn't God still guard your edge
 to behead his foes with you for a blade?

Notes:


2 — Hali l-ḥadaṯu l-ḥamrā'u taˁrifu lawnahā? (Literally: "Does Red Al-Hadath know her color?")

"Red" was a term that could be used for non-Arabs, especially Persians, Greeks or "Franks" (Western Europeans) who were seen as being of lighter complexion. E.g. Atānī kullu aswada minhum wa'aḥmar "Every one of them, Arab and not, came to me". A saying attributed to Muhammad has it that buˁiṯtu ilā l-'aḥmari wa-l-aswad "I was sent to the red and the black" of which the most straightforward interpretation is "to all mankind, Arab and not." The term Al-Ḥamrā' as a collective adjective may also be used to refer generically to foreigners, or to emancipated slaves.

Al-Hadaṯ Al-Ḥamrā' "Red Hadath" is the traditional appellation of the city. The color is — I think — being played on at multiple levels. She (the city is morphosyntactically feminine) is in the most obvious sense "red" after being soaked with blood. But she was also a "red" (foreign, Greek) city when under Byzantine rule, which she no longer is. She is now "red" (emancipated from bondage) now that Lord Realmsword has relieved her of foreign control. Despite her traditional appellation, she may not even know that she is now red in one sense, and was red in the other, so completely has she now been redeemed to her proper place under Islamdom.

3 — "Vikings". The original text uses the word Rūs which in Modern Arabic simply means "Russians." Anglophone commenters on this poem have usually translated it thus, and Arabic commentaries often leave the word unglossed as though its meaning were transparent. But the Arabic word Rūs, at this time, actually referred to Norsemen (specifically the Byzantine Varangian guard is probably what is meant.) Since English "Rus" is far too scholarly, and "Norsemen" would be a bit too specific, I have used the most readily intelligible term Vikings. (I considered calquing off of Old Norse Garðmaðr and rendering the phrase as "Greeks and Garthmen" or the like. But somehow it felt a bit silly to go to such an extreme.)

4 — The original actually refers to Gemini, a different constellation. But makes for a more transparent image of an anthropomorphized stellar figure.

5 — This verse, like some others in my translation, does not have an exact counterpart in the original. But it served in English to make the image clearer. Al-Mutanabbī's description evokes the way a hawk pounces on larger types of prey. The predator holds its prey to the ground, delivering blows to the skull to dispatch it fully before slashing into the throat.

6 — Domesticus (or, rather δομέστικος) was Bardas' Byzantine military title, loaned into Arabic as dumustuq, which is the word Al-Mutanabbī uses.

7 — In poetry, good swords are often said to be "Mashrafi" after an obscure place called Mashraf. Nobody quite knows why, though everybody likes to guess.

8 — Literally "You are monotheism defeating polytheism (širk)". That Christians have in some sense diluted the principle of monotheism by worshipping a trinity was — as it still is — a commonplace of anti-Christian Muslim polemic.

9 — Adnan: the Northern Arabs are supposedly descendants of ˁAdnān.

10 — "Outlands" is my rendering of ˁawāṣim. The word has often been misread as meaning "capitals" which is its sense in Modern Arabic. The term ˁawāṣim here refers to a part of the frontier zone between the Byzantine Empire and the Empire of the Caliphs. The forward strongholds of this zone were called ṯuġūr "mouths", while those further rearward were called the ˁawāṣim "guardianesses". 

11 — Lord Realmsword had gifted the poet with some horses.

The Original:

عَلى قَدْرِ أهْلِ العَزْم تأتي العَزائِمُ   وَتأتي علَى قَدْرِ الكِرامِ المَكارمُ
وَتَعْظُمُ في عَينِ الصّغيرِ صغارُها وَتَصْغُرُ في عَين العَظيمِ العَظائِمُ
يُكَلّفُ سيفُ الدّوْلَةِ الجيشَ هَمّهُ وَقد عَجِزَتْ عنهُ الجيوشُ الخضارمُ
وَيَطلُبُ عندَ النّاسِ ما عندَ نفسِه وَذلكَ ما لا تَدّعيهِ الضّرَاغِمُ
يُفَدّي أتَمُّ الطّيرِ عُمْراً سِلاحَهُ نُسُورُ الفَلا أحداثُها وَالقَشاعِمُ
وَما ضَرّها خَلْقٌ بغَيرِ مَخالِبٍ وَقَدْ خُلِقَتْ أسيافُهُ وَالقَوائِمُ
هَلِ الحَدَثُ الحَمراءُ تَعرِفُ لوْنَها وَتَعْلَمُ أيُّ السّاقِيَيْنِ الغَمَائِمُ
سَقَتْها الغَمَامُ الغُرُّ قَبْلَ نُزُولِهِ فَلَمّا دَنَا مِنها سَقَتها الجَماجِمُ
بَنَاهَا فأعْلى وَالقَنَا يَقْرَعُ القَنَا وَمَوْجُ المَنَايَا حَوْلَها مُتَلاطِمُ
وَكانَ بهَا مثْلُ الجُنُونِ فأصْبَحَتْ وَمِنْ جُثَثِ القَتْلى عَلَيْها تَمائِمُ
طَريدَةُ دَهْرٍ ساقَها فَرَدَدْتَهَا على  الدّينِ بالخَطّيّ وَالدّهْرُ رَاغِمُ
تُفيتُ کللّيالي كُلَّ شيءٍ أخَذْتَهُ وَهُنّ لِمَا يأخُذْنَ منكَ غَوَارِمُ
إذا كانَ ما تَنْوِيهِ فِعْلاً مُضارِعاً مَضَى قبلَ أنْ تُلقى علَيهِ الجَوازِمُ
وكيفَ تُرَجّي الرّومُ والرّوسُ هدمَها وَذا الطّعْنُ آساسٌ لهَا وَدَعائِمُ
وَقَد حاكَمُوهَا وَالمَنَايَا حَوَاكِمٌ فَما ماتَ مَظلُومٌ وَلا عاشَ ظالِمُ
أتَوْكَ يَجُرّونَ الحَديدَ كَأنّمَا سَرَوْا إليك بِجِيَادٍ ما لَهُنّ قَوَائِمُ
إذا بَرَقُوا لم تُعْرَفِ البِيضُ منهُمُ ثِيابُهُمُ من مِثْلِها وَالعَمَائِمُ
خميسٌ بشرْقِ الأرْضِ وَالغرْبِ زَحْفُهُ وَفي أُذُنِ الجَوْزَاءِ منهُ زَمَازِمُ
تَجَمّعَ فيهِ كلُّ لِسْنٍ وَأُمّةٍ فَمَا يُفْهِمُ الحُدّاثَ إلاّ الترَاجِمُ
فَلِلّهِ وَقْتٌ ذَوّبَ الغِشَّ نَارُهُ فَلَمْ يَبْقَ إلاّ صَارِمٌ أوْ ضُبارِمُ
تَقَطّعَ ما لا يَقْطَعُ الدّرْعَ وَالقَنَا وَفَرّ منَ الفُرْسانِ مَنْ لا يُصادِمُ
وَقَفْتَ وَما في المَوْتِ شكٌّ لوَاقِفٍ كأنّكَ في جَفنِ الرّدَى وهْوَ نائِمُ
تَمُرّ بكَ الأبطالُ كَلْمَى هَزيمَةً وَوَجْهُكَ وَضّاحٌ وَثَغْرُكَ باسِمُ
تجاوَزْتَ مِقدارَ الشّجاعَةِ والنُّهَى إلى قَوْلِ قَوْمٍ أنتَ بالغَيْبِ عالِمُ
ضَمَمْتَ جَناحَيهِمْ على القلبِ ضَمّةً تَمُوتُ الخَوَافي تحتَها وَالقَوَادِمُ
بضَرْبٍ أتَى الهاماتِ وَالنّصرُ غَائِبٌ وَصَارَ إلى اللّبّاتِ وَالنّصرُ قَادِمُ
حَقَرْتَ الرُّدَيْنِيّاتِ حتى طَرَحتَها وَحتى كأنّ السّيفَ للرّمحِ شاتِمُ
وَمَنْ طَلَبَ الفَتْحَ الجَليلَ فإنّمَا مَفاتِيحُهُ البِيضُ الخِفافُ الصّوَارِمُ
نَثَرْتَهُمُ فَوْقَ الأُحَيْدِبِ كُلّهِ كمَا نُثِرَتْ فَوْقَ العَرُوسِ الدّراهمُ
تدوسُ بكَ الخيلُ الوكورَ على الذُّرَى وَقد كثرَتْ حَوْلَ الوُكورِ المَطاعِمُ
تَظُنّ فِراخُ الفُتْخِ أنّكَ زُرْتَهَا بأُمّاتِها وَهْيَ العِتاقُ الصّلادِمُ
إذا زَلِقَتْ مَشّيْتَها ببُطونِهَا كمَا تَتَمَشّى في الصّعيدِ الأراقِمُ
أفي كُلّ يَوْمٍ ذا الدُّمُسْتُقُ مُقدِمٌ قَفَاهُ على الإقْدامِ للوَجْهِ لائِمُ
أيُنكِرُ رِيحَ اللّيثِ حتى يَذُوقَهُ وَقد عَرَفتْ ريحَ اللّيوثِ البَهَائِمُ
وَقد فَجَعَتْهُ بابْنِهِ وَابنِ صِهْرِهِ وَبالصّهْرِ حَمْلاتُ الأميرِ الغَوَاشِمُ
مضَى يَشكُرُ الأصْحَابَ في فوْته الظُّبَى لِمَا شَغَلَتْهَا هامُهُمْ وَالمَعاصِمُ
وَيَفْهَمُ صَوْتَ المَشرَفِيّةِ فيهِمِ على أنّ أصْواتَ السّيوفِ أعَاجِمُ
يُسَرّ بمَا أعْطاكَ لا عَنْ جَهَالَةٍ وَلكِنّ مَغْنُوماً نَجَا منكَ غانِمُ
وَلَسْتَ مَليكاً هازِماً لِنَظِيرِهِ وَلَكِنّكَ التّوْحيدُ للشّرْكِ هَازِمُ
تَشَرّفُ عَدْنانٌ بهِ لا رَبيعَةٌ وَتَفْتَخِرُ الدّنْيا بهِ لا العَوَاصِمُ
لَكَ الحَمدُ في الدُّرّ الذي ليَ لَفظُهُ فإنّكَ مُعْطيهِ وَإنّيَ نَاظِمُ
وَإنّي لَتَعْدو بي عَطَايَاكَ في الوَغَى فَلا أنَا مَذْمُومٌ وَلا أنْتَ نَادِمُ
عَلى كُلّ طَيّارٍ إلَيْهَا برِجْلِهِ إذا وَقَعَتْ في مِسْمَعَيْهِ الغَمَاغِمُ
ألا أيّها السّيفُ الذي لَيسَ مُغمَداً وَلا فيهِ مُرْتابٌ وَلا منْهُ عَاصِمُ
هَنيئاً لضَرْبِ الهَامِ وَالمَجْدِ وَالعُلَى وَرَاجِيكَ وَالإسْلامِ أنّكَ سالِمُ
وَلِمْ لا يَقي الرّحم?نُ حدّيك ما وَقى وَتَفْليقُهُ هَامَ العِدَى بكَ دائِمُ

Anonymous: Deor (From Old English)

This poem refers to stock characters — real and fictional — from Germanic lore. Some of the figures are now obscure, and most are not known directly from Old English versions of the story. I have modernized many of the names in my translation, giving them forms that would be plausible as Modern English versions of the name. The biggest exception is Wayland, whose Old English name would actually have been Weeland or Weland had it survived into the modern period.

Wayland (Old English Wéland, Old Norse Vǫlundr, Old High German Wiolant) was a smith renowned for his metal working ability. He was forced to work for Nithad (OE Niþhad, ON Níðuðr) who hamstrung him to stop his escape. Wayland avenged himself by killing the king's sons, raping his daughter Beadild (OE Beadohilde, ON Bǫðvildr). Mathild and Geat are opaque. They appear to be famous lovers that met a tragic end, like Romeo and Juliet, or Layla and Majnun. The ablest guess is that they correspond to Magnhild and Gaute of a Scandinavian ballad tale recorded in the 19th century, but even if so the story as it was known to the poet's English audience may well have differed greatly from the version known from Scandinavia a thousand years later. Thedric is Theodoric, the Ostrogothic emperor who ruled in Italy from 493 to 526. Armenric is Ermanaric the Goth, another famous tyrant, known to us from Beowulf and Widsith. (I confected the form Armenric by positing that the vowel of Eormanric underwent pre-rhotic lowering to /a/ in Late Middle English and, as in most native words, failed to raise again in the Early Modern period. Eormanric becomes Armenric just like "feorr", "deorc" do "far", "dark".)

The phonology of my recording below is not based on the extant West Saxon text in the Exeter Book. That'd be too easy and I wanted to do something different. Trying to date a poem as short as this is difficult, but its subject matter and in particular its preservation of genuine Old English reflexes of mythical proper names suggests that it isn't much younger than the 9th century if that. I based my reading on the Mercian dialect recorded in the Vespasian Psalter. Thus vowel length has collapsed in inflectional endings, /ĕ̄o/ and /ĭ̄o/ have merged, and Mercian second fronting is in full effect. The text shown in the video is meant to give an idea of what the text in the Exeter Book might have looked like if it were copied out faithfully from a Mercian exemplar.

Deor
By Anonymnous
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Wayland in Wormland went through harrows,
The strongminded smith suffered in exile.
Worry and longing  walked beside him,
winter-raw anguish. He ached for escape
after King Nithad cramped his sinews 
and bound a slave of the better man.

That passed in time. So too can this. 

To Beadild's mind her brothers' deaths
weren't as wounding as what she faced
herself when she came to clearly see
that she was pregnant. That princess unwed
could not handle what would become of her.

That passed in time. So too can this.

We know the tale   of tragic Mathild.
the Geat bore her a bottomless passion,
all sleep banished  by a baneful love

That passed in time. So too can this.

Tyrant Thedrick for thirty winters
ruled the Mearings, as many know.

That passed in time. So too can this.

We have all heard tell of Armenrick
and his wolfsick mind. He was one cruel king,
That overlord of the outland Goths
whose state was set in strung-up hearts 
as strong men sat in sorrow-chains
awaiting the worst, and wishing so much
for a foe to liberate the land of their king.

That passed in time. So too can this.

A man sits mournful, mind ripped from joy.
His spirit in dark, he deems himself
foredoomed to endure ordeals forever.
Then he may think how throughout the world
the Wise God goes and works around:
meting out grace, mercy and certain
success to some, suffering to many.

Of myself I want to say just this:
I was high poet  to the Hedenings once,
Dear to my master. "Deer" was my name.
For many winters  I was a man in that hall
And the heart of my lord. But Herrend came
And reaped the riches and rights of land
That guardian of men  once granted me,
And stole my place  with a poet's skill. 

That passed in time. So too can this.

The Original:

Wélond him be wurman  wreces cunnade
ánhýdiġ eorl  earfoða drég
hefde him tó ġesíþþe  sorġe end longoþ
wintercalde wræce  wéan oft onfond
seoþþan hine níþhád on  néde leġde
swoncre seonobende  on sellan mon

þes oferéode  þisses swé meġ

Beadohilde ne wes  hire bróðra déaþ
on seofan swé sár  swé hire seolfre þing,
þet híe ġearolíċe  onġeten hefde
þet híe écen wes;  ǽfre ne mehte
þríste ġeþencan,  hú ymb þet ṡċolde.

þes oferéode þisses swé meġ

Wé þet Mǽþhilde  monġe ġefrugnon
wurdon grundléase  Ġéates fríge,
þet him séo sorglufu  slép alle binom.

þes oferéode þisses swé meġ

Þéodríċ áhte  þrítiġ wintra
Méringa burg;  þet wes moneġum cúþ.

þes oferéode þisses swé meġ

Wé ġeáscadun  Éormonríċes
wylfenne ġeþóht;  áhte wíde folc
Gotena ríċes.  Þet wes grim cyning.
Set seċġ moniġ  sorgum ġebunden,
wéan on wénan,  wyṡċte ġenehhe
þet þes cyneríċes  ofercumen wére.

þes oferéode þisses swé meġ

Siteþ sorgċeriġ,  sélum bidǽled,
on seofan swerċeþ,  seolfum þinceþ
þet síe endeléas  earfoða dæl.
Meġ þonne ġeþencan,  þet ġeond þás weoruld
wítiġ dryhten  wendeþ genehhe,
eorle monegum  áre geṡċéawaþ,
wíslícne bléd,  sumum wéana dǽl.

Þet iċ bi mé seolfum  seċġan wille,
þet iċ hwíle wes Heodeninga sċop,
dryhtne déore.  Mé wes Déor noma.
Áhte iċ feola wintra  folgaþ tilne,
holdne hláford,  oþþet Heorrenda nú,
léoþcreftiġ monn  londreht ġeþáh,
þet mé eorla hléow  ǽr ġesalde.

þes oferéode þisses swé meġ






Beowulf 2231-2270: Lament of the Last Survivor (From Old English)

Lament of the Last Survivor 
(Beowulf 2231-2270)
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

  There was such ancient wealth in that earthen vault.
In an age long past, with an end in his mind,
someone now nameless had known to hide
his dear treasure in the darkness here,
the heaped legacy of a highborn race
at dynasty's end.  Death already
had taken them all in times gone by,
and left just this one: the last warrior
of a fallen line whose fate he mourned,
expecting the same. This sad watchman
knew that ageless hoard would be only his
to enjoy briefly. The barrow stood
built and waiting  by the breaking waves
crafted for safety, set on the headland.
That keeper of rings  then carried in
all the gold-plated  goods he had there
worth protecting.  His words were these few:
    "Hold now, O earth, what heroes cannot:
Wealth of warriors. It was worthy men
who delved it from you. Death in battle
has mowed them down. Mortal horror
has made away with the mortal souls
of each of my clan who have quit this life,
the hall-mirth of knights. Nobody's here
to bear me a blade or bring my cup's
burnished meadgold. My band moved on.
The hard helmet hasped in goldwork
must lose its hoop. Helm-shiners sleep
that once burnished my battle-mask. 
War-coats that braved the biting steel
when shields burst wide will be worn to bits
with their brave wearers. The whorled hauberk
will wander no more on the warchief's back
in a battle band.  No more brilliant harp
with timbered tune, no trained falcon
swooping the songhall, no swift-hoof horse 
prancing the courtgrounds. Plundering carnage
ousts whole peoples out of existence."
   So he mourned who survived, remembering hurts,
alone after them all, aching and maundering
for days and nights  till death seethed up
and beat his heart.


The Original:


      þér wæs swelcrá feolá
in þǽm eorðselí  ǽrġistréoná,
swé híæ on ġárdagum  gumæná náthwelċ,
iorminláƀǽ  æðilan cynnæs,
þanchycgændí  þér gihýddǽ,
díorǽ máðmas.  Allǽ híæ déaþ fornam
ǽrran mélum,  ænd se án þá ġén
líodá duguðǽ  se þér længist hwearƀ,
weard winiġómor,  wéndǽ þæs ylcan,
þæt hé lýtil fæc  langġistréoná
brúcan móstí.  Berg allġearu 
wunudǽ on wangǽ,  wæterýðum néh
níowi bi næssǽ  nearucræftum fæst.
þér on innan bær  eorlġistréoná
hringá hirdí,  hordwiorðnǽ dǽl,
fǽttan goldæs,  féa wordá cwæþ:

Hald þú nú, hrúsǽ, nú hæliþ ni móstun,
eorlá ǽhti. Hwæt hit ǽr on þé
gódǽ biġétun; gúþdéaþ fornam,
ferhbealu frœ́cni firhá ġihwelċnǽ,
líodá mínrá,  þonǽ þe þis líƀ ofġæƀ,
secgá selidréamas. Náh hwá sweord weġǽ
oþþǽ forþ berǽ fǽtid wéġí,
drynċfæt díorí: duguþ ellor sċóc.
Sċæl se heardá helm hyrstidgoldǽ
fǽtum bifallæn: feormiænd swefaþ,
þá þe beadugríman bíowan sċoldun,
ġé swelċǽ sío heripád, sío æt hildí ġibád
oƀær bordá ġibræc bití íserná,
brosnaþ æftær beornǽ. Ni mæġ byrnan hring
æftær wíġfruman wídǽ fœ́ran,
hæliðum bi halƀǽ; nis hearpan wyn,
gomæn glíwbéamæs, ni gód heaƀuc
ġeond sæl swingiþ, ni se swiftá mærh
burhstedi béatiþ. Bealucwalm haƀaþ
feolá ferhcynná forþ onsændid!
Swé ġómormód ġehþu mǽndǽ
án æftær allum, unblíþí hwearƀ
dæġæs ænd næhtæs, oþþæt déaðæs wælm
hrán æt heortan