أصحو مع الفجر

أوتار مبعثرة
ترجمة إنجليزية
شارك:
أَصْحُو مَعَ الْفَجْرِ فِي شَوْقٍ وَفِي شَغَفِإِلَى احْتِضَانِكِ يَا رَيَّانَةَ الرَّهَفِ
أَحِنُّ لِلضَّمِّ آهٍ مِنْ تَعَذُّرِهِوَكُنْتُ أَحْظَى بِهِ مِنْ قَبْلُ فِي صُدَفِ
هَاتِي شِفَاهَكِ أَرْشُفْ مِنْ رُضَابِ هَوًىقَدْ يُنْعِشُ النَّفْسَ مَا تَحْوِيهِ بِالرَّشَفِ
تَمْضِي لَيَالِيكِ لَا ضَمٌّ وَلَا قُبَلٌكَفَى الزَّمَانُ الَّذِي يَمْضِي بِلَا هَدَفِ
عَانَيْتُ مِنْ بُعْدِكِ الْمُضْنِي وَأَتْلَفَنِيفَأَدْرِكِي مِنْ بَقَايَا ذَلِكَ التَّلَفِ
إِنْ لَمْ تَجُودِي بِوَصْلٍ فَاقْتُلِي كَلِفًاتَحَمَّلِي دِيَةَ الْمَقْتُولِ بِالْكَلَفِ
أَمْضَيْتُ عُمْرِي عَلَى شَوْقٍ بِوَصْلِكُمُوَإِنْ أَمُتْ فِيكُمُ أَمْضَى عَلَى أَسَفِ
كَمْ ذَا طَمِعْتُ بِأَنْ أَحْظَى بِوَعْدِ هَوًىوَلَوْ عَلَى الْبُعْدِ وَعْدُ الْعَاشِقِ الدَّنِفِ
بِأَنَّنِي يَوْمَ أَلْقَاكُمْ سَتَحْضُنُنِيأَشْوَاقُكُمْ وَتُغَذِّي الثَّغْرَ بِالرَّشَفِ
حَتَّى الْمَوَاعِيدُ أَضْحَتْ لَا حَيَاةَ لَهَاإِنْ كَانَ كُلُّ أَمَانِيهَا مِنَ الْخَرَفِ
عِدِي حَبِيبًا أَضَاعَ الْعُمْرَ فِيكِ هَوًىوَكُلُّ رَجْوَاهُ إِيلَافٌ عَلَى إِلْفِ
عِدِي بِأَنْ تُشْبِعِيهِ مِنْ جَنَى زَهَرٍقَدْ عَفَّ عَنْ قَطْفِهِ صَوْنًا لِمُقْتَطِفِ
فَسَوْفَ يُغْنِيكِ عَنْ كُلِّ الْوَرَى قَسَمًاإِنْ ضُمَّ صَدْرُكِ أَوْ إِنْ رَفَّ فِي تَرَفِ
فَإِنَّهُ اشْتَارَ شَهْدًا نَحْلُهُ شَهِدَتْبِأَنَّهُ مِنْ لَسِيعِ النَّحْلِ لَمْ يَخَفِ
أَنْفَاسُهُ فَوْقَ جِيدِ الْوَجْدِ مُتْرَفَةٌوَكَفُّهُ فَوْقَ خَصْرِ الشَّوْقِ فِي هَيَفِ
مُلَاطِفًا فَوْقَ نَهْدٍ شَفَّ مِئْزَرُهُأَزَالَ عَنْهُ جَوَى عُمْرٍ مِنَ الشَّغَفِ
وَفَوْقَ خَصْرِكِ كَمْ أَدْلَى بِقُبْلَتِهِوَتَحْتَ خَصْرِكِ كَمْ أَحْنَى بِمُغْتَرِفِ
وَيَوْمَ أَنْ كُنْتِ فَوْقَ الْحِجْرِ رَاقِصَةًكُفُوفُهُ فَوْقَ مَتْنِ الظَّهْرِ فِي سَرَفِ
وَأَنْتِ تَلْوِينَ مِنْ تَحْتِ الْحَشَا غُصْنًاوَوَاكِفُ الْقُبَلِ الْحَرَّاءِ لَمْ يَقِفِ
وَالْعَاشِقَانِ عَلَى أَحْلَى نِدَائِهِمَايُنَاجِيَانِ بِآهَاتٍ وَفِي رَجَفِ
يَسَّاقَيَانِ سُلَافًا مِنْ وِصَالِهِمَاوَفِي دِنَانِهِمَا مَا لَذَّ مِنْ شَغَفِ
مَتَى يَعُودُ زَمَانُ الْوَصْلِ يَا أَمَلِيأَمْ قَدْ تَوَلَّى وَنَقْضِي الْعُمْرَ فِي أَسَفِ؟
إِنْ لَمْ تَجُودِي بِوَصْلٍ فَاقْتُلِي كَلِفًاتَحَمَّلِي دِيَةَ الْمَقْتُولِ بِالْكَلَفِ

I Wake with the Dawn

  1. I wake up with the dawn, in longing and in ardour,
    to hold you, you who brim with delicate grace1.
  2. I long to hold you close. Ah, that it cannot be!
    And once, as chance allowed, I'd sometimes win that embrace.
  3. Give me your lips, and let me sip love's honeyed dew2:
    what they hold, sipped slowly, may revive the soul, taste by taste.
  4. Your nights go by with no embrace, and not one kiss.
    Enough of time that passes aimless, running to waste!
  5. I've suffered from your wasting absence, and it ruined me;
    so come in time, and save what's left, the ruin's last trace.
  6. If you won't grant me union, kill a man in love3,
    and bear the blood-price due for one whom love has slain.
  7. I've spent4 my life in longing to be joined with you,
    and if I die for you, in sorrow I shall pass away.
  8. How often have I hoped to win a promise of love,
    even from far away, the promise a love-sick lover5 craves:
  9. that on the day I meet you, your longing would embrace me
    and feed my mouth with slow sips, taste by taste.
  10. Even the promises have come to have no life,
    if all the hopes they hold are the ramblings of old age6.
  11. Promise a lover who has squandered all his years in love of you,
    whose only hope is closeness joined to closeness7.
  12. Promise to let him take his fill of a flower's fruit,
    a flower he chastely would not pluck, keeping it safe for its rightful plucker's sake8.
  13. For he, I swear, will make you need no one else in the world,
    whether your breast is held, or flutters in soft delight.
  14. For he has gathered honey9 from the comb, and its own bees
    bore witness that their stinging never made him feel afraid.
  15. His breath lies lavish on the neck of passion10,
    and his palm rests on longing's slender waist,
  16. caressing a breast whose wrap had grown so sheer,
    and so dispelled the burning ache a lifetime's ardour gave.
  17. How often on your waist he let his kiss down, as into a well11,
    and bent, how often, with cupped hands to drink below your waist!
  18. And on the day you danced upon his lap,
    his palms roamed all along your back, without restraint,
  19. while, from below the waist, you swayed, a bending bough,
    and the downpour12 of burning kisses never once refrained.
  20. And the two lovers, calling to each other with their sweetest call,
    whispered their secrets to each other, sighing, trembling.
  21. They poured each other the first, finest wine13 of their union,
    and in their wine-jars, ardour at its most delicious taste.
  22. When will the time of union come again, my hope?
    Or has it gone for good, and must we spend our lives in sorrow?
  23. If you won't grant me union, kill a man in love3,
    and bear the blood-price due for one whom love has slain.

Notes

  1. Rayyānat al-rahaf: rayyān is 'well-watered, full of sap', said of a fresh green plant or a body in the bloom of youth; rahaf is fineness, delicacy and tender sensitivity. The beloved is addressed as one so full of delicate grace that she seems to overflow with it. ↩
  2. Ruḍāb is the moisture of the beloved's mouth, a standard image of classical Arabic love poetry, where it is likened to honey, wine or cool water that heals the lover's thirst. The verb rashafa means to sip slowly, in small draughts; the same word, in the same form, closes this verse and verse 9, a key word of the poem. ↩
  3. The verse turns love into a case of homicide under Islamic law. Whoever kills another must pay diya, blood-money, to the victim's family; the lover asks the beloved either to grant union or to 'kill' him and bear the blood-money herself, as if his death from unanswered love were a crime she must answer for. Kalif ('infatuated, passionately attached') and kalaf ('infatuation') come from the same root, so the victim and the weapon share one name: a man in love, slain by love. The same verse returns to close the poem as a refrain. ↩
  4. Amḍaytu ('I have spent') and amḍā ('I shall pass on') come from the same root, which gives both 'to spend time' and 'to depart': the life spent in longing and the departure from life are linked in sound and sense. In this verse and the two that follow, the beloved is addressed in the plural (antum), a convention of Arabic love poetry that expresses reverence and discretion; the poem alternates it with the intimate singular. ↩
  5. Danif describes a lover so worn by love-sickness that he wastes away, a stock figure of classical love poetry. The sentence runs on into the next verse, which states the content of the hoped-for promise. ↩
  6. Kharaf is the confused rambling of senility. Promises that hold out only hopes that will never be kept are as empty as an old man's wandering talk. ↩
  7. Īlāf ʿalā ilf: both words come from the root of ulfa, familiar closeness and harmony. Ilf is an intimate companion or the bond of intimacy; īlāf is the act of binding together and making familiar. The pairing means closeness added to closeness, an intimacy that keeps deepening. The word īlāf echoes the Qur'an, sura 106 (Quraysh), where it names the familiar bond and security that God granted the tribe of Quraysh in their caravan journeys. ↩
  8. The flower is the beloved, and plucking it means possessing her. In qad ʿaffa ʿan qaṭfihi ṣawnan li-muqtaṭif the subject is the lover: he chastely (ʿaffa) refrained from plucking the flower, safeguarding it until it could rightfully be his. ↩
  9. Ishtāra is the classical verb for gathering honey from wild hives, a task that exposes the gatherer to stings; early Arabic poetry often likens the beloved's kiss to honey won at such risk. There is a play of sound and root between shahd ('honey in the comb') and shahidat ('bore witness'): the very bees whose honey he took testify to his courage. The sense is that he braved every hardship to win the sweetness of love. ↩
  10. Passion (wajd) is given a neck and longing (shawq) a waist: the beloved is so wholly made of passion and longing that she becomes their embodiment. Hayaf is the slenderness of a fine waist, a mark of beauty in classical poetry. Mutrafa, 'lavish, luxuriating', describes breath that lingers at ease and in abundance. ↩
  11. Both images come from drawing water. Adlā is the verb for letting a bucket down into a well, and mughtarif is one who scoops water in the hollow of his hand. The thirsting lover lowers his kiss as if into a well and bends to drink in handfuls. The imagery conveys intimate caresses through the language of thirst and water, keeping them veiled. ↩
  12. Wākif is rain or water that drips and pours steadily; the kisses fall like a continuous shower. The adjective ḥarrāʾ, 'hot, burning', sets fire against the image of rain. There is also a play of sound between wākif ('pouring') and lam yaqif ('did not stop'). ↩
  13. Sulāf is the first and finest wine, the juice that flows from the grapes before they are pressed, and the dinān are the large jars in which wine is stored. The imagery of wine and of drinking companions who pour for one another (yassāqayān) is drawn from the classical wine poem, and here stands for the intoxication of the lovers' union. ↩

English translation prepared by artificial intelligence and reviewed against the Arabic for accuracy of meaning and rhetoric.