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THE CLASSICS OF WESTERN SPIRITUALITY
A Library of the Great Spiritual Masters

President and Publisher

Lawrence Boadt, CSP

EDITORIAL BOARD

Editor-in-Chief
Bernard McGinn—Naomi Shenstone Donnelly Professor of Historical
Theology and the History of Christianity, Divinity School, University of
Chicago, Chicago, IL
John E. Booty—Professor of Anglican Studies, School of Theology,
University of the South, Sewanee, TN
Joseph Dan—Professor of Kabbalah, Department of Jewish Thought, Hebrew
University, Jerusalem, Israel.
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New Haven, CT
Rozanne Elder—Executive Vice-President, Cistercian Publications, Kala-
mazoo, MI
Michael Fishbane—Nathan Cummings Professor, Divinity School, University
of Chicago, Chicago, IL
Karlfried Froehlich—Professor of the History of the Early and Medieval
Church, Princeton Theological Seminary, Princeton, NJ
Arthur Green—Professor of Jewish Thought, Brandeis University, Wal-
tham, MA
Stanley S. Harakas—Archbishop Iakovos Professor of Orthodox SEC
Holy Cross Greek Orthodox Seminary, Brookline, MA
Moshe Idel—Professor of Jewish Thought, Department of Jewish Thought,
Hebrew University, Jerusalem, Israel
Bishop Kallistos of Diokleia—Fellow of Pembroke College, Oxford,
Spalding Lecturer in Eastern Orthodox Studies, Oxford University, England
Azim Nanji—Director, The Institute of Ismaili Studies, London, England
Seyyed Hossein Nasr—Professor of Islamic Studies, George Washington
University, Washington, DC
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University of California at Santa Barbara, CA
Sandra M. Schneiders—Professor of New Testament Studies and Spiritual-
ity, Jesuit School of Theology, Berkeley, CA
Michael A. Sells—John Henry Barrows Professor of Islamic History and
Literature, University of Chicago Divinity School
Huston Smith—Thomas J. Watson Professor of Religion Emeritus, Syracuse
University, Syracuse, NY
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David Tracy—Greeley Professor of Roman Catholic Studies, Divinity School,
University of Chicago, Chicago, IL
The Most Rev. and Rt. Hon. Rowan D. Williams—Archbishop of
Canterbury.
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AUG al- Hasan al--Dhus tare

SONGS OF LOVE AND DEVOTION

TRANSLATED AND INTRODUCED BY

LOURDES MARIA ALVAREZ

FORWORD BY
MICHAEL A. SELLS

PAULIST PRESS
NEW YORK ¢ MAHWAH
Cover Art: iStockphoto. Used with permission.

Cover and caseside design by Cynthia Dunne, www.bluefarmdesign.com

Book design by Lynn Else

Copyright © 2009 by Lourdes Maria Alvarez

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form
or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by
any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the
Publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Shushtari, ‘Ali ibn ‘Abd Allah, 1213 or 144269.

[Selections. English 2009]
Abi al-Hasan al-Shushtari : songs of love and devotion / [translated by] Lourdes
Maria Alvarez ; foreword by Michael A. Sells.
p. cm.—(The classics of western spirituality)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-8091-4594-2 (alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-8091-0582-3 (alk. paper)
I. Alvarez, Lourdes Maria. II. Title.
PJ7755.S45A2 2009
892.7'134—dc22
2009000309

Published by Paulist Press

997 Macarthur Boulevard
Mahwah, New Jersey 07430

www.paulistpress.com

Printed and bound in the

United States of America
 CONTENTS

Foreword by Michael A. Sells Xl

PART ONE
Praising God in the Language of Everyday Life
Praising God in the Language of Everyday Life
Introduction
“My time is a wonder”: The rising tide of
Islamic mysticism in the thirteenth century
Writing the mystic’s life
Shushtari’s prose writings
Singing at the crossroads of cultures
“Loving the Beautiful One is my art”

PART TWO
Poems and Songs
Chapter One: Intoxicated by the Divine
Introduction
How I began
Licit to drink?
My art
Timeless love
Let go of Zayd and Mayya
Many a cup
Wine from no wine press
At your service
O perplexed heart!
I’m on my way
Chapter Two: Love-crazed
Introduction
Layla

vii
 CONTENTS

The torments of love

Only love remains
My heart resides in the east
Before the morn
The lover’s visit
Robbed of my senses
My lover is beyond compare
Chapter Three: Denudatio/Stripping Bare
Introduction
Burning all discernment
Leaving my land
The rank of the poor
Purify the houses of God
Borrowed goods
Poverty and riches
Let go of delusions
Riding away
Chapter Four: Among the Sufis
Introduction
Little shaykh from Meknes
In my heart so near
Remembrance of God
Shirts and caps
Poor like me / By God, natural
Chapter Five: Deciphering the Signs of God
Introduction
Just understand me
I translated an illegible letter
The letters of His name
Master of illusion
Don’t say He forgot you
I’m a sight to see
I sang to the moon
Breaking the talisman
In my heart’s eye
Hidden in plain sight
Stop tiring yourself

Vill
 CONTENTS

Chapter Six: Desert Wanderings

Introduction 103
The night’s journey 105
When lightning flashes 106
Pay no attention 107
But you are in the Najd 108
Desire drives the camels 108
Drop all pretense of shame 109
If the scold could see 110
Chapter Seven: At the Monastery
Introduction Ltt
Is that a lamp? 119
The monastery door 122
Chapter Eight: Ode Rhyming in Nun
Introduction 126
The Niniyya 129

PART THREE
Prose
Baghdad Treatise [On Sufi Customs]
Introduction 139
The Treatise 141

Commentary on Poems and Songs 149

Notes 187

Bibliography 199

Index 213

ix
 Contributors to This Volume

Translator of This Volume

LOURDES MARIA ALVAREZ is associate professor of modern lan-
guages at the Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. She
was a Fulbright Senior Scholar in Morocco in 2000-2001 and has stud-
ied Arabic language and literature in Morocco, Egypt, and several
American universities. Her research interests include Hispano-Arabic
poetry, medieval Islamic mysticism, and literary translation across lin-
guistic and cultural boundaries. She has her PhD from Yale University.

Author of the Foreword

MICHAEL A. SELLS is a noted scholar of Qur’anic studies, Sufism,
Arabic and Islamic love poetry, and mysticism. Among his many pub-
lications is Early Islamic Mysticism in the Classics of Western
Spirituality (Paulist Press). He received his PhD from the University of
Chicago, where he is now John Henry Barrows Professor of Islamic
History and Literature in the Divinity School.
 FOREWORD

It is a pleasure and privilege to welcome this latest contribution to

the Classics of Western Civilization series: Abi al-Hasan al-
Shushtari’s Songs of Love and Devotion, selected and translated by
Lourdes Maria Alvarez. Within these passages there sounds forth—
across an array of linguistic, theological, and artistic registers—an
intensity of expression and vision that is likely to enrich the English-
reading world for years to come.
As becomes clear in Lourdes Alvarez’s textured introduction, the
seventh Islamic (thirteenth Christian) century witnessed a tidal wave of
poetic and spiritual energy flowing across the Arabic- and Persian-
speaking worlds of Islam, despite geopolitical disasters epitomized by
the fall of Cordoba to Castile in 1236 and the fall of Baghdad to the
Mongols in 1258. Living and composing at the’same time, intersecting
with one another’s travels, and keeping a discreet silence on any encoun-
ters with one another were Ibn al-‘Arabi, Ibn al-Farid, Shushtari, and al-
Busiri —all towering figures in Arabic poetry and Sufi thought—and
the Persian Sufi master poet Jalaluddin Rumi.’
Alvarez offers us a selection of major works that reveal Shushtari
at the axis of the major cultural and spiritual developments of his cen-
tury. In the brilliantly translated verses that follow, we find a play of
the vernacular—in theme and in genre—sounding alongside high meta-
physics. We encounter neoclassical Bedouin love quests: neoclassical
in the sense that these desert wanderings in search of the lost beloved
are composed by the great urbanite poets, who place the poetic persona
and the implied audience within those ancient abodes and twisting
sounds of Arabia. We hear a poetic voice that ranges from hymns of
cosmic dance to vulnerable personal confessions, from celebrations of
doctrinal openness and the unlimited mystery behind all life to rousing
polemics against moral, literary, theological, and legal critics.

xl
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

In this foreword I will limit myself to some observations on two

sets of poems in the volume. I begin with the following two verses from
“T’m a sight to see”’

You are the mirror of the glance,

the axis of time

Encompassed in you is what is dispersed

throughout time.

I am struck by the compact nature of these verses. The you that is the
mirror of the glance (the glance being, by definition, a momentary act)
is also called the axis of time, holding within itself all that time has dis-
persed. Similarly, these verses that form a momentary poetic glance
within the expression of Shushtari condense within themselves the
developments in Arabic love poetry, ghazal, and Sufi understandings
of mystical states of consciousness that had been unfolding over sev-
eral centuries. It would be inappropriate to proceed further without a
word on the poetic and scholarly skills that have come together to make
such a couplet sound forth with a lyrical and idiomatic ease in English.
For example, I note in the above verses the liquid ease with which the
words flow into one another, the balanced and effective use of asso-
nance, with one color provided by the conjoining of s and x sounds and
another by the linkage of r’s and /’s. I note as well the manner in which
hard and soft stress and stress inversion provide just the right measure
of emphasis to key words and “language acts” within verses. The same
qualities of pitch and measure can be found throughout the volume;
take, for example, the translation of the poem “My art,”a translation
that seems to gain in its mesmerizing power on each rereading.
One of the final poems in the selection, the long Nianiyya, con-
tains a clue, perhaps, to what we may hear in “I’m a sight to see” and
even more directly to the poem in the same section entitled “Hidden in
plain sight.” In one movement of the Niniyya, Shushtari traces the
power of reason from Hermes, Socrates, and Dhi al-Qarnayn (a
Qur’anic figure associated by tradition with Alexander the Great) down
to the Sufis of his own time, such as Ibn Sab‘in and Ibn al-*Arabi.’ As
Alvarez points out, this poem does far more than simply state a spiri-
tual lineage. In his treatment of one enigmatic figure, Niffari (d. 867),

Xil
 FOREW ORD

Shushtari writes that the power of reason “enraptured the essence of

Niffari”’to the point that the affirmation of God’s oneness “became his
companion,” and that “he was a speaker between two essences.”
What might the poet have meant by saying that Niffari affirmed
the oneness of God until “it became his companion”? Or that he became
a speaker between two essences? Or that he (singular) who is poor can
see the essence into which we (plural) have plunged?
Let us return from the Niniyya to verses from the lyrically con-
densed “Hidden in plain sight’:

It is you who speak

and you who listen.

Just when do you think what is absent will appear?

God is the One with no other.

There is nothing like me,

I am one.

And the very notion of place, in truth,

is trouble.

I cannot help but hear in these verses a poetic play on some of the most
famous of the “standings”of Niffari. Like several poems in this selection,
the poem in question speaks of oneness as a riddle but also promises to
break open the riddle. In the work of Niffari, absolute oneness, through
which the Sufi seeker becomes one with God as his own separate self
passes away in contemplation, results in a ghost dialogue: a speaker and
hearer, a you and an /, continue their intimate discourses, but there is only
one being remaining. In “Hidden in plain sight,” the phrases God is the
One with no other and There is nothing like me (an allusion to the
Qur’anic verse 42:11) fit into the poetic flow in a natural fashion and par-
ticipate in the performance of sudden shifts in voices and persons.
In this poem, the affirmations of oneness—God is the One with
no other, There is nothing like me, and I am one—show forth not
merely as statements but as personae, characters, and agents. Who is
speaking and who is listening? The poetic voice seems to exist between
two essences indeed. Through her introductory treatment of the major

xill
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

Sufi poetics of Shushtari’s time and the resurgence of interest in

Niffari, through her translation and explanation of the Naniyya, and
through her translation of poems like “Hidden in plain sight,” Alvarez
offers a tantalizing possibility: Could it be that in his Naniyya,
Shushtari was not only setting for a poetic movement of history and
consciousness across the ages, but was also signaling his own accom-
plishments as a poet, as well as the manner in which his verses perform
poetically what each of the figures he mentions achieved historically?
In her introduction, Dr. Alvarez has explicated the strophic zajal and
muwashshaha forms and the various levels of vernacular diction that help
season such poetry. She also explains the lack of a common denominator
between the Arabic vernacular of Shushtari and any contemporary
English vernacular, due to the potentially distracting ethnic registers of
most strong English vernaculars today. What Alvarez has chosen to do is
to use a soft touch with the vernacular, adding it in places where it will be
particularly effective in English, as with the phrase is trouble. That collo-
quial expression then contrasts within the metaphysical deconstruction of
the word whereness in the following verse. The result is that the statement
opened by J am one ends with an embedded, double paradox. The goal, /
am one, is to be found in the where-beyond whereness, a no-place beyond
place. There, the one / is discovered—as us. In attempting to appreciate
this verse in prose, I, of course, have lost its poetry. It is through the bal-
ances of aural and sonic features of the verse—elegantly reconstructed
through translation—and through the shifts among first person, second
person, and third person, and between the singular and the plural, that the
poetic persona speaks from “between two essences.” Below, I cite the
moment where this / am one is linked to the seemingly contradictory affir-
mation you will find us. Between these two affirmations—of oneness and
of community—there springs into expression the statement that the notion
of place is trouble—a colloquial touch, subtly accomplished in transla-
tion, that announces that the oneness can and does embrace an implied
hadra: an encounter, a meeting, an “audience,”or a coming together.

It is you who speak

and you who listen.

Just when do you think what is absent will appear?

God is the One with no other.

X1V
 FOREW ORD

There is nothing like me,

I am one.

And the very notion of place, in truth,

is trouble.
When you let go of “whereness,”
you will find us.

When viewed as an abstraction, the mystical visions of Ibn al-

Farid, Ibn al--Arabi, and Shushtari, named by later writers as wahdat
al-wujid, or “unity of existence,” can appear cold or solipsistic when
paraphrased or selectively quoted to claim a reality revealing itself to
itself through the mirror of its own creative act. It is in the performa-
tive nature of their language that such static essentialisms are overcome
in favor of a constant shift in perspectives between the ultimate unity
beyond language and a sense of relational intimacy or homecoming
that is brought into life around that ineffable oneness. I can find few
more compelling responses to such abstracted representations of Sufi
affirmation of oneness than these verses from Shushtari’s poem, which
verses may themselves be a commentary on Niffari (who, himself, as
Alvarez points out, was brought to life and attention in the seventh
Islamic century largely through the efforts of Ibn al-* Arabi). In absolute
oneness, the you implied by the poem discovers the one, and in so
doing experiences a homecoming, finding us.
My second observation begins with the following verses from
“The lover’s visit”:

My heart’s desire visited me, darkness fell away,

in that union, he was generous.
He attended my hadra, the wine glass went round,
and my hopes attained.

My beloved is my intimate confidant and my lamp,

present, so close.

What drink! What wine! What a vintner!

XV
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

What music! What song!

In a garden blooming with flowers
that fill us with light.
From their pulpits in the trees
the birds speak among us.

The first two verses quoted above speak of a hadra, a “session” or

“soiree,” that can refer to a gathering of devotees around a master, a
one-on-one encounter of master and devotee, an encounter between
God and a human, or even a group of poets, singers, and/or drinkers.”
The third verse then brings us a moment of intimacy, with the lover and
beloved close to one another. The poem evokes the Qur’anic “light”
verse, in which the light of God is likened to that of a lamp, in a niche
fueled by oil from a blessed olive tree, which needs no external spark
to blaze forth, accenting the notion that the encounter occurs at night,
away from others. The last set of verses quoted above offers a sense of
the ecstatic sensibility—the flowers illumining the garden as if lit from
within and the birds singing in the pulpits of trees—that bursts forth in
the Arabic poetry of Shushtari and his contemporaries.
At other times, the wine-séance can take on a ghostly sense. The
extreme affirmation of life seems to meld into a performative acknowl-
edgment of both human mortality and something beyond—as in these
verses from “Wine from no wine press”:

You who are unversed in this,

admit what you see:
The wine is passed round
and every one of us is drunk.
See the men here
with hearts abrim?

See them all dancing?

The secret is manifest in them,
for this they gave their lives
and their night has become day.

Within the wine-song, the timeless and cosmic vision can suddenly
shift to the most humble, common, gently comic vision of the drunkard

XVi
 FOREW ORD

slumped in the corner of the bar, a shift cultivated by the Arabic and
Persian poets. Take the following selected verses from “Many a cup,”
another poem that rings across linguistic registers into a natural and
compelling English:

My night has turned to day.

The sun is mine and the stars.
My dominion encompasses the depths.
My heart is the Atlas mountains.

Your love has served me many a cup.

When I looked away from myself,

I saw myself, the writing of my being visible to me.
What had been hidden
appears to me,
its meaning beyond ordinary wealth.

Look for me in the tavern.

You will see me
slumped among the wine jugs.
I love—without restraint—the one
who revives the spirits of those who join with him.

“When I looked away from myself, / I saw myself, the writing of my

being visible to me.” In those verses, the transformation of perspective—
from the self as “separate entity’to the self as “one with the one who has
no other’~—seems to take place before the eyes of the reader, as the self
recedes into the universe-like vastness of the new persona. Then, with
another sudden shift in perspective, the reader is invited to look for the
poet-lover in the tavern, slumped among the wine jugs.
The poetic and spiritual refrain that sounds through this volume
raises a number of questions. What is this wine? AA... Is it the earthly
wine or the heavenly? It is an ancient vintage, older than time, yet it
seems to represent something as ephemeral as will, as elusive as a
glance.’ It is quaffed in order to forget the beloved but brings the

XVil
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

beloved back to the mind. In it, the drinker, the lover, the devotee per-
ish, yet it brings the dead to life. It seems to function at times like the
remembrance of the beloved, as a wellspring of thought, emotion, and
spiritual or moral acceleration. It is passed round among the members
of the hadra, in a continual circling motion—like the motions of the
heavenly spheres, the circumambulations of the pilgrim, the whirling of
the dervishes, or the rounds of the choir that pass by and return as the
refrain of the zajal or muwashshaha. The intoxication it brings seems
to be aligned in theological terms with oneness itself, yet it is also the
agent of that oneness, the elixir that allows those who drink it to
become the one that they are.
In cultural terms, the wine-song represented by Shushtari can be
said to become the wine itself. The act of composing, transmitting, and
performing it brings an intoxication no less than drinking the beverage.
With each revival of the tradition, a new round forms. In that sense,
Lourdes Maria Alvarez has just helped pass the cup, and I suspect she
will be bringing others into the hadra taking place in the Arabic world
during that remarkable century.

Michael Sells

XVili
 FOREW ORD

NOTES

Dates of both the births and deaths of the five in Islamic and
Christian years:
1. Ibn al-*Arabi 560/1165 638/1240
Ibn al-Farid 562/1181 632/1235
Rumi 604/1207 672/1273
Busiri 607/1211 €. 6953/1295
Shushtari 608/1212 663/1265
For Busiri, see Suzanne Stetkevych, “From Text to Talisman: Al-
Busiri’s Qasidat al-Burdah (Mantle Ode) and the Supplicatory Ode,”
Journal of Arabic Literature 37, no. 2 (2006): 145-89.
2. For another example of a long Sufi poem offering a cosmic per-
spective of world history through the lens of reason or the melting of
reason, see Ibn al-Farid’s poetic summa, the Td@’iyya. In this regard, I
would point out in particular the shadow-play section from the Ta’iyya
(verses 269-706) in the powerful translation of Emil Homerin. See
Emil Homerin, ‘Umar Ibn al-Farid: Sufi Verse, Saintly Life, Classics
of Western Spirituality (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 2001), 269-75.
3. The Mawadgif and Mukhadtabat of Muhammad Ibn ‘Abdi
l-Jabbar al-Niffari, trans. A. J. Arberry (London: J. W. Gibb memorial,
1935), numbers 5, 6, 43, and 44, pp. 30-31, 79-80. Michael Sells,
Early Islamic Mysticism: Sufi, Qur'an, Mi‘raj, Poetic, and Theological
Writings, Classics of Western Spirituality (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press,
2001), 284-91.
4. For a classic example of such a notion of poetic and bacchic
conviviality, see the muwashshah “Pass the cup around” attributed,
according to the source, either to al-A°ma of Tudela (d. 1126) or to Ibn
Baqi of Cordoba (d. 1150). The text can be found in Benjamin Liu and
James Monroe, Ten Hispano-Arabic Strophic Songs in the Modern
Oral Tradition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 54.
5. For the paradoxes and associations of wine in early Arabic
poetry, see Philip F. Kennedy, The Wine Song in Classical Arabic
Poetry: Abii Nuwdas and the Literary Tradition (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1997).

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 PART ONE

Praising God in the

Language of Everyday Life
 ot boos .
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 PRAISING GOD IN THE
LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

Introduction

If your servant...has shown boldness in the formulation of

his prayer, his water still belongs forever to your sea...If he
spoke a hundred languages, in each tongue he would praise
you; if he falls silent like those forsaken, you comprehend
the language of him who has no words.
—NIZAMI, LEILA AND MAJNUN

Late in the twelfth century, Nizami (d.1217?), a poet from the

region now known as Azerbaijan, wrote a lengthy poem in Persian,
retelling the story of the tragic young lovers Qays and Layla, long a
popular trope for Arab poets. Qays, who “was drowned in an ocean of
love before he knew that there was such a thing,” goes mad when he is
separated from his beloved by her disapproving father.’ Wandering the
desert in rags, wholly consumed by his love, he is known to all as
Majnin Layla, “the one mad for Layla.” Nizami’s poem is widely inter-
preted as a mystical allegory of man’s passionate and uncontainable
love for God, yet as Chelkowski observes, “it is virtually impossible to
draw a clear line in Nizami’s poetry between the mystical and the
erotic, between the sacred and the profane.” His provocative blurring
of boundaries is noteworthy, especially as it signals an increasing will-
ingness to read poetry as religious when it is not explicitly marked as
such, an important milestone in the growing Islamic acceptance of the
use of imaginative literature to explore the emotional and experiential
side of the spiritual quest.
Equally significant however, is Nizami’s contribution to a growing
body of Islamic literature in Persian—rather than Arabic—asserting the
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

value of local language and its cultural specificities to speak of reli-

gious matters, even while accepting Arabic as the language of revela-
tion. For centuries heated battles had raged about the place of
languages other than Arabic in Islam: was Arabic a tool of cultural and
religious integration, essential to proper exegesis, or the instrument of
exclusion and marginalization of all that was not Arab? By Nizami’s
time, Islamic mystics had begun to record poetry and song not just in
Arabic and Persian, but in myriad local languages, dialects, and vernac-
ulars. Several of these local languages had little or no written tradition,
and it might be argued that, at least in the case of Turkish, the desire to
record and transmit a mystical message provided a significant impetus
to the development of a literary language. Indeed, much to the chagrin
of the defenders of rigid orthodoxy, political centralization, and lin-
guistic purity, by late in the twelfth century it seemed that Sufis from
East to West were suddenly praising God in a hundred languages.
Islamic Spain was no exception. In the thirteenth century, a new
mystical poetry emerged, appropriating not only the metrical patterns,
rhyme schemes, and colloquial diction of popular Andalusian song, but
also much of its iconoclastic spirit. Without a doubt, the most accom-
plished composer of these Andalusian songs, called muwashshahat and
zajals, was Abii al-Hasan al-Shushtari (1212-69). Shushtari, however,
was not the first to use these popular poetic forms for mystical expres-
sion. Instead another Andalusian, the prolific and multi-talented Sufi
theorist, Muhyi al-Din ibn al-‘Arabi (1165-1240), is credited with the
first mystical muwashshahat.’ Yet Ibn al-‘Arabi, al-Shaykh al-Akbar
(the Greatest Master), who wrote hundreds of dense treatises, a sub-
stantial corpus of difficult theosophical poetry and a slender volume of
odes in the traditional Arabian style, Tarjumdn al-Ashwagq [The Inter-
preter of Desires], was uncomfortable with these casual Andalusian
forms. Setting aside the matter of their mystical content and the chal-
lenges inherent in interpreting them, as artistic and poetic composi-
tions, Ibn al-‘Arabi’s muwashshahat feel stiff and uneasy, not unlike
what one might expect if a theologian with only passing knowledge of
hip-hop culture began writing religious raps. By contrast, it was
Shushtari’s special talent to use popular song and informal diction to
talk about the divine. His were songs that could be enjoyed and inter-
preted at many levels, songs that not only rejected rank and privilege
and championed voluntary poverty, but that themselves spoke in the
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

simple and unexalted language of daily life, the vernacular language

spoken by all—rather than the erudite language that separated the edu-
cated classes from the illiterate.
Shushtari’s popular songs won him wide recognition, recognition
that went far beyond the hundreds of disciples who formed the Sufi
brotherhood known as the Shushtariyya, an order eventually absorbed
into the Shadhiliyya.’ The poet also composed poems in the classical
monorhyme style, several of which were commented by later Sufi writ-
ers.” His fame is highlighted by attacks against him by the outspoken
critic of theosophical Sufism, Ibn Taymiyya (1263-1328), who called
him “that composer of zajals.”’ As for Shushtari’s admirers, these
included the one-time vizier of Granada and noted polymath Lisan al-
Din Ibn al-Khatib (1313-75), who, after his political fall it seems,
wrote mystical muwashshahat in what he himself called “Shushtari-
style.”* Ibn ‘Abbad of Ronda (1333-90), an Andalusian who became an
enormously influential figure in Moroccan Sufism, enthusiastically
recommended Shushtari’s colloquial versse, noting that they elicited
strong emotions for him, “especially if they are accompanied by music
and beautiful voices.” He further recommends that these songs be com-
mitted to writing “whenever possible.” In his writings on Sufism, the
great historian of al-Andalus, Ibn Khaldiin (1332-82),” praises
Shushtari’s verse despite his deep misgivings about the radical monism
he perceived in the poet’s master, Ibn Sab‘in (c.1217-c.1269).'' The
historian and literary anthologist al-Maqqari (1577-1632) calls him
“the leader of those who strip bare and a blessing to those who wear the
robes of the Sufis’(amir al-mutajarradin wa baraka labisi al-khirqa).”
Shushtari’s earliest biographer, Ahmad al-Ghubrini (d.1304), writes:
“His poetry (shir) was extraordinarily impressive and elegant (ghdyat
al-intiba‘ wa-l-malaha), and he composed muwashshahat, plays on
words, and amusing zajals of the utmost beauty.” Shushtari’s influ-
ence even extended into Christian Europe, for the Catalan mystic
Ramon Llull (1232—1315)—who read and wrote Arabic fluently—
echoes one of Shushtari’s most famous refrains, “What care have I for
others?/What care have they for me?” in Blanquerna, in which a char-
acter wanders the marketplace calling out: ““Little-care-I’ or ‘what-will-
men-say” (diria hom,’ 0 ‘poc m’o preu).-
The enduring appeal of Shushtari’s mystical songs is indicated not
only by the dozens of extant manuscript copies of his diwan (collected
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

poems), now scattered in academic libraries, private collections and the

libraries of Sufi brotherhoods around the world, but by the fact that his
songs are also recorded in many songbooks, with information about
their musical modes (maqam) and rhythms. The songbooks, such as the
eighteenth-century Kunndsh al-Hd@ik, are particularly interesting
because they demonstrate the vitality of these songs as part of a popu-
lar repertoire that transcends secular or religious labels.” And to be
sure, Shushtari remains a towering figure in North African Sufism.
From Morocco to Syria, his verses are well loved and oft recited; they
are prominently featured in the mystical sessions of virtually every
brotherhood, sung at funerals, and recorded by prominent artists.”
Indeed, Ahmad al-Khaligh, the host of a prestigious and widely broad-
cast Sufi radio show, features his poetry and songs on a regular basis
and has called him the “greatest mystic poet of Islamic Spain and North
Africa.” His songs are arguably the most vibrant—and the liveliest—
element of Islamic Spain’s cultural legacy. It would be hard to overstate
his importance. Shushtari, then, might be understood as the Rumi of
Western Islam.

ae Pee
In recent years the verse of Persian mystics like Nizami and
Hafiz, and especially that of Rumi, has become familiar to international
audiences and the subject of many translations and studies, but Sufi
poetry in other languages—perhaps most surprisingly, in Arabic—has
not enjoyed the same attention. This neglect is even more pronounced
for popular poetry and song in the various vernacular dialects of
Arabic. Doubtless, the principal reason for this inattention is the stigma
attached to the spoken language—seen as a corruption of the pure
Arabic of the Qur’an and of high culture—even as it is used by all seg-
ments of the population in the course of daily life. (These dialects, it
must be noted, are so different from one another and from standard
Arabic that they can be mutually unintelligible. Standard Arabic, the
language of books, political and religious addresses, and news broad-
casts, is acquired through schooling; the language of private life, the
language that roots one in a particular place, is the vernacular.) The ten-
dency to exclude and marginalize the rare texts that do attempt to
record the spoken register is not purely due to linguistic discrimination
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

but is also a product of the daunting obstacles to their establishment

and interpretation. Scribal error and emendation introduce some uncer-
tainties, which are especially notable when the scribe is unfamiliar with
the dialect being copied. Error and uncertainty are further compounded
by code-switching between formal and informal registers and the use
of nonstandard meter, for meter is oftentimes an important tool in deci-
phering or establishing a text. Further imprecision comes from the
Arabic writing system itself, which generally relies on the reader’s
knowledge of the correct vocalization of words and in many cases
allows the same graphic representation for a word in its standard and
dialectal pronunciation.
In the instance of Shushtari, we still lack a reliable Arabic edition
of his diwdn or collected poems. The obstacles are many. There is no
autograph copy of his diwdn, that is, a copy authenticated by the poet
himself. This is unsurprising, as many diwdns are collected posthu-
mously; however, the imposing gap of nearly three centuries separating
the composition (or presumed composition) and the dates of the earli-
est extant manuscript copies leaves many unanswered questions about
when, where, and by whom his poems were gathered. Yet Shushtari’s
popularity means that rather than the lacunae and uncertainties that
attend a paucity of manuscripts, the reader faces the difficulties associ-
ated with a superabundance of manuscripts: variants, spurious interpo-
lations, and false attributions. Manuscripts are scattered in American
and European libraries and throughout the Islamic world: North Africa,
the Levant, Turkey, and even Indonesia. Many more copies are thought
to be in private collections or in small libraries attached to Sufi circles.
‘Ali Sami al-Nashshar’s 1960 edition of the diwdn based on seventeen
manuscripts from three separate manuscript traditions is a considerable
achievement, despite being plagued by typographical errors, inconsis-
tencies, and poor documentation of variants." Federico Corriente’s
1988 Poesia estréfica: céjeles ylo muwasSahat, which he himself
called a pre-edici6n, corrects quite a few problems found in Nashshar’s
edition, yet his transcription of text into Latin characters fixes the read-
ing in a way that is inimical to the customary flexibility of the Arabic
script.. Corriente is only interested in Shushtari’s popular strophic
verse; his book excludes the thirty-seven monorhyme compositions
collected by Nashshar. Furthermore, Corriente has relied on only one
early yet incomplete manuscript to supplement his reading of
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

Nashshar’s edition; he thus is unable to address a fair number of

errors.
In preparing this volume, I have meticulously checked Nashshar’s
edition against nine manuscripts. Of these, two stand out as the earliest
and most reliable: Escorial 278, copied in 956/1549, and another, more
complete manuscript apparently unknown to Nashshar (or Massignon),
Yale Arabic Manuscript 21, copied in 1000/1591." In the notes for
each poem, I list page numbers for Nashshar’s edition of the Diwan fol-
lowed by the number he assigned each poem; the same numbers serve
for Corriente’s transliterated edition and translation.” I also list the
folios for the Yale and Escorial manuscripts. The changes seen in cer-
tain poems in later manuscripts provide evidence of Shushtari’s evolv-
ing legacy and the role of his compositions—and those ascribed to
him—in Sufi devotional practice. Popular poems are sometimes short-
ened for singing, retaining the most dramatic or memorable lines; at
other times new strophes are inserted; in still other cases controversial
or obscure language is replaced. These changes are discussed in the
notes when they present a special interest. However, to avoid overbur-
dening the reader, in the majority of cases they pass unremarked, as
variations that are common and expected in a living oral tradition.
The aim in the present volume is to make available a representa-
tive sample of Shushtari’s work; the criteria for any selection of this
kind are, by necessity, subjective. There is, unfortunately, room for
doubt about the authenticity of a substantial number of the poems
attributed to Shushtari, especially in later manuscripts. Although
Nashshar voices reservations about some compositions, primarily bas-
ing his judgment on scribal marginalia, contradictory attributions in
other sources, or content inconsistent with Shushtari’s thought as he
understood it, he chose to cast as wide a net as possible in compiling
his edition of the Diwan, including some rather doubtful poems.
Corriente uses philological criteria to assess their authenticity, evincing
skepticism about poems whose stylistic and metrical characteristics he
adjudges typical of later periods, but he nonetheless transliterated and
translated into Spanish all the strophic poems collected by Nashshar.
While I have chosen poems that I judge to be of reasonably certain
attribution, this sampling is in no way intended as a judgment of which
poems are “most certain.” The variations, corruptions, interpolations,
and omissions so prevalent in certain later manuscripts and especially
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

in songbooks are powerful evidence of a robust oral tradition, unfortu-

nately impossible to address in such a brief study. I have focused on the
most frequently attested poems; I have also included several poems that
have become quite central to the received persona of the poet, even
though some copyists and modern scholars have speculated that they
may actually be the work of later admirers and imitators. Ultimately,
however, the overriding factor in my choices was the extremely per-
sonal judgment of poetic quality and/or doctrinal significance.
While the establishment of a sound reading of the Arabic original
is, of course, a crucial first step in preparing a good English translation,
the act of translation inevitably introduces a new order of semantic
shifts, distortions, and unavoidable transformations. Perhaps the most
serious problem is that the English perforce clarifies what was never
meant to be clear, fixing one meaning, one reading, to the exclusion of
several others possible in the original—that is, when the English does
not inadvertently introduce new shades of meaning. While this is inher-
ent in any literary translation, it is especially true when working with
mystical poetry, which in attempting to explore the limits of the inex-
pressible, deforms language and violates its grammatical conventions.
In the case of mystical poetry in Arabic, the famous ambiguity and
semantic plasticity of the Arabic language are pushed to their extreme.
Take, for example, the opening line of Shushtari’s “I sang to the moon”:

To me, from me; He’s the goal.

“Hey me, what’s up with you?”

The poem begins with a logical and grammatical contradiction.

After the first prepositional phrase, one expects a verb and a subject,
either stated or implied. Instead, the prepositional phrase is followed by
another, signaling movement in the opposite direction. The pronoun
that follows, hu—a dialectal shortening of huwa—can be read as “he”
or “it,” but in mystical texts it often means God, as in the One who
needs no qualifiers or descriptions, the One who is beyond and above
language. “Wusal,” a verbal noun from a verb meaning “to join,” “to
unite,” “to connect,” or “to arrive” (among other things), could then,
depending on how one reads hu, denote a dizzying series of possibili-
ties. One variation might be “it (meaning that implied journey from
myself, to myself) is the joining, a sublime union”, another, “He (mean-
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

ing God) is the arrival that is the goal of that inner journey.” The sec-
ond hemistich adds a lighthearted contrast to the obscurity of the first,
while still echoing its circularity. The poet addresses himself, Faya
ana, that is, “there I am,” or “hey there, me,” and asks, as if greeting a
friend at the market, aysh khabarak? that is, “what’s up?” Needless to
say, beneath the veneer of this informal verbal play lie serious theo-
sophical propositions about mystical union, the search for knowledge
of God, and the essential oneness of God. This is but one example of
the many different types of semantic and lexical ambiguities found in
the majority of Shushtari’s poems.
Another unavoidable consequence of translation is the loss of
much of the tension and play between linguistic registers so prominent
in the original. Shifts between standard Arabic usage and highly infor-
mal colloquial diction were negotiating a gap analogous to that which
separated classical Latin from vulgar Latin and the emerging romance
vernaculars at about the same time. Modern English offers the transla-
tor no parallel or equivalent that is not encumbered with class or racial
overtones. Take, for example, the first line (divided into hemistiches)
of “My lover is second to none”:

My lover is second to none,

and no spy watches over him.

The first hemistich literally reads: my lover (or my beloved,

habibi can have either meaning), to him there is no second (thdni). Of
course, this is a clear declaration of the incomparability or peerlessness
of the beloved and—understanding that beloved as God—the line is
also a proclamation of absolute monotheism. The line’s informal dic-
tion—in some manuscripts reading md /i thdani, rather than the more
standard, yet still informal, ma lahu thani—tempts me to translate it as
“ain’t no one like my baby.” Yet out of fear of appearing to disrespect
or belittle this or similarly informal compositions, I have avoided non-
standard or ungrammatical usage. While my renditions in some cases
flirt with the informal registers of English, to push any further would
be distracting, focusing attention on the translation itself rather than on
the material being translated.
Translation across cultures also obscures intertextual references
and allusions, as one moves from a language that reverberates with

10
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

Qur’anic usage and an Islamic worldview to one in which much of that

context needs considerably more glossing. Despite my best efforts at
documenting the most important of these in the notes, many layers of
meaning will doubtless be lost. Let me offer another example. A bit later
in the poem “My lover is second to none,” the phrase “surat al- uqud” or
“stra of the necklace”or “stira of the covenants” presents an enigma:
there is no Qur’anic stira by that name. Perhaps this is why in some man-
uscripts sura becomes sira, that is, “picture” or “image” (even though
that change hardly results in a better reading) and in one very late (and
extremely defective) manuscript, the line becomes “‘stiq al-‘uqiid” or the
“Jewelry market.” However, if we remark that the word ‘ugid appears
only once in the Qur’an, in the opening line of Sarat al-Ma’ida [sira 5,
The Feast], the reference to that particular siira becomes clear. With this
in view, the persistent echoes and allusions to that Qur’anic siira become
readily apparent, confirming that the poem as a whole functions as a
mystical gloss on its deeper themes. Rather than focusing on the dietary
restrictions and the warnings to those who violate God’s covenant—the
aspect of the stra most insistently highlighted by the legalists—
Shushtari emphasizes the bounty and grace that is also promised by God
in those verses. Thus, the Andalusian poet sings:

I am content in the Creator, upon Him I rest.

In Him I am joined, in Him I am separated,
in Him I desire Him.
In Him I see, in Him I hear and my soul is in His hands.
He bestows on me his favor. My life in Him is sweet.

CX
The current volume presents a selection of Shushtari’s vernacular
and classical lyric, his longer doctrinal poems, and a brief prose trea-
tise, Risdla al-Baghdddiyya [Baghdad Treatise], all of which are ren-
dered in English for the first time. The lyric poems are organized
thematically into six chapters, each preceded by a brief introduction.
Notes keyed to verse numbers follow at the end of the volume. The
poems in “Intoxicated by the Divine” take up the theme with which
Shushtari is now most closely associated: the celebration of the ecstatic
wine of the mystics. The songs in “Love-crazed” include some of his
most lyrical and appealing compositions, which explore the paradoxes

11
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

of union in and separation from God using the language and conven-
tions of classical Arabic love poetry. “Denudatio/Stripping bare”
explores the seeker’s relationship to all that will pass away, from the
riches of the material world to the comforts of the familiar.
“Deciphering the signs of God” presents poems dealing with interpre-
tation and mystical hermeneutics. One of Shushtari’s persistent themes
is the complex interrelation between divine signs in their myriad forms:
as letters of a divine text or as the grand patterns of creation. The poems
in “The night journey” wed the imagery of classical Arabian desert
odes—the desert encampments, the yearning and recollection of bliss-
ful union with the beloved, the long and lonely night trek of the suffer-
ing lover—to a mystical understanding of mi‘vdaj, Muhammad’s
ascension to heaven.
In the poems of the subsequent chapters, aesthetic and poetic val-
ues are overshadowed by a more explicit engagement with doctrinal
concerns. “At the monastery” foregrounds one of the most controversial
aspects of Shushtari’s work: his explicit invocation of Christian
imagery and scenes and his exploration of how a mystical approach
might transcend confessional divisions and unify believers. In
Shushtari’s longest and most-commented poem, the Nianiyya, he explores
the multifaceted and often paradoxical relationship of reason to the
mystical pursuit of knowledge. Wrongly labeled a spiritual isndd (or
chain of authorities) by Massignon, this work is far more complex,
exploring the role of human reason (‘aq/)—in both its positive and neg-
ative aspects—in the thought of a long line of philosophers and mys-
tics, from Hermes to Socrates to Ibn Rushd (Averroes) and Ibn
al-‘Arabi. The poem’s vast chronological sweep has inspired an influ-
ential tradition of commentary that is explored in the section introduc-
tion and in the notes.
The prose selection Baghdad Treatise is a brief and animated
rebuttal to those who criticized the mystics’ embrace of voluntary
poverty and their wearing of wool and patchwork cloaks as religious
innovation (bida‘) and ostentation of piety (shuhra). Shushtari repeats
the traditional justification, found in Sufi manuals such as Kalabadhi’s
tenth-century Doctrine of the Sufis or Qushayri’s Risdla, that the hadith
bear ample witness to the Prophet’s wearing of woolen garments and
his disdain for material goods. Likewise, he points to the example of
many pious Muslim forbearers in their embrace of extreme poverty.

ez
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

What is novel in our poet’s treatise is the argument that because inten-
tion (niyya) is not discernable through externals such as clothing, one
cannot form judgments about others. Reminding his readers that the
Qur’an calls believers to respect each other and refrain from criticizing
and casting blame—‘some suspicions are sinful” (49:12)—he defends
the idea that one should act guided by conscience, neither condemning
nor being condemned by others. This work can be read as a succinct
introduction to many of the debates surrounding thirteenth-century Sufi
practice, debates that echo those surrounding the creation of the men-
dicant orders during the same period in Christian Europe.

*““My time is a wonder”: The rising tide of Islamic

mysticism in the thirteenth century
Shushtari’s art flourished in a time when Islamic mysticism
enjoyed unprecedented growth, diversification, and cross-fertilization
between its Eastern and Western practitioners. The efflorescence of
Sufi institutions in the thirteenth century—including increasing num-
bers of dedicated centers of communal religious life (often called ribats
in the West and khdnagah in the East) or retreat houses (khalwas or
zawiyas) and the advent of formal mystical schools (tarigas), carrying
the name of a prominent mystic and serving to propagate his views and
mystical practices—greatly increased the number of adepts and the
varieties of mystical life.” Widely divergent views on theology, daily
spiritual praxis, and the believer’s relationship to the material world are
reflected in the wealth of appellations mystics used to describe them-
selves and differentiate themselves from others: Sifiyya, Mutasawwifa,
Maldmatiyya, Fugarda’, Qalandariyya. The lines separating these groups
—if we can even speak of lines—are often quite fuzzy. Indeed, the use
of these labels is frustratingly inconsistent, even within the work of a
single author. In his own writing on the subject of the varieties of mys-
tical practice, Shushtari expresses a preference for the way of the
fugara’ al-mutajarradin, who, he explains, practice the most rigorous
form of poverty, but the poet is careful not to denigrate other approaches,
saying “all of them are paths to God Almighty.””

13
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

The early history of Islamic mysticism in Spain, Shushtari’s place

of birth and where he spent his formative years are neither well docu-
mented nor well understood.” Nor is there any clear consensus on the
reasons for the striking efflorescence of Sufism there in the twelfth cen-
tury. The Sanhaja Berber-led Almoravid dynasty, which ruled over
the Maghreb and al-Andalus from the late eleventh-century until the
mid-twelfth century, vigorously promoted strict religious observance
and received enthusiastic support from the clerical class, the fugahd’,
who saw its power and influence rise dramatically during that time.
These rigorist rulers and their local allies viewed Sufism with suspi-
cion, as a source of bida‘, or religious innovation, and as a threat to
their authority. Their concern grew such that in 1106 the Almoravid
Amir ‘Ali ibn Yusuf ibn Tashfin called for the public burning of Abi
al-Hamid al-Ghazali’s tremendously influential Jhya ‘Uliim al-Din
[Revival of Religious Sciences], a book widely perceived as bringing
Sufism heightened legitimacy and acceptance in other parts of the
Islamic world. As the Almoravids struggled under military threat, both
in Morocco and from the Christian kingdoms to the north, the regime
lost popular support, and critics increasingly voiced resentment of the
ruling Sanhaja Berbers and their alien customs, exemplified by the
veils worn by their men. Ethnic and religious tensions increased. Jews
were denied important posts they had held under previous governments
and were increasingly victims of violence and extortion. The situation
of the Mozarabic Christian communities became increasingly precari-
ous, for they were seen as potential allies and collaborators with their
correligionists to the north. As society unraveled, the suppression of
Sufism, clearly perceived as both politically and doctrinally threaten-
ing, intensified. The influential Sufi leaders Ibn al-‘Arif (d.1141) and
Ibn Barrajan (d.1141), both based in Almeria, were arrested and
brought to Marrakesh. Ibn Barrajan was murdered in prison, while Ibn
al-‘Arif died shortly after his return to Almeria, allegedly the victim of
a poisoned eggplant. The outrage over the fate of these two revered
teachers is thought to have been a major factor in impelling Ibn Qasi
(d.1151), a Sufi leader in the Algarve (the south Atlantic coast of the
Iberian Peninsula, now part of Portugal), to launch a serious, though
short-lived armed revolt against the Almoravids.”
The mid-twelfth-century rise of the Almohads, another Berber-
led movement that toppled the ruling Almoravids, first in North Africa

14
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

and then in Spain, signaled a very different climate for mysticism, as

well as for philosophical enquiry. Both groups were motivated by reli-
gious zeal, but their ideological differences were profound. The
Almohads (al-Muwahhidin, literally, “those who assert the oneness [of
God]”) distrusted the complex edifice of juridical decisions and kalam
that were the stock-in-trade of the fugahd’; instead, they advocated a
direct engagement with the Qur’én and prophetic tradition. Al-
Ghazali’s work was promoted under the new regime; legend has it that
Ibn Timart, the founder of the Almohad dynasty, met al-Ghazali when
he traveled east as a young man. The works of other eastern Sufis cir-
culated freely, as did works by earlier Andalusian Sufis. By early in the
thirteenth century, Islamic Spain and North Africa not only had bur-
geoning communities of mystics but also had begun to produce tower-
ing theosophical thinkers and Sufi leaders—such as Ibn al-‘Arabi, Ibn
Sab‘in, Abi: Madyan, al-Shadhili, and, of course, Shushtari—whose
impact would reverberate throughout the Islamic world.
Ironically, the declining fortunes of the Almohads in the first half
of the thirteenth century may have contributed to widening the scope of
influence of these Andalusian mystics by forcing their emigration east-
ward. As military pressures, famine, and heavy taxation eroded support
for this second Berber-led government, the fortunes of the fugahd’
began to rise anew. Sufis, philosophers, and others suspected of hetero-
doxy faced increased scrutiny, accusations of impiety, and persecution.
The eastward exodus of many prominent Andalusian and Maghrebi
Sufis and the resultant contact and interchange between Eastern and
Western mystical currents profoundly marked the development of
Sufism, precisely at the time of its institutionalization and the forma-
tion of a canon of theoretical, literary, and poetic texts in a variety of
languages.

Writing the mystic’s life

There is relatively little reliable biographical information for
Shushtari. Over the centuries the scant details about his life provided
by early biographers have been supplemented by myth, legend, and a
considerable amount of surmise predicated on the assumption that his
poems are autobiographical and refer to actual lived events. For exam-

15
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

ple, some have argued that the poem “Little shaykh from Meknes” indi-
cates that the poet resided for a time in that Moroccan city; others have
opined that “Makndas” simply provided a fortuitous thyme. None of
the early biographies puts him in Meknes. As the stories about the
poet’s life acquired more dramatic flourishes—whether the stories were
derived from the text of his poems or those falsely attributed to him—
commentators began to use them to explicate the meaning of his
poems. This clearly circular procedure obviously does little to further
our understanding of the historical events of the mystic’s life; more-
over, it results in a problematic foreshortening of the interpretative
horizon of the poems, diminishing, if not—at least in certain cases—
eliminating, their characteristic ambiguity and enigmatic qualities.
What is known with reasonable certainty is this: Abt al-Hasan
‘Ali ibn ‘Abd Allah Numayri al-Shushtari was born in 610 AH/1212
CE to a prominent family in Wadi Ash (Guadix), a town cut into the
steep hillsides of the towering Sierra Nevada, northeast of Granada.
The family’s nisba, or appellation, derives from Shushtar, the district of
Guadix where they resided. Shushtari’s birth coincided with the crush-
ing defeat of Almohad forces in the battle of Las Navas de Tolosa by
the combined armies of Leon, Castile, Aragon, Navarre, and Portugal.
The Moroccan-based Almohads would maintain a precarious hold on
power in Islamic Spain through Shushtari’s youth, but by the time he
was thirteen, the Muslim population of neighboring Seville and Murcia
would be decimated by Christian incursions. Conflicts over dynastic
succession in Marrakech, the seat of Almohad power, proved to be a
distraction for much of the ruling class, which shifted its attention
southward rather than to military threats emanating from the north. In
the years between 1225 and 1236, when Cordoba fell, life in much of
al-Andalus was marked by internal divisions, plague, and drought.” A
number of local Muslim rulers in the crumbling kingdom entered into
pacts with the Christians, either in the form of alliances to gain advan-
tage over political rivals or in the payment of tribute to avoid conquest
and dispossession. The extra burden of taxation required to pay these
tributes only served to fuel popular resentment and rebellion. Not a few
observers saw the mounting crisis as divine punishment for either the
sins of the rulers or for the general sinfulness of the populace; many
pursued religious renewal, either in the form of rigorous enforcement

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of religious law or a turning away from political solutions to embrace

asceticism and ecstatic spirituality.
Shushtari was among the large numbers of Andalusians who
opted for the latter course. As a Sufi, he led a peripatetic existence; his
earliest biographer, writing in the late thirteenth century, places him in
Tunis, Qabis (Gabes, also in Tunisia), Malaga, Bijaya (Bougie, now
part of Algeria), and Damietta.” Other sources mention travels to
Damascus and several pilgrimages to Mecca. Almost all of
Shushtari’s biographies repeat a memorable anecdote about Shushtari’s
premonition of death on 17 Safr 668 AH (October 15, 1269 CE).
Arriving at a barren, salt-encrusted plain in the sub-Sinai near the
Mediterranean, he asks the name of that place. When told “Tina,” he
replies with an untranslatable play on words, “hannat al-tina illd al-
Tina” (my clay [tina] longed for Tina”).” His followers, numbering in
the hundreds, carried his body to the nearby town of Damietta for bur-
ial in more solid ground.
Our poet’s most influential biographer is Ibn Luyin (1282-1349);
his account forms the basis for most subsequent accounts, including
those of Ibn al-Khatib and al-Maqqari.° Ibn Luyiin was a mystic and
expert on poetical matters hailing from Almeria, a longstanding center
of Sufi thought.” The Almerian took a special interest in Shushtari,
writing a summary of his Risdla al-Tlmiyya, which he prefaced with an
account of Shushtari’s deeds and qualities. According to this biogra-
phy, the young mystic studied with Andalusian followers of Abu Hafs
‘Umar al-Suhrawardi’ and with Ibn Sab‘in. Ibn Luyin further recounts
that Shushtari met the Syrian mystic and poet Najm ibn Isra’il al-
Dimashgi (1206-78), who said: “He came from a line of emirs (umara’)
and he joined the ranks of the poor (fugard’).” This corresponds to a
motif commonly found in Sufi hagiographies: the sons of privilege who
turn their backs on riches, status, and book learning and embrace higher
forms of perception (dhawq) in the quest for spiritual illumination.
There is ample material in Shushtari’s poetry to lead us to believe that
there is more to Dimashqi’s account than mere convention. Lines like:

There is no one in richness like You

and in poverty there are none like us.
We see You manifest in everything;
nothing is ours.

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 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

might be read in the sense of a kind of metaphorical “spiritual poverty.”

Yet others like:

I clothe my body
in cords and needles,
bits of discarded wool;
I beg a bit of bread.

speak of a poverty that is in no way abstract. Shushtari’s prose works

make his embrace of extreme poverty even clearer and more explicit. In
fact, in the Risdla al-TIlmiyya he treats the subject at great length, argu-
ing that poverty is a good not only for the virtuous or outstanding, but
even for the evil, for they are thus stripped of their ability to do harm unto
others. Nor does he make any distinction between voluntary and invol-
untary poverty, declaring ‘the poor man (faqir) is outstanding whether he
renounced the world by choice or by necessity.” Although we will
examine this question in special detail in the chapter devoted to renunci-
ation, ‘““Denudatio/Stripping away,” Shushtari’s championing of the pop-
ular classes is a theme that runs through all of his work, animating the
songs that directly reach out to the excluded and the marginalized.
The most vexing and controversial question confronting
Shushtari’s modern biographers has been establishing a chronology of
his thought and his relationship to Ibn Sab‘in. In the century following
Ibn Sab‘in’s death, attacks on the Hellenizing Murcian philosopher
intensified. The Hanbali scholar Ibn Taymiyya wrote at length against
his ideas; some biographers began circulating the charge that, like
Socrates, Ibn Sab‘in had died a suicide—a somewhat doubtful charge,
given the fact that the earliest biographers make no mention of this. As
Ibn Sab‘in’s reputation declined, the idea that Shushtari ultimately
broke with his revered master and rejected his teachings appeared to
take root. Of course, Shushtari’s earliest biographer reports no such
break. He does acknowledge the fact that Ibn Sab‘in was, by all
accounts, a difficult personality, mentioning that many seekers or
scholars (talaba) preferred Shushtari to Ibn Sab‘in. However, Shushtari
is presented by him as Ibn Sab‘in’s defender, replying to his master’s
critics, “if they say that, then it is because of their lack of familiarity
with the master and shortcomings in their own character’ (4:31-38).
Writing biographical sketches of both Ibn Sab‘in and his most famous

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student, the polymath Ibn al-Khatib mentions the controversies and

accusations that followed the Murcian philosopher and, as further proof
of his arrogance, relates that when the young Shushtari met the even
younger Ibn Sab‘in, the teacher said to him with his characteristic
haughtiness, “if it is paradise you seek, then go with Shaykh Abi
Madyan, if it is the Master of paradise, then let’s get going’”’(4:206). Yet
Ibn al-Khatib speaks of no rupture between the disciple and his master,
instead claiming that Shushtari took over the leadership of a group of
some four hundred followers of Ibn Sab‘in after the master’s death.
Furthermore, in both the /hdta and Rawdat al-ta‘rif, Ibn al-Khatib
reproduces the complete text of Shushtari’s Niniyya, a work that
strongly identifies the poet as an unabashed follower of the Murcian
philosopher-mystic.
The earliest account of a break comes at least a century and a half
after the poet’s death in a brief biographical note by Ibn Hajar al-
‘Asqalani (1372-1449). Later biographers, such as Ahmad Zarriiq
(d.1493) and Ibn <Ajiba (1746-1809), claim that Shushtari did indeed
repudiate the problematic aspects of Ibn Sab‘in’s thought, including
“divine union (Aula and ittihdd) and a tendency towards deviation and
heresies.’” Ibn ‘Ajiba, who clearly holds Shushtari in high regard, fre-
quently citing the Andalusian’s verse in his writing, is especially con-
cerned with rescuing his memory from the heterodox taint of his
master. Yet there is still the matter of whether the writings that predate
this return to orthodoxy contain objectionable ideas. Ibn ‘Ajiba clearly
rejects any attempt to pass judgment on individual poems or treatises;
instead, he urges readers to recognize the contributions of these contro-
versial mystics and employ ta’wil, or figural interpretation, to come to
what is sound (sahih) in the writings of both men. Ibn ‘Ajiba thus
squarely places interpretation, evaluation, and personal decisions about
faith and conduct on the shoulders of the reader, and does much to
remove the pall of suspicion cast over the writings of master and stu-
dent.”
Ultimately, the various perspectives offered on the possible rift
are most instructive on the much larger issue of the evolving reception
and status of the “radical Sufis”in mainstream Sufi brotherhoods. If, as
Alexander Knysh so clearly demonstrates, “Ibn ‘Arabi’s posthumous
image was molded largely against the backdrop of the theological con-
troversy over his intellectual legacy,” Shushtari’s reputation was

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 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

molded in the tension between a similar controversy over Ibn Sab‘in’s

theological propositions and the widespread admiration for the poet’s
beautiful and well-loved verses.
Indeed the question of Shushtari’s relationship with Ibn Sab‘in is
just a part of larger questions surrounding the intellectual climate of the
period and the relationships among many of the key figures in that
extremely fertile time that coincided with the institutionalization of
Sufism and the rise of mystical brotherhoods. Shushtari’s poems and
prose works—and those attributed to him—reflect such a broad spec-
trum of ideas that commentators have been unable to agree on the tra-
jectory of his thought and whether or not he later abandoned some of
the controversial positions he once espoused. According to some
accounts, he was first invested or initiated in the Sufi order (tariqa) of
the Andalusian-born Abt Madyan (1126-97), a key figure in promot-
ing a moderate and accessible practice of Sufism largely modeled on
the ideas of al-Ghazali.” He was also said to have studied with follow-
ers of Shihab al-Din al-Suhrawardi (d.1234), the author of the influen-
tial Sufi compendium, ‘Awarif al-Ma‘arif. Suhrawardi represents a
middle ground between the ethical Sufism of Abt Madyan and more
speculative and philosophically tinged currents. Shushtari’s Risdla al-
‘Imiyya draws heavily from Sarraj’s Kitab al-Luma‘.” Additionally,
Shushtari’s writings reflect admiration for the Sufi “martyr” al-Husayn
ibn Mansir al-Hallaj (857-922), executed for his public declarations of
radical monism.
A more difficult matter is determining how well Shushtari knew
the work of his fellow Andalusian Ibn al-‘Arabi. To be sure, the teach-
ings and writings of the Greatest Master, as well as his personal con-
tacts with mystics from a broad swath of the Islamic world, were so
influential that they have colored the interpretation not only of the mys-
tics that followed him, but also, retrospectively, some who preceded
him, such as the poet Ibn al-Farid. Indeed, this becomes a major hurdle
to elucidating the philosophical specificities of certain currents of Sufi
thought, especially those of contemporaries or near-contemporaries—
like Shushtari. To begin with, we cannot be sure how complete a
knowledge of Ibn al-‘Arabi’s writings and teachings he might have had.
It would seem that our poet knew at least some of the work of his fel-
low Andalusian; he mentions him in the Naniyya (lines 60-61) and also
composed a series of short odes (gasa’id) apparently in response to

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 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

poems in al-Shaykh al-Akbar’s Interpreter of Desires (these poems can

be found in Chapter 6, Desert Wanderings). Shushtari is also credited
with writing a type of poetic gloss, known as a takhmis, on a poem
found in Ibn al-‘Arabi’s Kitab al-Isra’.” (By the same token, Ibn al-
‘Arabi had composed a takhmis on a poem of Abii Madyan.”) In fact,
given that Ibn al-<Arabi initiated the use of Andalusian strophic forms
for mystical verse, it is tempting to read Shushtari’s career as deeply
marked by an unspoken competition with the Greatest Master, whom
he mentions directly only in the Naniyya.
It is also unclear how well our poet knew the work of the
Egyptian poet Ibn al-Farid (1181-1235), widely considered the most
masterful Arab mystic poetic and legendary for the difficulty and daz-
zling artifice of his compositions.” Some of Shushtari’s classical odes
certainly appear to echo those of his Egyptian predecessor, yet because
Shushtari’s style and diction are so radically different, it is hard to dis-
cern more than general thematic similarities. Given that Ibn al-Farid
reworks tropes coming out of the highly stylized tradition of pre-
Islamic desert odes, Shushtari’s embrace of similar motifs is suggestive
but not in and of itself convincing evidence of an artistic link between
the two men.
Shushtari’s thought is further marked by many lesser-known mys-
tics, such as the twelfth-century Andalusian Ibn Qasi, who, in addition
to leading a short-lived Sufi revolt against the Almoravids, was also the
author of an influential treatise, Khala‘ Na‘layn [The Shedding of the
Sandals]. Our poet also admired the enigmatic tenth-century Iraqi
mystic Niffari, whose work was heavily influenced by al-Hallaj.”
Shushtari’s interest in Ibn Qasi and al-Niffari once again raises the
question of how to distinguish between the general intellectual milieu
in al-Andalus and the Maghreb—were these figures well known there
at that time?—versus a possible (unacknowledged) intellectual debt to
Ibn al-‘Arabi, who wrote extensive commentaries on their work.
If Shushtari’s verse clearly engages with (and raises questions
about) the mystical currents of his day, it is equally immersed in secu-
lar literary traditions, from classical Arabic poetry to the popular ver-
nacular culture of the Andalusian muwashshah and the zajal. As we
shall see, Shushtari quotes or alludes to the verses of many secular writ-
ers, from Abu Nuwas (d.813), celebrated for his wine poems and his
irreverent wit, to Ibn Zaydiin (1003-70), the Cordoban poet whose ill-

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fated love affair with the princess Wallada provided him with material
for his most-admired odes and her with material for devastatingly satir-
ical poems. But Shushtari’s most striking references may be those to the
work of Ibn Quzman (d.1160), the self-proclaimed bad boy of Andalusi
letters and master of that most informal of Andalusian verse forms, the
zajal. In poem after poem Shushtari appears to have borrowed the cel-
ebrated rake’s colloquial diction, his irreverent attitude, and his tone of
self-parodying boasts, recasting them and imbuing them with religious
and metaphysical significance. Thus, Shushtari’s engagement with his
diverse poetic predecessors indexes multiple levels of meaning, a
dizzying polyvalence that annihilates the simple dichotomies of classi-
cal and vernacular or sacred and profane.

Shushtari’s prose writings

Although he is remembered primarily as a poet, Shushtari also
composed a number of prose treatises on a wide range of subjects, from
practical matters of hadith criticism and controversies regarding Sufi
practice to extremely esoteric approaches to cosmology and ontology.
Most of his surviving treatises remain in manuscript, often in unique
copies. Among the texts that have been edited is Shushtari’s Risdla al-
‘Jlmiyya, extant only in the summary version of Ibn Luytn. In this trea-
tise the poet defends the customs and practices of the fugarda’
al-mutajarridin, literally, the “poor dispossessed” or the “poor stripped
[of everything].” Fugard’ (singular, fagir), in the sense of “those who
live for God alone,” is a term commonly used by Sufis to define them-
selves, yet in his treatise Shushtari claims the term for a subset of Sufis,
those following the strictest rule of poverty; he calls them “the heirs in
rank to the people of the bench’ (ahl al-suffa).””’ The text covers many
of the usual topics of Sufi manuals, enumerating how their custom
(sunna) is rooted in the example of the Prophet and his Companions. It
also carefully examines many aspects of communal religious life, from
the relationship between master and student to proper manners at table
and to the use of musical instruments to accompany poetry and song at
mystical sessions. The book closes with a brief meditation on the
understanding of tawhid (the oneness of God) and a glossary of about
250 mystical terms and expressions.

pp!
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

Many topics of the Risdla al-‘Ilmiyya are also discussed—more

succinctly, however—in the Risdla al-Baghdddiyya [The Baghdad
Treatise], translated in this volume. This text focuses on several con-
troversial questions of Sufi practice: the use of distinctive Sufi dress
(particularly the muraqqa‘ or patchwork cloak), the practice of extreme
voluntary poverty, and begging. Although it is quite brief, it is a fasci-
nating (and spirited) rejoinder to the very vocal critics of “immoderate”
Sufism. A/-Risdla al-mi‘rdjiyya is found in an undated manuscript con-
taining writings of Shushtari’s student Ahmad Ya‘qib Ibn al-
Mubashshir, including a commentary on the opening stra of the
Qur’an, the Fatiha, a copy of Ibn al-‘Arabi’s Kitab al-Isra’, and several
anonymous poems and text fragments.” From its title, one might expect
al-Risdla al-mi‘rdjiyya [Treatise on Ascension] to follow the pattern of
numerous other Sufi treatises that interpret the theme of the Prophet’s
night journey to Jerusalem and to heaven as an allegory for the soul’s
quest for the divine. Shushtari’s text dispenses with allegory, instead
tackling sweeping and abstract cosmological and ontological questions
through an extended meditation and explication of the Qur’anic pas-
sage: “He runs everything, from the heavens to the earth, and every-
thing will ascend, and everything will ascend to Him in the end, on a
day that will measure a thousand years in your reckoning” (G2:5).97
Bypassing any “creature-centric’ vantage point, the treatise explores the
interrelated ideas of creation and time, asserting that neither of those
concepts has any meaning in the eternity that is beyond time.

Singing at the crossroads of cultures

While Shushtari’s prose treatises help flesh out our understanding
of his mystical philosophy and its relationship to the broader intellec-
tual and religious currents of the time, it is his poetry and its ground-
breaking use of Andalusian vernacular poetic forms that are of
enduring resonance and of primary interest to us here. The issue of lan-
guage is paramount indeed given the cultural imperative to protect and
preserve fusha, the clear, pure Arabic of the Qur’an, of classical poetry
and erudition, from contamination by the /ahjdt or local vernaculars.
That concern is reflected in numerous grammatical treatises written to
correct local pronunciation and usage. In the introduction to his Lahn

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al-‘Awwam [Grammatical Errors of the Commoners], the Andalusian

grammarian al-Zubaydi (918-89) explains his concern that those errors
have crept into the usage of the elites: “these incorrect usages have
infiltrated into the works of poets, and the most eminent scribes and
functionaries include them in their correspondence and make use of
depraved expressions in their conversations.”
Dialectal slips and even “depraved expressions” did indeed occa-
sionally creep into the writing of the literate classes, despite the best
efforts of Zubaydi and other grammarians to prevent this. As a result,
medieval copyists routinely corrected colloquialisms, seen as embar-
rassing lapses on the part of an author or prior copyist. Indeed, many
modern editors of medieval manuscripts continue to make such correc-
tions in silentio, regarding the footnoting of each corrected “mis-
spelling” or colloquialism as pedantry. During the first centuries of
Islam, it was simply unthinkable to purposely write in an Arabic lan-
guage as distant from “pure”or “clear” Arabic (fushd) as the medieval
Romance languages were from the Latin of Cicero.
It was thus quite revolutionary when, around the tenth century,
secular poets in Islamic Spain began composing poems that not only
broke the rules of meter, but also cast aside the traditional stately
monorhyme for much lighter strophic rhyme schemes and also incor-
porated the much-castigated vernacular. These poems, called muwash-
shahat and zajals, sung to characteristic Andalusian melodies, quickly
gained admirers throughout the Arab world, even if most anthologists
and poets remained reluctant to commit them to writing.” Many promi-
nent Andalusian poets composed muwashshahat, however, those
poems, considered a light and perhaps ephemeral form of diversion,
were often excluded from their diwdns. For example, there are no
muwashshahat in the manuscript copies of the diwdns of Ibn al-Zaqqaq
(d.528 AH/1133-34 CE) and al-A‘ma al-Tutili “d.519 AH/1126 CE),”
despite the fact that these authors figure prominently in collections
devoted to popular strophic poetry. Ibn Bassam, author of al-Dhakhira
fi mahasin ahl al-jazira [Treasury of the Merits of the Andalusians], an
early twelfth-century compendium of the writings and biographies of
Andalusian notables, describes this type of poetry and even mentions
the names of several poets who composed it, but he balks at recording
these verses in his anthology. It was not until late in the twelfth century
or early in the thirteenth—precisely when these forms were first

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adopted by Andalusian mystics—that compilations of these poems

began to appear. The first known anthology is Dar al-Tirdz, a collec-
tion made by the Egyptian poet Ibn Sana’ al-Mulk, an admirer of this
style of poetry who had never traveled to al-Andalus. By this time,
these Andalusian songs had found enthusiastic audiences throughout
much of the Arab world.
The muwashshah and zajal not only flouted the grammatical rules
that occupied al-Zubaydi and the other guardians of ‘arabiyya, but they
went even further in effecting a startling bilingualism. Early examples
of muwashshahat juxtapose verses in classical Arabic with final verses,
known as kharjas or markazs, in Romance or the Andalusian vernac-
ular Arabic. Such bilingualism is even more apparent in the
muwashshahdat of Jewish poets, who punctuated verses in Hebrew with
kharjas in Romance or colloquial Arabic (written using Hebrew let-
ters). Although later writers—no doubt coming out of much less poly-
glot environments—often did without such linguistic contrasts, the
association of the muwashshahat with bilingualism persisted, as evi-
denced by the muwashshah with a Persian kharja that Ibn Sana’ al-
Mulk composed for his anthology. Even the sixteenth-century Spanish
Moriscos preserved examples of bilingual muwashshahdt and coplas in
honor of the Prophet Muhammad.”
The zajal (pl. azjal), written entirely in colloquial Arabic, is sim-
ilar in rhyme scheme and meter to the muwashshah, but its length is
much more variable, running as long as twenty stanzas in contrast to the
muwashshah’s three to five strophes. Later poets, including Shushtari,
blur the distinctions between the two poetic forms, writing poems that
follow the strophic conventions of the muwashshah, but rather than
juxtaposing classical usage with the colloquial phrasing of the closing
couplet, they employ a highly vernacular diction throughout. While
some Western scholars have argued about how to classify this and
other hybrid forms that emerged later—many adopted the term zajal-
like muwashshah—Arab scholars, perhaps more keenly aware of the
myriad problems arising from such taxonomic impulses, have gener-
ally avoided making these sorts of classifications.
Much of the popularity of both of these forms is doubtless due to
their increasingly complex strophic rhyme schemes, which makes them
especially suited for singing. [See the examples below.] These stylistic
innovations appeared to give new generations of Andalusian poets

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license to undertake thematic experimentation. Thus the poems not

only engaged in linguistic code-switching, but they also juxtaposed—
or sampled, in the modern parlance—tropes and motifs drawn from
disparate genres in such a way as to defy or even ridicule the well-
defined thematic conventions of more “serious” poetry. The muwash-
shah, always linked to al-Andalus, became the first “foreign” poetic
innovation to gain acceptance in the cultural centers of Baghdad, Basra,
and Damascus, yet it never gained the prestige of the traditional Arabian
forms. And perhaps most suggestively, the earliest attempts to collect
and preserve secular Andalusian strophic poetry coincided with the
mystics’ appropriation of these forms. Was it that the mystics started
composing such informal verse because it had already gained some
measure of prestige that had earlier been denied? Was it that those
verses, and indeed the cultural legacy of al-Andalus itself, was finally
perceived as gravely endangered and in need of preservation? Or did
the mystics themselves contribute to improving their reputation? The
one thing that is certain, however, is that once these poems became
incorporated into the devotional rituals of a number of Sufi orders, their
preservation and propagation was assured.

The Lover’s visit

Below are sample transliterated strophes of a muwashshah, “The
lover’s visit.” Note that the rhyme of the first and second
hemistiches of the first two lines (called the matla‘, literally, the
“opening” or “rising”of the poem) will be repeated after each stro-
phe and corresponds to the rhyme of the kharja. Not all
muwashshahat exhibit the same degree of internal rhyme.

zarani hibbi watabat awqati wasamah li-lhabib

wa‘afa ‘an jami‘i zallati ‘ala ghayz al-raqib
zarani miinyati wazal albas wasamah bilwisal
wahadar hddrati wadar alkas wabalagtu l’amal
washaribna watabati al’anfas min mudaman halal
amla kasi fafih mizati nashrubii ya labib
wahabibi tunsi wamishkati mai hadir garib
dy mudama, way khamra, way khammar — way(u) tarab, way ghinad
fi riyadan tafattahat azhar wa’anarat lana
wattuyur fi manabir al-’ashjar takhtatab baynanad

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Below are sample strophes of Shushtari’s zajal, “My art.” Note the
repetition of the refrain, and how the final (single-hemistich) line
of each stanza repeats the rhyme of the refrain.

Quli li-lfaqih ‘anni ‘ishq dha-l-malih fanni

wa-shurbi ma‘ti bi-l-kas
wa-l-hadra ma‘a al-jallds
wa hawli rifag akyds
gad shalii al-kalif ‘anni
Qulii li-lfagih ‘anni ‘shq dha al-malih fanni
ayya madhhab tadrini?
al-shari‘atu tuhayini
wa-l-haqiga tufnini

“Loving the Beautiful One is my art”

Tell the fagih on my behalf:
loving the Beautiful One is my art.

Shushtari appropriates these colloquial song forms to transform

their message, but perhaps most radically, to suggest a new reading of
all the ordinary elements of everyday life. “Loving the Beautiful One is
my art, *he proclaims in catchy, insistently rhymed verses, self-consciously
echoing poems of the scandalous Ibn Quzman in which dhd al-malih
meant “that handsome (beardless) lad.” This poem presents a clear
example of a composition that can easily be read as either profane or
mystical. Just like Nizami’s poem about Majnin Layla, it is basically
the willingness of the reader to apply a mystical hermeneutic that
makes this a religious poem. Is the “Beautiful One” God? Could loving
a beautiful person be a metaphor for loving God, a way of loving God?
On many levels the poem quite pointedly refuses to answer the ques-
tion, and leaves the translator with the dilemma of whether or not to
capitalize “beautiful one” or “him.” How does one faithfully preserve
the edge that many of these poems have while not causing offense or
breeding misunderstanding in that treacherous passage across time, and
across linguistic, cultural, and religious boundaries?
Throughout the poem, Shushtari pursues that flirtation with the
illicit that makes this poem such a powerful challenge to his self-righteous

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critics. The choice to use the sexually-charged word ‘“ishg (“passion,

ardor”)—rather than any one of dozens of other words for love, and
especially when speaking of “the beautiful one’—heightens the aes-
thetic affinities with the work of Ibn Quzman. By Shushtari’s time there
was already a long history of controversy among Sufis as to which
words for love were appropriate in referring to humankind’s love for
God, or God’s love for God’s creatures. Abi al-Hasan al-Daylami
(flourished 1000) begins his Treatise on Mystical Love (Kitab <atf al-
alif) with precisely this question.” In Shushtari’s poem, the defense of the
Sufi way against the implied criticism of the fagih, the jurist who rep-
resents a legalistic interpretation of Islam, is joined to a self-referential
wink at the zajal itself. Shushtari’s fann, his art, his artistry, is the poem
itself, which revels in its bold informality. The message of love and
annihilation in the beloved (or the Beloved) is here unabashedly
expressed in the language of the market and the home. The poem is
itself an act of devotion. Yet at the same time, the life of the seeker is
fann, a field of work, a specialization, an all-consuming “art” in its
broadest understanding.
Here, as in other poems, an intimacy with the listener is enacted
not only in the striking informality of the diction, but also in the imag-
ined confrontation with the fagih, the stodgy jurist who understands
worship as a set of legal requirements rather than as an exuberant pas-
sion. In this repeated refrain the listener is tacitly asked to take the side of
the poet in conveying an increasingly bold—if not downright insolent—
message to the jurist. He continues to grow bolder as he approaches the
point at which the conflict between a juridical and a mystical interpre-
tation (of the poem, of life) will be made explicit:

The law revivifies me

and the truth annihilates me.

Legal scholars would certainly argue that the shari‘a, the law,
infuses man with life, gives him the guidelines to follow the righteous
path, but the next line throws the interpretation of the previous one into
question, at least for the listener who has been initiated in the conven-
tions of Sufi exegesis. The truth, al-haqiqa, for the mystics refers to the
received or intelligible knowledge of al-Haqq, Truth with a capital T,
which is one of the names of God. If in the Sufi hermeneutic the high-

28
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

est good is effacement, annihilation—for it is when the self is com-

pletely emptied of the self that God’s presence is complete—how then
to understand the “revivification” referred to in the previous line? Is it
a question of reversed dualities, in which death is understood as the key
to eternal life? Is life, then, death? Is he really saying the law is dead-
ening? Or is he asserting that the law, while life giving, is completed,
made more perfect through the knowledge or experience of God? Or is
he more slyly proposing a hermeneutic that allows the assertion of
apparently contradictory propositions? Once again, the poem admits
multiple readings.
In any case the poet proclaims, “know then, that I am a Sunni,”
that is, know then that I am the one who follows the sunna or the prac-
tice of the Prophet. In the context of this one-sided dialogue with the
critic of Sufism, Shushtari is saying: “No, no, Iam not the one who has
strayed from the path.” The confrontation grows even bolder:

If you could see me at home

when I raise the curtains
and my love is naked with me...
In union with him, I am made glad.

The poem finds the dangerous place where raising the curtains or
the veil, a common topos of reaching a higher degree of mystical under-
standing, retains the outrageousness of making visible, making public,
that act of union. Here, the poet does not use a conventional mystical
term like tajrid, meaning “‘to strip bare” (metaphorically “to abstract, to
get to the essence of”), but rather Grin literally, “nude”or “naked,” a
shockingly blunt way to speak of mystical union. Naturally, the Arabic
has no capital letters, and the lines would readily admit a profane inter-
pretation were it not for the saintly reputation of the author.
“The world is your boudoir,” he continues, accusing his critics of
seeking union with things of this world. (Thus explaining why they
cannot understand his meaning.) In this poem—as in many others—
Shushtari uses the confrontation between faqih and fagir, between
jurist and Sufi, to explore a complete reversal of conventional meaning.
I suggest that the reading of the poem depends on the line “the truth
annihilates me,” because that line only makes sense when read mysti-
cally; it then proposes new meanings for every other line.

29
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

If in “My art” and “Let them criticize me” and the many poems in
which he describes himself as “wanton,” “unrepentant” and having “cast
off all restraint” Shushtari seems defiantly unconcerned with the possi-
bility of being condemned by the defenders of orthodoxy, in other
poems he is quite preoccupied with the real dangers of being misunder-
stood and even the impossibility of communication itself. In “Just
understand me” the insistent refrain highlights this concern:

Listen to some words select,

just understand me, just understand me.
What did someone say to me perchance?
(Understand how I explain my meaning):
What is your beloved’s name? I said: him.
There is no confusing the name of the beloved,
just understand me, just understand me.
My beloved encompasses all existence.
He is visible in white and black
in Christian and Jew,
in the letters and their points,
just understand me, just understand me
in the plants and in the minerals,
in black and in white,
in the pen and the ink.
In this there is no mistake,
just understand me, just understand me.

The deeper message of this poem, repeated over fifteen strophes,

appears, just as the Muslim profession of faith “there is no god but
God,” to be simple, incontrovertible: God encompasses all existence.
The poem becomes an extended meditation on the experience of that
overwhelming totality that Shushtari describes (as did Ibn al-‘Arabi
before him) as “an ocean with absolutely no shore.” Yet how to encom-
pass that totality of existence in just a few words, how to be under-
stood? Therein lies the difficulty.
Shushtari is acutely aware of the insufficiency of language to
express concepts that are beyond human language, yet he rejects the
approach of other Sufis who choose to make the impossibility of com-
municating a central theme of their work. In this he is quite unlike Ibn

30
 PRAISING GOD IN THE LANGUAGE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

al-‘Arabi, who wrote many perplexingly esoteric verses, utterly

absorbed in the problematic of language, such as this short poem:

Here, what the mind denies is witnessed

through the sign of revelation: there is no other-than-You.
And it has no likeness to bring You its image,
except prayer if I pray with other-than- You.
But, I erred in saying that it was through other-than- You;
the Real is with him who prays through other than
other-than- You.”

While the English translation cannot replicate the multiple levels

of syntactical and epistemological ambiguity in this passage, it should
be clear how forbidding it would be to a reader unschooled in the con-
ventions of mysticism and an understanding of negative theology.
While Shushtari does occasionally make declarations of anxiety or
frustration about language, even those are expressed with diaphanous
clarity:

I translated an illegible letter.

Will anyone understand me?

Shushtari’s songs continued to speak to generation after genera-

tion of Muslim mystics who were unlikely to be willing or able to pon-
der the erudite word plays of Ibn al-Farid, the opacity of so many of the
poems of Ibn al-‘Arabi. Moreover, they proudly embraced the cadence
and diction of the common man to promote voluntary poverty and sim-
plicity as a clear path to salvation. Shushtari’s brilliant combination of
Andalusian popular song and his joyful mystical vision have made his
poetic corpus one of the most vibrant and enduring elements of the
legacy of Islamic Spain. His simple, direct, and hauntingly beautiful
songs, still very much a living part of Sufi practice throughout North
Africa, continue to impart their hopeful message, speaking of the
divine in the mystical language of everyday life.

31
 9 iS
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. Ae Sane
 PART TWO

Poems and Songs

 Chapter 1

INTOXICATED BY THE DIVINE

Introduction

The poems and songs in this first section highlight the theme with
which Shushtari is now most closely associated: the celebration of the
ecstatic wine of the mystics. Throughout much of his poetic corpus,
Shushtari sings of wine (khamr) or cups (akwdas) or drunkenness (sukr).
While in the selection presented here, this symbolic wine and its myr-
iad symbolic attributes are foregrounded, the reader will note the theme
throughout many poems in this volume.
Newcomers to Sufi poetry might be surprised to find devout
Muslims singing the joys of the grape; however, Sufi poets had long
written of mystical extinction or fand’, that is, the loss of self in the
overwhelming infinity of the divine as an intoxication. The vocabulary
and expressions used by Shushtari were part of the widely accepted
lexicon of Sufi terminology, a mystical vocabulary that predated even
tenth-century mystics like al-Hallaj (d.922).' In some cases Sufis sim-
ply borrowed preexisting secular wine poems (which remained quite
popular despite Islamic strictures against wine) for their devotions,
making perhaps minor lexical changes to point toward a spiritual inter-
pretation. For example, verses of the great ‘Abbasid wine poet Abi
Nuwas are unapologetically and unself-consciously cited in al-
Qushayri’s famous eleventh-century manual of Sufi practice. As Th.
Emil Homerin points out, the substitution of the word nushwa (inebri-
ation) by the conventional Sufi term, sakra (intoxication) and the inter-
pretative context of a Sufi handbook transform the verses of the
famously dissolute poet into a meditation on an ineffable state.
By the same token, the Wine Ode (al-khamriyya) of the Egyptian
poet Ibn al-Farid might be read as nothing more than an exquisitely
classicizing poem extolling wine and its pleasures. However, because

35
 POEMS AND SONGS

of the poet’s pious reputation and his well-known Poem of the Sufi Way,
the poem is understood by readers as speaking in an esoteric register.
Dozens of commentaries have offered detailed mystical interpretations
of The Wine Ode, and this dense and challenging work is routinely
reprinted with extensive notes drawn from these commentaries. Thus it
is entrenched as a classic of Sufi literature, even more firmly cement-
ing the poetic link between bacchic and mystical verse. What
Shushtari—coming perhaps a generation or two after the Egyptian
poet—contributes in his own wine songs is an exciting and ground-
breaking directness; his verses eschew high-culture artifice. They pro-
claim their message boldly, in readily accessible language. With rare
exceptions (which will be treated in the next section), the reader need
not appeal to the author’s biography or apply recondite exegesis to
apprehend the mystical intention of the poem. The distance between
secular and religious expression is erased, not in the reader’s imposition
of a mystical interpretation, but in the poem’s narrative trajectory, mov-
ing modally, as is proper of song, from one register to another, from
secular to religious, and in the process challenging the distinction
between them. Perhaps this helps explain why throughout North
Africa, Shushtari is considered the foremost bard of the divine cups,
even if Ibn al-Farid is held to be more polished as a stylist.
The compositions in this first section—and in many other sec-
tions of this book—deploy the common tropes of secular Arabic
poetry, from the sweetness of the wine secretly shared between lover
and beloved to the boisterous conviviality of drinkers gathered late at
night, and from the intimate conversation during the nocturnal visit of
the lover to the poet’s refusal to give up the all-consuming love, even
when that love leaves him bewildered and confused. Just as Jewish and
Christian mystics read the sensual yearning of the bride and groom in
the lyrical love poetry of the Song of Songs as an allegory for Israel and
God or the individual believer and God, so too Muslim mystics saw in
Arabic love poetry a form in which to express or give shape to an inef-
fable and ultimately incommunicable experience.
Like the secular muwashshahat and zajals of an Islamic Spain
regularly portrayed as libertine—often by the clerics and social reform-
ers who saw material splendor and cultural refinements as the roots of
al-Andalus’s decay and weakness—Shushtari’s poems delight in re-
creating the glowing joy, the complete abandonment, and the loss of

36
 INTOXICATED BY THE DIVINE

self-consciousness in the grape. These poems are sheer exuberance,

making do without the finely wrought details of the cut of the crystal
goblet or the vagaries of light as reflected in the “ruby red liquid” that
mark the more elevated registers of classical wine poetry (khamriyydt).

The section opens with “How I began.” Tradition has it that this
is the first song that Shushtari composed. According to the twentieth-
century Moroccan Sufi scholar ‘Abd al-‘Aziz ibn al-Siddig, when
Shushtari decided to follow Ibn Sab‘in, the master told him to sell his
goods and abandon all rank and honor. After changing his clothes for
humble woolen attire, he was to take a bandir (a sort of tambourine)
and sing among the lowly and the scorned of the souks. Over and over,
he recited as instructed: “badaytu bidhikr al-habib” [I began with the
invocation of the beloved], unable to add any verse to that opening line.
Finally, after three days of recitation, inspiration came to him and the
rest of the now well-known song poured out: “wahimtu wa‘ayshi
yatib/wabuhtu bisirrin ‘ajib” [1 fell head over heels/life became sweet,
a wondrous mystery revealed]. In a song marked by insistent internal
rhymes, that wondrous mystery is then described as “a cup of content-
ment’ passed around among the drinkers, joined together in the knowl-
edge of God’s forgiveness.
In its declaration that this ecstatic illumination comes through the
invocation of the name of the Beloved, the song asserts the power of
dhikr, a term that can be understood as “remembrance,” “recollection”
99 66

or “invocation.” Dhikr is a key aspect of Sufi devotional practice, in that

context specifically referring to the rhythmic repetition of the name of
God or a religious formula such as “there is no god but God,”or sim-
ply “Him” (hu or huwa) while focusing intensely on its meaning, shut-
ting out consciousness of all else. Sufis often cite the Qur’anic
injunction “Remember your Lord often”(3:41) as justification for these
informal litanies. Just as al-Kalabadhi proclaims, “Real recollection
consists in forgetting all but the One recollected,” the poem links invo-
cation, remembrance, dhikr, with the intoxication and self-effacement
of those sharing the cup, reiterating the symbolic connection even more
clearly in the lines that follow: “their spirits are revived/their problems
disappear.”
The gasida that follows “Licit to drink?” opens with a celebration
of the drinking of mystical wine. From the beginning the poetic voice

37
 POEMS AND SONGS

declares a reversal of conventional Islamic morality, explaining that

this wine is not forbidden; rather, what is forbidden is its abandonment.
The contraposition of legal strictures and mystical ethics is even more
pointedly explored as the poem moves into a dialogue between a jurist
(faqih) and the speaker who asks for a fatwa, or legal verdict, on the per-
missibility of drinking while performing various ritual acts, primarily
connected to the Pilgrimage. The literal-minded jurist fails to under-
stand the nature of the question and the allegorical meaning of “wine.”
The Sufi’s reply, “if you would but taste it,” seems to admit ruefully that
the jurist is bound to reject his view, and yet the mystic will continue to
assert the primacy of experiential knowledge, the knowledge that leads
to a reckoning of the limits of literal or surface interpretations.
Like the preceding gasida, the zajal “My art” (discussed in the
Introduction to this book), dramatizes the contest between the religious
outlook of the jurist and the mystic. “My art’ (fanni) defines the poetic
act itself and the poet’s mystical approach to life as ways of loving the
Beautiful One. The relatively short zajal, “Many a cup,” presents
another variation on Shushtari’s bacchic theme. To the familiar images
of brilliance or luminosity that are intertwined with the ecstatic wine,
the poet here adds the idea of vastness, from the sun to the depths, a
heart that can encompass mountains stretching into the horizon. This
wine makes the poet lose all shame, that is, abandon all consciousness
of the self and its limitations and imperfections in pure contemplation
of the divine. As in other poems, he proclaims himself “unrepentant,”
urging the listener to look for him in the tavern, “slumped among the
wine jugs,” in a self-conscious echo of the proclamations of famous
wine poets like Aba Niwas and Ibn Quzman.
“Wine from no wine press” adds to the initial praise of this life-
giving beverage a warning to conceal the secret from those who are
unprepared to understand it. The Muslim mystics, like many philoso-
phers and esoteric thinkers, stressed the importance of shielding the
uninitiated from secrets that they are not ready to grasp. Such revela-
tions can harm either the hearer, who may take away the wrong mes-
sage or reject the message entirely due to misprision, or they may harm
the revealer, who could face persecution or even martyrdom because
his message is misunderstood. Shushtari’s own proclamation of secrets
and his warnings to protect may seem paradoxical. Do not his own
poems, addressed as they are to those unversed in the ways of the mys-

38
 INTOXICATED BY THE DIVINE

tics, violate the warning he just gave? Or is this a clever rhetorical

device (and psychological stratagem) for creating a bond between the
poet-narrator and the listener? Of course, the same apparent contradic-
tion obtains in a vast tradition of classical Arabic poetry and European
courtly love lyric in which a poet-lover draws the listener into the inti-
macy shared between lovers while reviling the ragib, the spy.
The short muwashshah “At your service” presents an interesting
twist on the usual scene of the Sufi castigated by the jurist for his wan-
tonness. Here the “friends,” perhaps those who would prefer “real’’drink
and savory delights, apparently criticize the poet for his worship and
supplication—his Path to the most brilliant of wine. The last two lines
speak of the confusion of self and divine, as the one who calls out is, at
the same time, the One who responds. The muwashshah “Love crazed
for God” is an affirmation of the pious observance of those who are
head over heels for God; here Shushtari clearly distances himself from
those who might claim that the mystic is not bound by the religious
duties of ordinary people. Lines 8—18 focus on solitary prayer (wird)
and meditation, devotions that go beyond the five daily obligatory
prayers. The final section of the poem is a glimpse of that meditation
itself, reflections on God through God’s names, through the descrip-
tions that men must use to understand God’s greatness and perfection.
“Oh, perplexed heart” presents a less-prominent facet of the poet’s
work. While the vast majority of his poems focus far more on the ecstatic
dimension of the spiritual path, here in memorable lines Shushtari speaks
of fear: “You flung your spirit into an overflowing sea, a sea of pas-
sion,/yet you are afraid of a sprinkle’ (lines 3-4). In opening “yd qalb,
ya qgalbi’ (Oh, heart, oh, my heart] he leaves open the possibility that
he is addressing himself, his own fear and regret, or a beloved friend,
for in Arabic (as in Spanish and other languages) it is not unusual to
address someone dear as “my heart.” (To this day, addressing the beloved
as “my heart” or “my eye” remains very common in popular Arabic
music.) But for the declarations that the wine of which he partakes “was
not pressed by the presser/or harvested from a trellis,” one might even
read the poem as a rather conventional muwashshah in which a lover
urges a reluctant or standoffish beloved to end the suffering of the
lover. In any case, in this intimate conversation, with another mystic,
with a reluctant beloved, or with his own momentarily fearful heart, the

ay)
 POEMS AND SONGS

poetic voice urges oblivion in the rapturous love-madness, “for every-

one is confused in your love.”
The final poem of this section, “I’m on my way,” circles back to the
idea of beginnings seen in the first poem of the collection and is itself the
opening poem of most of the Eastern recensions of the diwdn. While we
know nothing about how or when this diwdn was compiled or organized,
one can discern a certain ordering of poems by content. The most diffi-
cult and equivocal poems are generally grouped at the end of the collec-
tion. By contrast, this opening poem explicitly refers to starting on the
path. Unlike other poems that speak of a marvelous mystery unveiled,
here, “the secret meaning opened a bit (shuwaya) for you’ (lines 38-39).
That is to say, the journey has just begun; there is still a long way to travel.

How I began

I began by invoking my beloved.

Head over heels, I fell, life became sweet,
a wondrous mystery revealed.

The cup goes round

those gathered together; 5
spirits revived,
their problems disappear.

Pouring their draught of contentment,

God forgives what’s past.

Drink up, my companion, be content. 10

Live in the peace of the beloved.
achieved through a wondrous mystery.

Go on, drain the glasses,

drink them up.
May your innermost self benefit 15
in the station of the saints.

Lightning lit up the sanctuary.

God forgives what’s past.

40
 INTOXICATED BY THE DIVINE

Oh, cupbearer, have pity on us;

the master forgives our transgression. 20

Pour wine for us,

bring us happiness and peace.
For we are passionately in love,
just as the noble saints.

Make the vastness open to us. 25

God forgives what’s past.

Licit to drink?

How good to drink wine in the Sufi retreats.

My friend, pour me some cups
of that wine we are forbidden to abandon.
There is no sin in it, not even a shadow of suspicion.
Aged in jugs since before the time of Adam,
its source is the utmost goodness.

O fagih, give me your verdict, tell me,

is it licit to drink on Mount Arafat?
Is it permissible to perform the circambulation and
the sa‘y with it?
to announce our service to God, to throw stones at
the devil?
Are the Qur’an and dhikr allowed under its effects?
or may one glorify God in prayer?

The fagih answered: If this wine

is of the grape, an intoxicating drink,
then certainly we deem it forbidden to drink;
it is more than just dubious.

O fagih, if you would but taste it

and listen to the melodies in the Sufi gatherings,
you would give up this world and everything in it
and live love-crazed until the day you die. 20

41
 POEMS AND SONGS

My art

Tell the fagih on my behalf:

loving the beautiful one is my art.

My drink, with him from the glass,

and the hadra, with those gathered round,
Close by, good companions.
they lifted the weight from me.

Tell the fagih on my behalf:

loving the beautiful one is my art.

What kind of believer do you take me for?

The law revivifies me
and the truth annihilates me.
Know that I am a Sunni.

Tell the fagih on my behalf:

loving the beautiful one is my art.

And know that there is no one home

except you, so let’s get to the point.
Enter into the arena with me.
Have faith. Don’t push me away.

Tell the fagih on my behalf:

loving the beautiful one is my art. 20

If you could see me at home

when I raise the curtains
and my love is naked with me...
In union with him, I am made glad.

Tell the fagih on my behalf: 25

loving the beautiful one is my art.

42
 INTOXICATED BY THE DIVINE

So leave me be and spare me your delusions,

for you lust for yourself
and this world is your boudoir.
Wake up, you will see my beauty. 30

Tell the fagih on my behalf:

loving the beautiful one is my art.

Timeless love

I was poured a cup

of timeless love,
not of this world
nor of heaven.

In it, I became
unique in my time,
bearing my banner
among men.

Mine is
an amazing path
of love unsurpassed.
How lucky I am!

You who love him,

the beautiful one has many followers.
If you are unkind to them,
what misfortune!

Far be it from you,

dear ones of Najd,
to cut the ties of
hope between you and me. 20

43
 POEMS AND SONGS

Let go of Zayd and Mayya

I drink wine from the goblet

and from myself I come closer to myself.
In myself it is myself I love.

For he is my essence, my true soul,

the fine wine that fills me and quenches my thirst.
I care not what others may say.

I seek in myself what I already have.

Drink up in good health
the vintage mellowed and pure!

My allusions are from me and for me, so learn.

Don’t resist me, understand.
I am everything, the center of totality. Accept this.

Forget about him and her,

let go of Zayd and Mayya.
Take pleasure in loving sincerely.

What’s temporal will pass away—my life remains.

My being is not separated from my life
for my essence is my wholeness and my wholeness
my essence.

My essence radiates like the sun

and from myself, I draw near myself 20
in myself, it is myself I love.

Many a cup

Your love has served me many a cup.

Its light-brightness has illuminated my senses.

My night has turned to day.
The sun is mine and the stars.

44
 INTOXICATED BY THE DIVINE

My dominion encompasses the depths.

My heart is the Atlas mountains.

Your love has served me many a cup.

When I looked away from myself,

I saw myself, the writing of my being visible to me.
What had been hidden
appears to me,
its meaning beyond ordinary wealth.

Your love has served me many a cup.

I'll tell you true, if I may:

Iam a fair, indeed,
and wanton. Shushtari is unrepentant.
I drink with my companion from the cup.

Your love has served me many a cup.

Look for me in the tavern.

You will see me 20
slumped among the wine jugs.
I love—without restraint—the one
who revives the spirits of those who join with him.

Your love has served me many a cup.

Wine from no wine press

My beloved plied me with glasses

of a wine from no wine press,
the drink of the pure.
In it, all things are made manifest.

I took a swig
and I fell passionately for you, O majesty!

45
 POEMS AND SONGS

My bride was revealed to me;

I saw only perfection.
My drunkenness inebriated me,
as it had others. 10

This drink brings souls to life

whoever drinks of it is intoxicated.
Unveiled to me like a bride,
I saw the sun and the moon.

Pay heed, my brother, don’t be loose-tongued.

Hold fast to the marvelous secret,
so the cloak may be lifted,
and you see the beloved.
In you and through you, he is everything,
if you are discerning or sensible. 20

Return to your essence, dive in.

Careful! No stopping on the rugged terrain.
The masses will languish in ignorance,
while you openly see your beloved.

You who are unversed in this, 25

admit what you see:
The wine is passed round
and every one of us is drunk.
See the men here
with hearts abrim? 30

See them all dancing?

The secret is manifest in them,
for this they gave their lives
and their night has become day.

46
 INTOXICATED BY THE DIVINE

At your service

My savories and drink are delightful

My beloved provides for me.
So my friends, forgive
my worship and supplication.

Finely scented wine,

its brilliance pure light.
The cupbearer saw to its pouring,
may it be my salvation.

I am drunk from his love.

There is no wine but him.
Whenever I call out: Oh Lord.
My response is: at your service.

O perplexed heart!

O heart, O my confused and perplexed heart,

how you cling to this amorous passion!
You flung your spirit into an overflowing sea, a sea
of passion;
yet you are afraid of a sprinkle.

Persist in your ardent wish, don’t regret it

because you were right.
Die for love and you will live carefree,
obtaining everything you desire
Don’t complain of the distance,
you know your beloved is not far away

Anyone whose beloved is always present,

tell me, how could he be lonely?
For his eyes constantly reap beauty, the fulfillment
of desires.
He is refreshed.

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 POEMS AND SONGS

That love erases my erasure. 15

After my obliteration, I come into being.
People wonder at my survival.
With the love of the one I love, I prevail.
My drink comes from a cup
but it tastes as sweet as roses. 20

Wine that was not pressed by the presser

nor harvested from a trellis.
How it has intoxicated great men before us!
One thirsts for this kind of drink.

O utmost beauty! How wonderful you are! 25

Your beauty frees me from the world of forms,
I am extinguished in your love, lose control.
O you, who are sight and sound,
You made every heart your abode
and concealed your beauty from sight 30

For the mind is enraptured by your love, the heart

is perplexed,
in you, it is baffled.
Everyone is confused in your love,
yet they circle the sacred space in pursuit.

O desire of the one mad with love, 3d

by God, I love no one but you
In you, I made my heart’s abode.
Make my eyes see you.
I may pretend to love Lubna,
Sa‘da and others 40

despite all that, your lover is here,

submitting to the humiliations of love’s ardor and
refreshed
upon seeing the secret marvels,
becoming intimate with the mystery, despite his fears.

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 INTOXICATED BY THE DIVINE

You, a suffering lover like me, 45

desire only a beautiful union.
Be true in your love as I am.
Don’t listen to the words of the censurers.
In the religion of love there are timeless covenants,
always kept, 50

confirmed through the power of the heart,

written and engraved deep within.
When what is secret is put to the test, there you will read:
“Here lies the faithful one, slain by love.”

I’m on my way

I’m on my way to find myself

banish the delusion within
and join myself in myself.

Those who plunge into the meaning

will see the secret in it.
They’ll see the one with the wine jugs.
Tell the sensible ones, who understand.
You there, wake up,
knock on the door and be proud.

In order to see every thing, 10

you must not be afraid of your appearance,
envelop the whole of the universe.

You, listen to yourself speak,

you to you, my friend.
When your drink is pure, 15
pour it for the sick.
Lift your veil now
pray and live righteously.

Nothing will escape you

none of these concepts, 20
if you polish your mirror.

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 POEMS AND SONGS

O critic, don’t reproach me

for it’s no use to blame.
You always want me
to abandon what I want. 25
By God, leave me alone. Enough!
I remain alone, solitary.

I won't listen to temptation, no.

Because as I have it
whoever dies will live forever. 30

If you want to endure, efface yourself.

Concentrate your thought on yourself.
Cling, O tired one,
to those who favor you
and understand the meaning from us 35
at the door of the king.

After the cloak was lifted,

the door of the secret meaning
opened a bit for you.

O faqih, speak of me, 40

I consider you distinguished.
No one will approach
union with the beloved
except those who sing,
those who are close to us. 45

Those who aspire to partake of learning

the secret meanings,
garb themselves with us.

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 Chapter 2

LOVE-CRAZED

Introduction

When the great Andalusian mystic Ibn al-‘Arabi wrote his most
famous collection of poems, /nterpreter of Desires [Tarjuman al-
Ashwaq], he was met with skepticism and doubt. What was mystical or
religious about these poems that apparently celebrated earthly, erotic
love and furthermore did so in the style of the classical Arabian ode?
Responding to this criticism, Ibn al-‘Arabi wrote a commentary on his
poems, a detailed explication of how they speak of “mystical sciences
and realities.” Thus, “fair-complexioned and coy virgins” are said to
represent the “divine sciences embodied in the world of similitude,”
“the blackness of hair on her brow” represents “the mysterious sciences
of which she is the bearer,”and so on. While the commentary may have
satisfied at least some of his critics, as Stetkevych observes, it results
in “a hermeticism that is dense in symbolic texture but restricted in
experiential scope.” That is to say, the mechanistic X-stands-for-Y
“interpretation” effectively deprives the reader of imaginative license
and denies the polyvalence that lies at the heart of poetic symbolism.
Furthermore, Ibn al-‘Arabi’s commentary dodges the essential ques-
tions: What makes a work of poetry mystical? Where does its mysti-
cism reside?
Shushtari, who addressed many of his compositions to audiences
unschooled in mystical hermeneutics, took a different approach to
these questions. While his poems are steeped in pre-Islamic or secular
Andalusian poetic traditions, they are rather clearly marked as religious
either through the use of Qur’anic vocabulary or mystical terminology
or through rhetorical techniques, such as the circular use of pronouns
(see, for example “Let go of Zayd and Mayya”). The first five poems
in this section—all of them monorhyme classical poems, it should be

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 POEMS AND SONGS

noted—are something of an exception, however. While they certainly

admit mystical readings and are in fact read as religious poems, like
those of Ibn al-‘Arabi’s /nterpreter of Desires, they are not explicitly
marked as such. The last three poems in the section—which use popu-
lar strophic forms—move toward a more unambiguously spiritual
message through the introduction of a religious vocabulary of sin,
redemption, and salvation; through Qur’anic allusions; and even through
directives and admonitions addressed to the listener.
The selection begins with the beautifully lyrical ode “Layla.” The
quintessential beloved of Arabic poetry, the figure of Layla becomes in
the hands of Sufi poets from Niffari to Nizami to Ibn al-Farid a symbol
for divine Beauty. This poem focuses on her omnipresence, her myriad
manifestations, and her ephemeral nature. These are explored in a
lovely series of similes: “She is like the sun, its light radiant,/yet when
you seek it, it turns to shadow,/.../She is like the eye which has no
color/yet in it appear colors in every hue.”If the poetic voice in this
poem is identified with Layla’s lover, Qays, as he enumerates the qual-
ities of his ever-elusive beloved, the poem closes with a startling inver-
sion that expresses the paradoxical confusion of identities inherent in
divine unveiling and mystical union. Layla unveils for Qays, who
exclaims: “I am Layla and she is Qays. What a wonder!/How is it that
what I seek comes to me from me?”
The next four compositions offer striking and diaphanous images
of the lover overwhelmed and bewildered by love. The poet-lover loses
himself: “all of me is stolen/and your beauty the thief” (““Torments of
love”). He wastes away: “consumed by weakness,” (“Only love
remains”); he is “withered because of love” (“My heart resides in the
east”). He pays no mind to the critics and finds sweetness in the anguish
of love, even when such suffering is incomprehensible to others, for, he
concludes: “To efface yourself in it is to live./So efface yourself, if you
wish to endure” (“My heart resides in the east”).
Just as the preceding gasidas employed many of the common fig-
ures of classical Arabic poetry, the muwashshah, “The lover’s visit”
revisits many of the standard tropes of Andalusian popular song: the
night visit between lovers eluding the spy, the garden setting, the shar-
ing of wine between the lovers, and love as a cause of madness. The
poem signals a mystical interpretation primarily through its insistence
on the symbolic nature of the wine, which first is described as licit

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 LOVE-CRAZED

(halal) (line 10) and then as neither from grape nor raisin (21). Read in
an interpretative framework that understands wine as a symbol of
divine intoxication, the references to the lamp (12), to birds singing
from their “pulpits” (mandabir) (18), and to the beautiful ones (al-mildh)
(36) take on additional layers of meaning.
In the first six poems of this section love is presented as an over-
whelming experience that comes about solely because of the irresistible
attraction of the beloved and not because of effort expended by the
lover. In his discussion of the Sufi doctrine of love (mahabba),
Kalabadhi begins by quoting the famous ninth- to tenth-century Iraqi
Sufi al-Junayd: “Love is the inclination of the heart,’ meaning that the
heart then inclines toward God and what is of God, without any effort.”
* “Robbed of my senses” echoes the tropes seen in the earlier poems in
this section but goes beyond them in not only describing the annihila-
tion of self in the ecstatic vision but also in the ongoing journey.
“Robbed of my senses” moves into a more explicitly religious register,
speaking, for example, of embracing “the image of a servant” and
ascending “the staircase of the meritorious.” The poet directly exhorts
the listener to listen and learn and to avoid the company of the ignorant.
In the final strophe he speaks of a search for meaning, “guided/by the
star of our wisdom,” a quest that calls for discretion and initiative on
the part of the seeker.
In “Robbed of my senses” and perhaps even more explicitly in the
closing selection here, “My lover is beyond compare,” Shushtari
explores the relationship between the creature and the Creator. As
Kalabadhi explains, ““The seeker is in reality the sought, and the Sought
the Seeker: for the man who seeks God only seeks Him because God
first sought him.” As Shushtari says, “He drew close to me and drew
me close to Him.” Everything that man does is through God’s will, “I
am content in the Creator, upon Him I rest./In Him I am joined, in Him
I am separated, in Him I desire Him./In Him I see, in Him I hear and
my soul is in His hands.”

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 POEMS AND SONGS

Layla

There is no life but Layla.

When in doubt ask everything about her.

Her mystery emanates in everything

and because of that everything praises her.

Her beauty is widespread, its fullness, concealed.

The witness says:

She is like the sun, its light radiant,

yet when you seek it, it turns to shadow.

She is like the mirror in which images appear

reflected, yet nothing resides there.

She is like the eye which has no color

yet in it appear colors in every hue.

Hers is the right course, even if I suffer,

her evidence is in the removal of the cloak.

Her injustice is just. As for her justice,

it is grace; my brother ask for more.

In her meadow, there is none but her

so she alone is invoked.

A wonder, she remains distant, no where. 10

Then union draws near, hands full.

And union with her brings us fullness, shih

distance from her, division; both are mine.

In union, there is no difference between us. 12

In division, confusion upon me.

In her raiment, her ambiguity is displayed 13

for everything is mirrored in her.

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 LOVE-CRAZED

She unveiled one day for Qays and he turned away, 14

saying: O people, I loved no other.

I am Layla and she is Qays. What a wonder! 15

How is that what I seek comes to me from me?

The torments of love

My neglect of you, reprehensible,

your love, binding.
My craving, everlasting,
union, elusive.

Your love put its mark

on the slate of my heart.
My tears are the ink,
beauty is the writer.

The reader of my thoughts

would constantly recite
lessons on the signs
of the beautiful one.

My gaze meanders
in the heaven of your beauty;
its penetrating star
pierces my mind.

Prattle about others—

listening to that is forbidden,
for all of me is stolen
and your beauty the thief.

They said to me: repent

of loving the one you love.
So I replied: I am repentant
of my negligence.

The torments of love

are sweet for every lover

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 POEMS AND SONGS

even if, viewed by another, they are hard

and never-ending.

Only love remains

You, present in my heart,

thinking of you makes me glad.

The visitor may be invisible to the eye,

in my view, the heart stands in.

I haven’t disappeared, yet my body

wastes away consumed by weakness.

The naysayer will not find me;

no spy will see me.

If destiny knew of me,

people would come.

Only love remains,

ask it and it shall answer for me.

My heart resides in the east

You who criticize, be kind

to the one withered because of love.

Censure doesn’t kill love’s ardor

but instead makes the craving stronger.

Indeed, he hears not.

So you take heed, lest you be disappointed.

Our love for things blinds

and deafens, I say in truth.

Everything you say resides in the west

but my heart resides in the east.

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 LOVE-CRAZED

You won’t see ardent love sinking;

in it the sensible one ascends.

Dear heart of mine, how sensitive you are,

Trembling from low thunder’s rumble.

Everything in love is sweet,

even the pains one encounters in it.

To efface yourself in it is to live.

So efface yourself, if you wish to endure.

Before the morn

The one I love visited me

before the morn
and my shamelessness and infamy
became beautiful to me.

He filled my cup
and bid me sleep and forget.
There is no sin
against the one who loves us.

So pass round the cup

of the one I love and adore.
Adoring the beloved
is the essence of righteousness.

Serve it to the dead,

they'll return to life.
It is the joy
and the repose of souls.

Don’t criticize me
for I will not bend to the critic.
No, not even if my bowels
were cut out by the clamor.

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 POEMS AND SONGS

How sweet the praise

of my beloved
among people of purity
and salvation.

The beloved appeared

in the dark of night
and he gave me union
till the morn.

My time is sweet
and I have no more shame.
So give me the cups
and bowls of drink.

The lover’s visit

My dearest one visited me. How sweet those moments!

The beloved heeded me.
Generously, he forgave all of my lapses,
infuriating the watchman.

My heart’s desire visited me, darkness fell away,

in that union, he was generous.
He attended my hadra, the wine glass went round,
and my hopes attained.
In good cheer we drank
of the wine that is not forbidden.

Fill up my glass, for in it is my joy.

Let’s drink, dear one.
My beloved is my intimate confidant and my lamp,
present, so close.

What drink! What wine! What a vintner!

What music! What song!
In a garden blooming with flowers
that fill us with light.

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 LOVE-CRAZED

From their pulpits in the trees

the birds speak among us. 20

My bottles are full, yet in my cup

there is no grape or raisin.
You who listen, understand my allusions.
Truly my time is wondrous!

How fine is that wine, how excellent that drink Dr)

in a place of joy.
Let me drink and love my beloved
each day anew.
Foolish is the one who bids me repent,
for I am wisely guided. 30

And should the naysayer come, I will say to him:

Truly my time is wondrous!
I know what is past and what is to come.
My illness is also my cure.

In that passion, I am the master of my time 35

and I love without shame.
In the love of the beautiful ones,
my life and my art are spent.
In the gloom of night,
my moon came to me, invisible to the eye. 40

He illuminated my abode, my space;

I almost lost my mind.
Present in my stillness and my motion
He is always there.

My path brings me closer 45

to the one I love passionately.
Present in my hadra, present in my intimacy,
my time is illuminated through him.
When I encounter him, I exclaim:
O moon! O sun! 50

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 POEMS AND SONGS

My dearest one visited me. How sweet those moments!

The beloved heeded me.
Generously, he forgave all of my lapses,
infuriating the watchman.

Robbed of my senses

O you, who stole my heart from me,

your passion robbed me of my senses.

You hid me from myself,

in myself, I am no longer visible.
I disappeared from my own sight,
as if no longer there.
So I went searching for myself,
that I might find me.

Then in my mind I said: “Enough,

my union with myself suffices.” 10

He who wants to live forever

dies to self-delusion.
He recasts himself
in the image of a servant,
and ascends
the staircase of the meritorious.

Like a king he lives, always at peace;

in his poverty, he is rich.

He who is contented,
in this existence he is a sultan. 20
He does not tempt
Satan to wish him ill,
for if he were deceived,
he would again lose his way.

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 LOVE-CRAZED

So understand, learn from me, my son, 25

and then join with me.

If you trust me,

turn away from the naysayer and understand.
Lean toward me to listen:
learn this knowledge. 30
Beware! Don’t go near
those whose ignorance is notorious.

They are known to be harmful.

Leave them and accompany me.

Where is the one who seeks 35

and understands the meaning?
Let him then be guided
by the star of our wisdom,
for when it appears, it approaches
and lingers and declares to us: 40

Loving the beautiful one, my friend, is my art

and I drink from my own jug.

My lover is beyond compare

My lover is beyond compare.

No spy watches over him.
He drew close to me and drew me close to him
present, no distance between us.

I am content in the Creator, upon him I rest.

In him I am joined, in him I am separated, in him
I desire him.
In him I see, in him I hear and my soul is in his hands.

He bestows on me his favor. My life in him is sweet.

My brethren, I am happy in that marvellous mystery.

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My allusions are to my beloved, understand my signs, 10

Teach the ignorant one who does not understand
the meaning
From the others, conceal the mystery of love and
deliverance.

For the secret of love is divine and its meaning is amazing:

I adore him and he adores me. I speak to him up close.

When I am alone with my beloved, I become absent

from creation 15
I read the secret written for me in the covenant.
In him my drink is licit, in him I gather roses.

I roam in my fragrant and delightful garden.

My sadness departs and I have my way with my beloved.

He appeared and in my heart I saw him: the master

of glory. 20
He called me and I answered. He bid me follow.
Mirrored in me—I saw him—his countenance like the
new moon.

And he revived me and answered my call and said to me:

Repent.
Brother, dwell like me in my welcoming abode.

O poet, take advantage, venture for your Lord’s sake

and boast! 25
Make those with discernment hear praise upon praise.
And say to the critic, to those present and absent:

I am the servant of my Lord until the day of Reckoning

May my Lord forgive me and may I not fail in my goal.

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 Chapter 3

DENUDATIO/STRIPPING BARE

Introduction

Like many ascetics before him, Christian and Muslim, Shushtari

held that renunciation of the material world was fundamental to advanc-
ing on the spiritual path. He would certainly have agreed with John
Cassian, the fourth- to fifth-century French monk credited with bring-
ing the rules of Eastern monasticism to the West, when he writes:
“Covetousness cannot be overcome except by stripping one’s self of
everything. This is a sufficiently dreadful and clear instance of this
tyranny, which, when once the mind is taken prisoner by it, allows it to
keep to no rules of honesty, nor to be satisfied with any additions to its
gains. For we must seek to put an end to this madness, not by riches,
but by stripping ourselves of them.”
For Shushtari, tajrid—the process of peeling away what is super-
fluous or superficial—is the essence of the mystical path. Tajrid is
closely linked to fagr, poverty or renunciation, which he calls “a need-
fulness of God.” His elaboration of the stages of this shedding or
renunciation shows it to be a constant and dynamic process, each layer
uncovered reveals another to be peeled away:

The first stage of tajrid is the shedding of blameworthy qual-

ities through garbing oneself in praiseworthy ones, then the
tajrid of this world by executing the command of the next,
then the shedding of the cosmos through contemplation of the
Creator, then the shedding of contemplation by extinction
(passing away) in worship, then the shedding of extinction
through extinction of extinction itself, then the shedding of
these stages through the observation of existence, then the
shedding of all of that in the Beneficent Presence (sakina).

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 POEMS AND SONGS

The songs in this chapter explore the seeker’s relationship with all
that will pass away, from the riches of the material world to the com-
forts of the familiar. For Shushtari, poverty means renouncing home,
family, and one’s attachment to a self-concept that seeks the approval
and respect of others. Some of these poems also address the contest
between a conventional understanding of life, religious practice, and
moral behavior, and the worldview of Shushtari and his followers. The
others are asleep, he sings. What they see is mere illusion; our poverty
will become our riches.
The section opens with “Burning all discernment,” a short mono-
rhyme ode that explores the theme of resignation, the letting go of self
and the acknowledgment of the omnipotence of the divine. Even the
shedding of inhibitions, the letting go itself, is an act of God rather than
an act that can be claimed by the believer. Poetically, this is expressed
through the insistent use of negation, which is rendered even more
prominent by the use of enjambment, letting the negation hang at the
end of hemistiches and lines. The poem that follows, “Leaving my
land,” also speaks quite lyrically of the abandonment of the familiar, of
every type of possession, “that I might see Your land.”
The poems that follow treat themes familiar to Muslims and
members of many other faith traditions. The poor will attain the lofti-
est station, “kings will desire their rank,” he proclaims in “The Rank of
the Poor.” Worldly possessions are but a loan (“Borrowed goods”);
nothing is truly in the possession of or under the control of mortal man.
Not only is poverty an insistent theme in Shushtari’s poetry, but he
treats the subject at length in his prose. Shushtari repeatedly cites the
tradition, “Poor Muslims will enter Paradise half a day before the
wealthy, [a day] five-hundred years long.”* Still the renunciation
Shushtari speaks of is never easy, especially the separation from fam-
ily and loved ones, as he says in the closing poem:

I weep—how could I not weep?—

for my dear friends.
For I bid them goodbye and left,
riding away from them.

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 DENUDATIO/STRIPPING BARE

Burning all discernment

Truly, I shed my inhibitions

in your love
by your power, not
my power, nor my devices.

I leave behind being until

I do not see it, nor even
see it leaving,
receding behind me.

Creation is your creation

and all affairs are your affairs,
for what am I?
not even ruins.

I speak the truth:

there is nothing in the universe that is not you.
I seek refuge in God
from my knowledge and acts.

In your existence there is no place

for the veil but
in the secret of the letters.
Look toward the mountain.

You showed yourself,

then you hid yourself in your manifestation.
You pointed to yourself
and you pointed to me.

You show yourself

to yourself in yourself.
Continuity which bespeaks
the enigma of eternity.

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 POEMS AND SONGS

You know yourself,

so who is it that knows you?
You are one and the life of love,
O my hope.

The ignorant cannot deny it, no,

for knowledge is your knowledge.
However, ignorance
occurs in what was created impatient.

In illusion man stands firm 10

and in certitude he is lost.
I am weak as a moth
to endure the fire.

The majesty of glory

has burned all discernment.
I confess I am powerless,
submissive and inert.

Leaving my land

I left my land
that I might see your land.

I left my abode,
my purpose, my self-determination.
In you, I dropped my pretenses.

I became strong in my dominion

when I became enamored of your dominion.

I disappeared in the meaning

until there was only me
and the meaning became dear to me.

I declared in my heart:
guard my secret in your heart.

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 DENUDATIO/STRIPPING BARE

I left my protection
and the world of forms
until I became present to perfection.

O repose for the love-mad one,

have mercy on one besotted with you.

I drew close—as a servant draws close—

to a secret manifest within me.
And my love-ecstasy increased. 20

For out of beneficence

you keep leading me to your beneficence.

You continue to weaken me,

you push me away and draw me near.
I cried out in the push-pull: 2

My palace lost its garden

when your garden appeared to me.

O you whose memory slays me,

union with you has brought me life.
O matchless king 30

forgive me my sin and disobedience

for your disobedience has harmed me.

The rank of the poor

There is a people of poverty. Follow them

and seek to love and serve them.

If your noble soul knows

what you seek, seek the grandeur that is theirs.

Take your place among those

at the head of the line on their day of fortune.

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 POEMS AND SONGS

In the presence of our Lord—may He be praised—

the ones whom He has raised.

That day, you will see no glory

but theirs, lifting them because of their humbleness.

Whoever loves and respects them

and follows their ways shall be with them.

Kings will desire their rank

on seeing how lofty their station.

God decreed their fate long ago,

so they end up with their share.

Purify the houses of God

In word and deed, strip away the others.

Bring the dispersed branches together in their roots.

Don’t incline yourself to family, tell them to stay.

To bring fire, one must leave family behind.

Purify the houses of God of all images;

for if you are truly wise, His house is your heart.

Borrowed goods

How can anyone who doesn’t see the signs

aspire to glory?

I am your veil:
If you shut the door
(understand what’s in your interest)
no visitor will call on you.
If you understand what I’m saying, then listen:

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 DENUDATIO/STRIPPING BARE

Awaken from your slumber.

Prepare for your salvation.
And look where you rest your head. 10

Our attire is borrowed. What I have is on loan;

is anything mine?

If you understand what’s been said to you...

This place is yours and yet this place is not yours.
You are but a servant of the Title-holder. 15

Do you propose to glean a profit

on borrowed goods?

Poverty and riches

We come to you in poverty, not riches,

for you are the generous one.

You accustomed us to every grace, may

your grace endure.

These poor disheveled souls of yours are drenched

in your love, because it is the utmost of desires.

There is no one in richness like you

and in poverty there are none like us.

We see you manifest in everything;

nothing is ours.

I hid your name out of jealousy. Look at me,

lost on a mountain trail and a slope.

Since you are always with me,

I have no need to carry provisions: I am rich.

For you, you are the truth, there is no other

and I—would that I knew—who am I?

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 POEMS AND SONGS

Let go of delusions

My sweetest moments are when I am one with my essence.

When I am with my deepest self

my intimacy rises from me like the sun.
Poverty comes naturally to me.

Creation is revealed and man can see

the totality of being comes from my particles.
My sweetest moments are when I am one with my essence.

O fagir, listen to what you will do:

Put yourself above the cosmos and enjoy.
Nothing is more beautiful than you. 10

Set aside the others, understand the secrets.

Enter the arena and you will see the past and the present.
My sweetest moments are when I am one with my essence.

Roam in your thought and stroll about;

for existence, all of it, is your garden. 15
If something is revealed to you, be happy.

Appearances are a delusion. Rise to the fore.

The signs are in you. To come near the king, diminish
yourself.
My sweetest moments are when I am one with my essence.

Apply your intellect to what is rational, 20

the proof leads you to the proven.
You will see, the bearer is what is borne.

To say this is a mistake would be a mistake.

Music allows me to speak to the people.
My sweetest moments are when I am one with my
essence. 25

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 DENUDATIO/STRIPPING BARE

Listen, O most amazing of creation.

Love the one you desire passionately and find enduring
contentment.
You are the lover and the beloved.

The journey is to yourself and you are the meaning of

the good.
There is nothing but you, O abode of essential poverty. 30
My sweetest moments are when I am one with my
essence.

Riding away

To be separated from you, my son,

is my greatest affliction.
For when I drew near you,
I gave up those close to me.

In you, I miss my superficiality;

that’s how far I’ve gone.
I remember you
and my poor heart is perplexed.
Our intimacy presses me toward you—
yet fear grips me. 10

If things were
as I would have them,
and I had my chance with you
I would clutch you with my claws.

You poured me a bit 15

of your finest old vintage.
You accompanied me,
a companion in my drunkeness
In you, I was indulged.
Still, Iwanted more. 20

I am not worthy
of your drink

aL
 POEMS AND SONGS

and yet, through your generosity

I fulfilled my desires.

Careful! Don’t see double, 25

don’t listen to an error.
There is but one,
you alone.
Understand these concepts,
observe these points. 30

Be united in yourself.
One seeks
only your qualities
in those around you.

And you, who chatter to me about 33

all the “beautiful people,”
do you really see the stars
in the splendor of the sunrise?
I saw the absolute, so listen up
and go back for clarification. 40

There is nothing but the one,

understand this my friend,
multiplicity is like
an abundance of peanuts.

This zajal has quickly come to its end 45

and it’s turned out, as you see,
a worthy composition
Lawshi and Shushtari
modeled on the zajal of a lover
whose fame is well-known: 50

I weep—how could I not weep?—

for my dear friends.
For I bid them goodbye and left,
riding away from them.

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 Chapter 4

AMONG THE SUFIS

Introduction

The poems in this section all touch upon, in some way, life among
the Sufi brethren. The opening and closing poems, “Little shaykh from
Meknes” and “Poor like me/By God, natural” describe the itinerant life
of the destitute Sufi, with a traveling bag on his shoulder and dressed
in rags or, as in “Poor like me,” in “cords and needles and bits of dis-
carded wool.” The simple devotional songs “In my heart so near” and
“Remembrance of God” are marked by their insistent repetition. “In my
heart so near’’starts each line of the refrains with a repeated invocation
to God or a repeated command to the listener: “let me speak,” “listen,”
9

“witness” and “enter.” In the next poem, “Remembrance of God,” every

line closes with Allah, God, and thus the poem is very consciously a
form of dhikr or remembrance. Although I was strongly tempted to
keep the rhyme in “Allah” for poetic reasons, ultimately I chose to keep
it all in English to avoid the distancing effect that the Arabic may have
on some readers. The strongly didactic “Shirts and caps” contrasts life
in the Sufi lodges with the worldly life of honor and prestige enjoyed
by the jurists.
The opening poem deserves special comment. The zajal “Little
shaykh from Meknes” is among Shushtari’s most famous compositions;
songbooks attest to the fact that it was so popular that it was adapted to
several different melodies. In many ways these verses have come to
define a popular public image of the Andalusian poet: a wandering
minstrel; a salty man of the people, detached from any desire for social
status or favor; someone who rather jauntily dismisses his critics; a
saintly folk hero warmly received by ordinary people. The idea of sanc-
tity presented here is uncomplicated: “Do what’s good and you'll be

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 POEMS AND SONGS

saved” (line 7). Tawakkul or absolute trust in God is exemplified in this

wandering and carefree beggar.
It must be observed that shaykh, or as it is often rendered in
English, sheik, is a word that not only has proverbially lost quite a bit
in translation, but it has also acquired a good deal of highly negative
baggage dating back to early Valentino films like The Sheik and Son of
the Sheik and the pervasive modern image of the despotic “oil sheik.”
Yet the Arabic word shaykh essentially means an older person; the
tribal or village shaykhs are respected or powerful because of their age.
Shuwaykh—the diminutive of shaykh used in some but not all the ver-
sions of this poem—then, conjures up images of a wizened figure, per-
haps a bit stooped over. To call this headstrong beggar a “little shaykh”
is both warmly affectionate and a wryly ironic acknowledgment of the
higher wisdom he embodies.

Little shaykh from Meknes

Little shaykh from the land of Meknes

wanders the souks and sings:
What care have I for others?
What care have they for me?

What care have I, my friend, 5

for the rest of creation?
Do what’s good and you'll be saved,
Follow the people of truth.
My son, hold your tongue
or be sincere. 10

Mark my words on a sheet of paper,

write them like an amulet.
What care have I for others?
What care have they for me?

What’s been said is clear, 15

it needs no explanation.
What need has anyone of anyone?
Understand this advice.

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 AMONG THE SUFIS

Look, how I’m on in years,

my walking stick and my sack. 20

That’s how I lived in Fez,

lowness my comfort.
What care have I for others?
What care have they for me?

What beautiful words US

as he wanders through the souks.
You see the merchants
turn toward him,
a bag around his neck,
with walking stick and a palm basket. 30

The little shaykh stands on solid ground

upstanding as God wills.
What care have I for others?
What care have they for me?

If you could see that little shaykh, 35

how fine his message!
He turned to me and said:
I see you're following me.
I put out my basket
may the one who has mercy on me, bless it. 40

And he puts it out

and says: leave me be, leave me be.
What care have I for others?
What care have they for me?

“My son, those who do good 45

reap only what’s good,
they contemplate their failings
and denounce their shameful deeds.
Whoever is like me
will remain an outsider.” 50

18)
 POEMS AND SONGS

Those whose spirit is sweet

can forgive the singer:
What care have I for others?
What care have they for me?

In my heart so near

God,
O God! How men wander seeking the love of the
beloved.
God, O God, present in my heart so near!

Indulge yourself, my heart, be joyful for your beloved

has come.
Enjoy praising your lord, follow the path. 5
Savor it and you will live the good life among men.

Let me;
let me speak of my beloved; mentioning him is so
sweet.
God, O God, present in my heart so near!

What can I do in this condition? I am your

servant, 10
You'll find me casting off my excuses because of
your love.
My spirit—what else is left to me?—I give to you.

Listen,
listen, O people of love, for the beloved answers.
God, O God, present in my heart so near! 15

The one who gives his spirit to his lord benefits and
profits
and ascends the heavenly staircase, and is exalted.
He holds fast to the Sufi mystics, finds refuge with
them, and heeds them.

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 AMONG THE SUFIS

Witness,
witness the essence of beauty and the astonishing
perfection. 20
God, O God, present in my heart so near!

I am that meaning of meanings and the secret of

being.
Stroll in the grace of my creation, but guard the
limits.
Abandon that which is not of me; you will enjoy the
grace of contemplation.

Enter, Ds
enter the pureness of my presence, beside the beloved.
O God, O God, present in my heart so near!

Remembrance of God

Oh, you who ask for God’s forgiveness,

hand over your cares to God.
Say with sincerity and seriousness
God, God, God.
Savor him and be congenial
for you are in the presence of God.
You have gained a treasure
and every grace is from God.
Cling tightly to him
for God’s Name of Names is God. 10
You must be present in your heart
when you mention God.
There is a mysterious intoxication in him
known by whomever invokes God.
Greet the universe and dance 15
while saying, “God, God.”
Find ecstasy in that and drink
the wine of your remembrance of God.

aT
 POEMS AND SONGS

That’s the life,

there is no death in it, by God. 20
The master who brought this to you
stood before God, through God.
So give yourself to him and you will live
in his favor, may it please God.
And bless my master and preserve 25
the guide to God,
Ahmad, the best of the messengers
sent to creatures by God,
and his family and Companions
and all of those who call upon God. 30

Shirts and caps

Tell me about the wearing of that khirga

and the meaning of that cap.

“O my Sufi brethren, you apprentices,

you in seclusion or in zawiyas,
O Master, I want to leave you all
and enter the sanctuary
to find happiness in the four schools
and in the most distinguished station.
My longing increases, my eyes weep
tears mixed with agony.
Pour for me the pure wine
that quenches this fire,
that I may cure this love-ardor
and live a contented life.”

“O desirous one,” the shaykh said to me, “How is that? 15

Listen to my words and understand them:

Nothing will quiet your heart or your longings

other than a tale you should hide.
Be like me, a passionate lover of the beautiful one.
Gaze on his beauty and serve him. 20

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 AMONG THE SUFIS

Understand me. For those that understand will ascend

to the awesome presence.
Each hadra brings you closer
and you will see the meaning of the cap.
Since you ask about the secret of my poverty
and the cap, O seeker,
come and put your hand on my head
and the beneficial secret will appear to you.
Think twice about dressing haughtily
for this world shall pass away.
The symbolism of the way
makes shirts and caps superfluous.
In this abandonment, O my dear heart,
nothing of me remains.”

Poor like me/By God, natural

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural.

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural.

He’s poor—like me,

a traveling bag on his shoulder.
Unburdened by worries,
his chest carefree.
He is beloved
by those light of spirit.

The natural one’s like that. Everyone’s amazed by the

natural.
Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural.

From the start of the day

when I set out to beg
I open my mouth
and stretch out my hand.
If only you could see my sincere effort
in my own fashion.

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 POEMS AND SONGS

The unnatural one. Leaving him is natural to me.

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural.

I clothe my body
in cords and needles, 20
bits of discarded wool;
I beg a bit of bread.
What’s his name?
people are confused.

I’m staying natural. All the natural folk, I please. 25

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural.

My head is shaved
I walk about in rapture.
I beg at the market
or the houses of luxury. 30
Barefoot, yet elegant
“Give for God’s sake,”I say.

Natural goodness from whom it’s natural.

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural.

When I am seated, 5)
no thought of walking.
If I want to sleep,
the ground is my bed
I eat wild grass,
in Him my life is good. 40

The natural one. He pleases every natural.

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural.

My sack has
an oyster shell.
There’s a jug hung 45
from my walking stick.
My head is polished
like a plate.

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 AMONG THE SUFIS

Natural I walk. Imprinted by poverty.

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural. 50

When I stop
at the market or village,
I see the Bedouin
come out toward me,
like brothers DD
their words are sincere.

The natural is welcomed by the natural.

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural.

There’s no artifice about me.

I have no secrets. 60
I desire neither food
nor clothing.
That’s the condition
of the easygoing one.

Naturally poor. Every natural he pleases. 65

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural.

I know no judge
or ruler
What’s more noble
and more natural to my condition. 70
that’s what characterizes
the rank of excellence.

The natural heart is marked like that.

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural.

Wherever I go, WS
my house is there.
I cast off my protection
in the middle of the desert.
I chew the grass
of the open country. 80

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 POEMS AND SONGS

Natural sustenance, what’s inside me is natural.

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural.

These practices,
all others are deficient.
Whoever bows 85
before a vizier or sultan
he’s the arrogant one.
Yes, he’s confused.

His garment suits him, for it is imprinted with

covetousness
Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural. 90

Cutting my sleeves
I aim to find salvation
expelling both worlds
from my heart at once.
I shed my sandals 95
and I ascend to the mystical session.

Other than natural. Leaving him is natural to me.

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural.

Those seated with me

pure like my heart 100
The intimate session
where I polish my drinking glass
A gathering of glasses
and learned/well-bred Sufis.

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural. 105

Natural. Natural. Yes, by God, natural.

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 Chapter 5

DECIPHERING THE SIGNS OF Gop

Poets live and work at this margin of the inarticulate. Their

work is visual at the edge of darkness, auditory in the cradle
of silence. In this raiding of what we cannot speak, their
vocation embodies a longing for, a reaching toward, what
we cannot manage with our minds alone, the endless work-
ing with words which “after speech, reach/Into the silence.”
—MArK BURROUGHS

Introduction

This section presents poems that grapple perhaps more explicitly

than others with matters of interpretation and mystical hermeneutics.
One of Shushtari’s persistent themes is the complex interrelation
between divine signs in their myriad forms: as letters of a divine text or
as the grand patterns of creation. The poet often meditates on his own
use of poetic signs and allegories to attempt to communicate mysteries
that are inexpressible in human language and ultimately beyond human
understanding.
The section opens with “Just understand me,”a zajal marked by
its insistent repetition of the injunction ifhamni qat, “just understand me.”
This refrain functions as a plea to the listener, as well as an acknowl-
edgment of the limitations of the poet’s own speech, of the poem’s
ability—of any poem’s ability—to communicate a message that tran-
scends human language. In the first five strophes especially, the line
functions contrapunctually, interrupting the very lyrical evocation of
the beloved as “him,” the one who exceeds all boundaries and cate-
gories. Line 33 marks a turning point in the poem, as the poetic voice
shifts from recounting his own delight in the Creator to addressing the
listener directly with advice and instruction. Soon (line 43), the poem

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 POEMS AND SONGS

shifts from second person advice into the voice of God, who proclaims
what appear to be antitheses: “My absence is My presence,” “My
veiledness is in My nearness.” These statements might be taken as the
culmination of all the prior assertions of God’s boundlessness. Thus,
the injunction to join in the activities of the Sufis (lines 53 ff.) raises a
question. Is it Shushtari now who is urging the listener? Or that earlier
divine voice?
The zajal “I translated an illegible letter’ is perhaps Shushtari’s
most explicit and direct exposition of the problem of communicating a
mystical vision using human language. The verb tarjama, which opens
the poem and is repeated in each refrain, is defined in one Arabic dic-
tionary as “‘to elucidate or explain (fassara) something in another lan-
guage.” What is translated or explained here, a harf, the “letter” as I
have rendered it, is itself a richly polysemic word. The verb harafa
means to turn a thing from its proper way; a related form, harrafa, is
used in the Qur’an (4:46) in the sense of altering the divine word or per-
verting its meaning. Among the many meanings of harf is the extrem-
ity, edge or border of something, a ridge, as in a mountain ridge, or the
nib of a pen. It can also mean a letter, a word, a grammatical particle,
or a dialect or idiom. Whether it is an edge, a ridge, a letter or a dialect,
this harf is always incomplete, the visible or perceptible sign of some-
thing more, something beyond: a river, a mountain, a sound and the
meaning it conveys, the abstraction that is language.
The quest to find occult meanings in the letters of words gave rise
to a number of approaches, such as using numerical values assigned to
letters, or elements (fire, water, earth, and air) associated with them, the
practitioners of the “sciences of letters” (“i/m al-hurif) would attempt
to discern secrets or harness magical powers inherent in certain combi-
nations of letters. Certain mystics became interested in applying these
techniques to the names of God with the aim of achieving kashf or
unveiling. Rather than following either of those approaches, the poem
“The letters of His name” is a more free-flowing meditation on the
unique name of God, focusing on the imagery evoked by the physical
shapes of the letters Alif, Lam, Lam, and Ha. The doubled Lam at the
center of the word becomes a focus of the poem, the space between the
two letters compared to a cleansed heart shrouded on two sides, a sun
between two moons; that is, meaning, essence, resides in the blank

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 DECIPHERING THE SIGNS OF GOD

space in the heart of the word, where the self has no marker against
which to locate itself.

Just understand me

Listen to some words select,

just understand me, just.

What did someone say to me perchance?

(Understand how I explain my meaning):
What is your beloved’s name? I said: him. 5

There is no confusing the name of the beloved,

just understand me, just.

My beloved encompasses all existence.

He is visible in white and black
and in Christian and Jew, 10

and in the letters and their points,

just understand me, just.

in the plants and in the minerals,

in black and in white,
in the pen and the ink. 15

In this there is no mistake,

Just understand me, just.

There is no one like my sweetheart.

I know this without a doubt.
He is not veiled to those who know. 20

In everything he is comingled,
just understand me, just.

I have known him for all time,

present to me each moment
in the waters and the valleys 25

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 POEMS AND SONGS

in the the rising and the falling,

just understand me, just.

In my love, I am joyful.
Everything makes sense.
He appears, there is no doubt, 30

in vastness and boundlessness

just understand me, just.

Take leave of the world of the imagination

lest you think you see an equal to him,
for what you see is chimera. 35

Your existence is connected to him

Just understand me, just.

My friend, my friend,
don’t pay attention to my form.
Look and you will see my marvels. 40

In an ocean with absolutely no shore,

just understand me, just.

The secret of existence is in my totality

my absence is in my presence.
My veiledness is in my nearness. 45

Listen to these points,

Just understand me, just.

If you are absent to existence

and annihilate yourself in contemplation 9

there is no trace and no boundary 50

and no end and no middle

Just understand me, just.

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 DECIPHERING THE SIGNS OF GOD

Open your heart gladly to men

in the hadra is union
clothe yourself in the clothing of perfection 35

and take a seat on the carpet,

just understand me, just.

The stars appeared to the blind.

That’s not what commoners mean by “taste.”
Nor those not yet mature, 60

the meaning has escaped them

just understand me, just.

The remedy comes in a spoonful of honey.

Hope is its sign.
The condition is that you understand this lesson. 65

Take it from me,

just understand me, just.

In that station speech is annihilated,

so too, the purpose of the ecstatic states,
for there is no union and no division. 70

Nor is there excess in what I say

just understand me, just.

If you wish to understand these words

and ascend to that station,
break with the fantasies of the commoner. 75

Say only: he is God

just understand me, just.

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 POEMS AND SONGS

I translated an illegible letter

I translated an illegible letter.

Will anyone understand me?

From the dot of ba, I was lifted

to alif, a more brilliant rank
where one forgets what is near.

What perplexity there! What confusion!

I repose with the one who mentions me.

I translated an illegible letter.

Will anyone understand me?

Among us any mention of the mentioner is hidden.

Effaced, he effaced thought.
it disappeared before the eyes of the gazer.

In the secrecy of the mystical session, a cry goes up:

“O Lord, make me many or make me one.”

I translated an illegible letter.

Will anyone understand me?

Save me from the ocean of oneness

and display me on the shore of individuality.
Disrobement is in the eye of man.

In that way, I went beyond 20

the others and exceeded my vision.

I translated an illegible letter.

Will anyone understand me?

I can’t find the one I flee.

If you see me, I am ascending. 25
My wine is mixed in every glass.

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 DECIPHERING THE SIGNS OF GOD

I am the bottle. I am the wine.

You cannot keep me from my intoxication.

I translated an illegible letter.

Will anyone understand me? 30

I am the drinking companion. I am the cupbearer.

My yearning is increased by the company of others.
I am annihilated in the eternal meaning.

What is news other than what is veiled?

In every letter, I am translated. 35

I translated an illegible letter.

Will anyone understand me?

On my tablet appeared writing,

the secret of the lover for the beloved.
So understand and you will find that you are sought. 40

In every glance or gaze

it’s you who is the object.

I translated an illegible letter.

Will anyone understand me?

I drowned in an ocean of names 45

in the midst of gloom and blindness,
until Salma appeared to me.

Why, when I thought you had abandoned me,

did you, O beautiful one, appear to me?

I translated an illegible letter. 50

Will anyone understand me?

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 POEMS AND SONGS

The letters of His name

Alif before double Lam

and Ha—delight of the eye.

Alif proclaims the name

with two incorporeal Lams
and Ha: the written sign.
Secret is spelled with two letters.
There is a name with no place.

Read these letters together.

You will see that in them, the heart is cleansed,
forgets its past trials 10
and advances shrouded on both sides
by two delicate symbols.

My crazed passionate love became public.

Dawn appeared after my night
and I became a light unto creation 15
a sun between two moons:
I know not where I am.

My most pious love means

to be extinguished in Him like a slave
and truly, in the extinguishing I am extinguished 20
for the finding is between losing and losing
and life is in two deaths.

My darling, the one I passionately love,

and when I die, the sustenance of the soul.
Fearing separation, I sing: WS
“When, O apple of my eye,
will I find union without place?”

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 DECIPHERING THE SIGNS OF GOD

Master of illusion

Turn away from fantasy and delusion,

put thought and discernment to use.
People are but shadows,
so look to the master of the images.

Contemplate, contemplate in earnest,

you will confirm the truth in what you see.
Picture this—may you succeed— existence is its
own veil,
so look to the one who made it come into view.
The universe was there to him even before he
made it.
The most auspicious [star] is the one that ascends.

He who rises from lowliness to the heights

he shall see the essence in the trace.
People are but shadows,
so look to the master of illusion.

The weak one, like a child, first perceives

embodied forms.
Crude things from crude matter,
but they admit polishing.
To the essence, he attributes to deeds and
words [he sees]
no matter [how refined] his analysis. 20

He mistakes the source for the copies

he perceives with his eyes.
People are but shadows.
So look to the master of illusion.

Then, when day breaks 78;

and the child, rightly guided, reaches his prime,
he sees the essences that moved
appear lifeless and petrified.

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 POEMS AND SONGS

Through them the one who molded them is veiled,

hidden in them, just as he appears through them. 30

A drink that had gleamed like icy water,

the wellspring overcame it and engulfed it.
People are but shadows,
so look to the master of illusion.

I am amazed, his mystery is amazing, 35

His judgment, how it is carried out!
This one—as he wishes—is close,
and that one, distant from union
This one is innocent and that one suspicious,
like the will of the magician. 40

You see him appear but he pays no mind,

in every condition, he has a purpose.
People are but shadows,
so look to the master of illusion.

He dresses them, draping their costumes, 45

an outfit for each one.
Their limbs suspended with string,
unseen by people, when they forget.
For to be conscious there are hurdles,
the first is to abandon appetites. 50

For invoking [him] is the first perfection

which nurtures the perpetual vision.
People are but shadows,
so look to the master of illusion.

Pierce the surface of things, 55

what is hidden within appears in the depths.
Those veils are themselves veiled,
they are known when transformed into letters.
Clear is the eye of whoever uses them to see,
for the one who forgave has triumphed. 60

D2.
 DECIPHERING THE SIGNS OF GOD

My friend, accept [what I say] about the stations,

for sobriety is more appropriate for the inebriated.
People are but shadows,
so look to the master of illusion.

The heart is unseen and so too the master. 65

What is unseen befits the unseen.
Stop, you superficial one, next comes the best part.
So seek it, for it is the fruit you seek.
Underneath the outer layer is the drink of
the cupbearers
and he who drinks it sings: 70

Stop speaking of the impossible

whether it be hidden or manifest.
People are but shadows,
so look to the master of illusion.

Don’t say He forgot you

Gaze in your mirror.

Gaze in your mirror.
The one you see there,
that is you.

Raise the mirror and look.

Everything is there.
You will see open space and dense civilization,
death and life.
What is veiled you see
only in the mirror.

Your cloak is removed.

Your cloak is removed.
You will endure in oneness
and see nothing but yourself.

Don’t seek the blemishes of others

for you too have blemishes.

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 POEMS AND SONGS

Every blemish is yours—

turn away and repent.
If your heart were to open,
the veils would be lifted. 20

You would see this and that

You would see this and that
You would delight in the knowledge of the unseen
and thank the one who gives.

All words are yours 25

and speech.
Accept the essence of beauty
and cast wickedness aside.
Tell the ignorant:
in your ignorance you are blinded. 30

Had he wished to guide you

Had he wished to guide you
You would have carried out his orders
and avoided what was prohibited.

Know O humble servant of God, 35

the truth of this knowledge.
Knowing that God
loves the pure,
hope only in God,
be satisfied in Him. 40

Don’t say He forgot you.

Don’t say He forgot you.
In what is hidden and what is visible,
He always sees you.

I’m a sight to see

Indeed, I’m quite a sight

for whoever might see me.

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 DECIPHERING THE SIGNS OF GOD

I am the lover and the beloved.

There is nothing else.

O seeker, the heart of the matter

is cloaked by your eye itself.

Return to your essence and proclaim

there is nothing outside of you,

for the good comes from you and the knowledge,

and the secret is in you. 10

You are the mirror of the glance,

the axis of time

Encompassed in you is what is dispersed

throughout time.

Listen to my words and take them in 15

so you may understand.

For your treasure is stripped

of all talismans.

He is what is spoken and the speaker,

at the summit of understanding. 20

Listen to my call, up close,

not with your ears:

The sun of my essence is everpresent

to the eye.

Gaze at my beauty, manifest 25

in every human being.

Like water that seeps into

the roots of the branches,

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although watered with the water of oneness,

the flowers are multicolored. 30

So reverently worship the Lord of majesty

as you draw near to each other.

And read the verses of perfection,

the seven oft-recited verses.

I sang to the moon

To me, from me; he’s the goal.

“Hey me, what’s up with you?”
You'll find me running and the course
leads to me—so I might see you.

I am never away from my presence.

I see no veil before me.
The height of presence is my absence.
I wish you could see me and the truth.
All truth is in my hiddenness
for if not, I would not be found. 10

For I continued and continue

setting up snares for my soul.
I ensnared myself and thus I see
I am alone in the battlefield.

I have no like and no equal 15

I say to myself without cease:
I am the signifier and the signified,
in me, it’s proven, no doubt.
I am rich and at the same time poor.
Garments of clay veil me from myself. 20

Shadows, those are the ruins.

My garment is mine alone.
I shed it, for nakedness suits me
And Ill accept the consequences.

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 DECIPHERING THE SIGNS OF GOD

I seek myself in myself, Des

absent to myself, I search asking:
My beloved, tell me true,
do you see me and not an illusion?
I said to myself: Indeed.
Yes, yes, I have no equal. 30

I have attained my deepest self

I have seen the one who shaped you.
You come back and tell me I invent things;
the others have changed you.

My wine is a fine wine, 35

it intoxicated me long ago
So good, I shatter open the cache
but its breaking is not in vain.
My story is all marvels
I am the tablet and the pen. 40

My essence was so divided:

“Me? I don’t recognize you.”
When I cast aside the mirror
and everything in your image,

I felt in myself and the feelings 45

were manifest from me to me.
The names were for me a shell,
my essence is the heart of the matter.
While hidden from view,
I sang out to the moon one night: 50

O night, whether long or short,

watch you I must,
but if my moon spent the night with me,
I would not stay to watch yours.

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Breaking the talisman

He who breaks free of the talisman

is, in this world, the master of self-knowledge.

The hidden treasure appeared to him.

Let him praise God, who made him understand.

You will find him suffering among men,

some may even despise him.

You see people flee when they meet him

like the wild ass from a lion.

The Beautiful Ones served him—actually, all of them,

by them I mean the luminous seven.

He opened the lock that man had locked.

O friend, how powerful he is!

He unlocked the secret of the names,

the caliph of God who provided for him.

In my heart’s eye

O hidden one—eternal
How clear you are, how manifest!
You may have disappeared from my sight;
in my heart’s eye, I see you.

You never hide from me.

Nor is your mystery hidden from me.
Your command, your judgment and your decree
proceed upon the dead and the living.
I look at things and I see
your kindness present in everything.

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For you are eternal with no end,

your judgment triumphs over humanity.
The criminal among us and the innocent,
how can they escape your command?

O you who wish to see God,

look at the totality of being,
silent or speaking or still,
animal or plant
in everything you will see God
with no divisions and no dimensions. 20

With no dimensions and no divisions,

you will see the God that provided for you.
All of Him is scattered.
He wants to test you.

One. He has no equal Dy

and no peer and no likeness.
Invoking the beautiful one,
I shortened the long night.
Forgive the singer who exclaims
and the one to whom he sings: 30

O night, whether you are long or short,

watch you I must,
but if my moon spent the night with me,
I would not keep watch over your moon.

Hidden in plain sight

You, who appear visible when concealed,

hidden when in plain sight

You are manifest,

hidden from no one
And absent,
visible to no one

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 POEMS AND SONGS

For you are the one;

there is no other.

Absolute oneness. The message is true.

What is added to the oneness emanates from you. 10

Listen, you’ll see what I say

is marvelous to say.
To whom do I say “listen’”?
For you are the listener
It is you who speak 15
and you who listen.

Just when do you think what is absent will appear?

God is the One with no other.

There is nothing like me,

I am one. 20

And the very notion of place, in truth,

is trouble.
When you let go of “whereness,”
you will find us.

So repent or cut it short. 25

Deep in your heart you will see the meaning of my
message.

Tell me, who is a devil

or an angel?
Or Adam or Eve
or a star? 30
Who is saved? Tell me,
who is damned?

Who bowed before the sun or the moon?

Who worshiped fire or stones?

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The sensible one will understand, Sh)

become discerning,
read and learn
and become a fagih,
know the road of truth
and follow it. 40

If he understands his erudition, what is he waiting for?

Leave those worlds, you will see the moon.

Stop tiring yourself

Add not one verse. Add not one verse.

I achieved my goal: the beloved. I saw him.

Who was it that became known

through his generosity in creation?
How can you ask him: How?
The mass of men is oblivious.
In that place, the penstrokes disappear
and the boundaries.

Wherever I walk. Wherever I walk.

From him, to him, in him, I walk. Let go of this
and that. 10

The samd‘ is all you need. Listen

and abandon everything other.
For creation is, if you analyze it:
o-t-h-e-r.
So take your name from the one you love, 15
and stop tiring yourself.

In the other you were lost. In the other you were lost.
If you flee from fantasy, you cannot escape createdness.

To flee is the height of illusion itself

that is the obstacle 20

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said to be swept away

wherever it is imposed.
Who will return to fix it in place
after it already disappeared?

Say to him: “I have plunged’—Say to him: “T have P13)

plunged”.
“in the sea diving for pearls; through the diving,
I ascend.”

If you feel, it is yourself you feel,

you yourself are the feeling.
If you perceive nearness or distance
or darkness or light, 30
that’s you, taking place in you,
revolving around you.

Everything I see. Everything I see.

You are in the unfolding, but you have forgotten.

Why does he forget? Why does he say: 35

“I wonder, why this?”
He knew and yet he asks:
“What is that called?”
Here, the situation itself declares:
“What on earth caused him to do this?” 40

How’?—and I engulf How?—and I engulf

everything that is manifest and in Him I am hidden.

You are my deeds. You are my name.

You are the letters.
In you the seer translates 45
what he sees when he sees me.
One thousand like you,
like thousands they seem.

If you are denied, if you are denied

You are him, and I, what remains hidden in plain sight. 50

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 Chapter 6

DESERT WANDERINGS

Introduction

The poems in “Desert Wanderings” use the imagery of classical

Arabian desert odes—the abandoned encampments, the yearning and
recollection of blissful union with the beloved, the long and lonely
night trek of the suffering lover—to speak of spiritual journeys. Many
of these poems are set in the stylized poetic desert mapped by Ibn al-
Farid and Ibn al-‘Arabi as a mystical space. Shushtari invokes their
familiar signs and images—the topography of dunes, ruined abodes,
and frightening expanses—not to surpass his predecessors in elegant
description or poetic conceits, but to elucidate more clearly the moral
lessons of that desert. In the poetry of the Arabs the desert is always
represented as a place of bewilderment, where the correct interpretation
of signs—the fading traces of an encampment, a distant light, or a light-
ning flash—carries vital consequences.
Place names abound here: Najd, Hima, Sal‘, Kazima, al-‘Aqiq,
Wadi al-Qari, Mina, Khayf, and Mecca. Each of these is richly allusive,
some to the poetry of Imru’ al-Qays and other towering figures of pre-
Islamic poetry, others to the sacred landscape traversed by the Prophet
and his Companions. The mystic resonances of the pre-Islamic place
names flow out of a powerful combination of geographical realities and
poetic tradition. For example, the Najd, a highland plateau near the Red
Sea favored with cooling breezes and magnificent vistas, came to rep-
resent a privileged destination. Ibn al-‘Arabi defines Najd in his desert
odes as representing variously, “God on his throne,”or “divine knowl-
edge,” and also speaks of “the gazelles of Najd” defining them as “the
exalted spirits.”’ Likewise, Khayf and Mina resonate as places of
prophetic history, commemorated in the repetition of the sacred rituals
of the Pilgrimage.

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In Shushtari’s mystic desert odes, like those of Ibn al-Farid and

Ibn al-‘Arabi, those two sets of toponymic symbols are brought together.
As Jaroslav Stetkevych observes, speaking of Ibn al-Farid, “[The many
place names] move between remote dunes, hills, and valleys where
ancient, pre-Islamic abodes once stood abandoned, from which so
many tribal caravans departed, and those newer places, with their
newer names and echoes, full of the sweetness of ritual, of faith, of
ineffable gnostic essences, of loss in the fold of the Mother of Cities.”
All of these nostalgic signposts mark the spaces in which the soul wan-
ders searching for welcome, for hospitality, and for the rewards that
follow the arduous journey. Following in the wake of his two poetic
predecessors, Shushtari works in an almost telegraphic mode, condens-
ing and synthesizing their use of symbol, evoking a similarly elegiac
and nostalgic mood in a very economical style.
The section opens with a very brief poem, “The night’s journey.”
While it is not explicitly set in the desert, it is linked to the poems that
follow by the idea of a night journey, a journey in which fantasy and
illusion are abandoned in the quest for self-knowledge and knowledge
of the divine mysteries. The idea that self-knowledge is central to
mystical gnosis is a crucial theme in the works of most Sufis. Many
mystics, including Shushtari, cite the maxim (often attributed to
Muhammad despite the objections of hadith scholars) ‘he who knows
himself, knows his Lord.”
The next poem brings the reader/listener fully into the poetic world
of the desert ode, from the flashes of lightning that illuminate the sky to
the closing reference to the famous lovers Qays and Layla. Addressing
the listener in the second person and frequently using imperatives,
Shushtari bridges the distance between those timeless images, collapses
time, and places the listener in the desert. The poetic voice instructs the
listener to speak—as the Qur’an tells Muhammad and his followers to
recite or proclaim—“say I was happy when I saw the lightning.” That “T’”
collapses and confuses the poetic voice and the voice of the listener who
does as he is bid. Thus poet and listener, master and student are joined
in recitation, describing illumination as it gives way to intoxication and
then purification. Thus the moment—a term often used by Sufis to refer
to a brief, and potentially disorienting, flash—is purified. The idea is
reiterated and reinscribed through the reference to ‘the builder of the
wall,” that is, the unnamed figure in the Qur’an 18:60—82 generally iden-

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tified as al-Khidhr, who meets Moses and then tests his patience by per-
forming a series of odd and initally inexplicable actions, including
repairing the wall of a town that had refused them both hospitality. At
the end of their meeting the stranger tells Moses the meaning of the
things he had not been able to bear patiently. Among Sufi mystics, al-
Khidhr is seen as a prototypical shaykh or teacher who leads the student
from bewilderment to understanding.
The following poem, “Pay no attention,” contrasts “the One/loved
by others for His dazzling beauty”(5) with a list of conventional poetic
symbols of beauty, grace, and yearning. Like Qays, who wanders the
desert in a love-crazed fog, and poet-lovers in countless other poems,
Shushtari here speaks of being “disheveled and dusty,”’and yet he cele-
brates being “enamoured and confused.”
The short poem “But you are in the Najd” seems to be a reply to a
poem of Ibn al-‘Arabi, hinting perhaps that Shushtari found Ibn al-‘Arabi’s
esoterism needlessly complicated. Here wanderings between the familiar
stations of the desert become a cause for confusion, disorientation.
The gasida “Drop all pretense of shame’’celebrates the end of the
journey: rest, a warm fire, water, music, and drink. Unlike the poems
of wandering, in which the place names of Arabian poetic landscape
mark loss, nostalgia, and confusion, gesturing toward the rich tradition
of elegiac musings, here the destination is nameless. This is a distinctly
Sufi idyll, in the sense that it extolls the delights of Sufi practice: music
and communal ecstasy. Shushtari calls on the listener to abandon the
pretense of shame (ikhla‘ ‘idharaka), to cast off the self-consciousness
that would prevent the traveler from losing himself in the delights
offered in that place where desires are fulfilled.

The night’s journey

You who look 1

in the mirror.
Do you see
whom you see?

Is the looker someone 2

other than you,

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or a reflection
of your fantasy?

Turn your glance toward

the glance itself,
for it holds wisdom
concealed from the others.

When day breaks,

may
peoples praise
the night’s journey.

When lightning flashes

Whether lightning flashes at al-Hima

or you watch for it, cast off restraint.

Say to whomever finds in it a bad omen:

I was happy, when I saw the lightning.

When it appeared over the high place of worship,

it taught the morning to shine.

When a wanderer came in the darkness,

it turned his night to day.

His sun rose from his deepest self to the summit

of perfection, leaving him perplexed.

Drunkenness afflicted him, from what he saw and

the kindness of the cupbearer rounding toward him.

He poured for him a convivial old vintage,

the choicest wine, an overpowering drink.

His intoxication made him stagger, and he called out:

“Friend, don’t abandon the great ones.

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 DESERT WANDERINGS

Be wanton, like me.

Drinking this has left me with no choice.”

Through it, the moment is purified, since it passed

‘round
to the builder of the wall.

How odd: Qays of Layla,

complains that the one who visited him fled.

Layla did not leave him, 12

instead, she put a veil on her face.

When she came before him without it, 13

her mad lover called what he saw a disgrace.

Pay no attention

By God, O gazer, pay no attention

to the one slender like the green branch.

A flock, a ban tree, La‘la‘,

Khayf, the gazelle of Bani Amr, what are these?

O heart, turn away from the delusion of the sand dunes

and abandon the flock of the forbidden sanctuary.

The beauty you mention will not last,

what need has the wise man for what is mortal?

Rather, he seeks the one

loved by others for his dazzling beauty.

The disheveled and the dusty are like me,

extinguished on account of the first and the last.

He bestows brilliance on the sun.

He lends radiance to the moon.

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In him I became enamored and confused,

how good to be enamored and confused.

But you are in the Najd

How confused you are by two paths and the mountain

when the matter is clearer than fire on the mountain.

You traverse from Sal‘ and Kazima,

from Zarid and the neighbors of the people of Mecca.

You keep asking about the Najd. But you already are
in the Najd.
and about Tihama—this behavior is suspect.

There is no life but for Layla. Go on, ask

about her—your questions are a delusion, they bring
a void.

Say what you will about her, for she is pleased

either way, whether it be silent or spoken.

Desire drives the camels

Desire drives the camels on the night journey

when sleep calls out to their eyelids.

Slacken the reins and let them lead, for they

know the abode of the Najd as well as anyone.

Prod the mounts, for Sal‘ is just ahead

and dismount just right of the path to Wadi al-Qari.

When you get there, smell that soil;

it will smell of musk, pungent.

When you reach al-‘Aqiq, say to them:

the heart of the enthralled is back at camp, worn out.

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If no one is there, embrace their habitations

and be satisfied, for earth stands in for water.

Oh, people of Rama, how I long to join you;

for that I would sell my life, if anyone would buy.

With a lover’s hand, I hold fast to the bond of your

closeness
even as fate sunders the bond to which I cling.

I bid you welcome, for everything that pleases you

pleases me, and what you want for me, I want.

Drop all pretense of shame

Let the camels set down in the courtyard.

Dismount there, for you are protected.

Oh, friend, let the beasts rest from the fatigue of the
night’s journey
and know that your travels are over.

Look toward the singer before us

near the stream to the right of the fire.

This land is theirs but the fire

was kindled for passersby.

Those lost in the gloomy darkness are guided by it,

guidance for the confused and lost.

Oh, Sa‘d, joining them will do you good,

for you have arrived at the dwellings of the pious.

Abandon your wandering; you have attained your desire.

You reached the priestly monastery through the
scriptures.

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So drink of the wine that welcomes the newcomer

to the echo of the flute.

Quicken to the melodies and abandon yourself to them;

sway to the ecstasy of the strings.

Adopt the manner of the drinkers 10

while guarding the secret of the mysteries.

Drop all pretense of shame at your eternal love for 11

them.
Don’t you see that I have lost my shame?

He who is called Sab‘ini repents

in his self-effacement, and he awakes serene.

If the scold could see

If the scold
could see
what I have experienced,
how confused he would become.

And the next day he would say

to his friends, if you
deny what is in me,
you will have done an evil deed.

The tribe
has broken with custom.
That’s why they called
them conjuring tricks.

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 Chapter 7

AT THE MONASTERY

Introduction

A blazing light atop a monastery—resembling a glowing chalice

of wine—guides and beckons weary travelers during the arduous night
journey. This suggestive image opens one of two highly unusual gasi-
das, unusual not only in Shushtari’s poetic production but also within
Islamic mystic tradition, for they rehearse encounters between Muslim
pilgrims and the Christian monastics who receive them. In the case of
the first poem, “Is that a lamp?” it is a priest (guss) who welcomes them.
The second poem, “The monastery door,” speaks of monks (ruhbdn), a
priest (gissis) and an acolyte or sacristan (shammds). In addition to
depicting the intercommunal sharing of wine that is explicitly marked as
sacred, Shushtari’s poems point toward sacrament, ritual, sacred space,
and religious attire as points for discussion and interchange between the
Muslim pilgrims and the Christian monastics. Whether the poems are
read as literal descriptions of meetings or as symbolic theological
encounters, the rich array of intermingled signs—including an abun-
dance of Christian terminology, Qur’anic allusions, Sufi expressions, the
vocabulary of hermetic alchemy, metaliterary self-consciousness, and
the curious apparition of a grail-like glowing chalice—opens up a host
of interpretations. Unlike the desert poems with their more familiar
poetics of the wandering and bewildered lover, the monastery poems, as
I shall call them, have no prior models in Arabic or Sufi poetry. Nor are
these monasteries to be confused with the monasteries commonly cited
in Arabic wine poems and drinking songs.
The monastery (dayr, pl. diyardt) was a familiar element in the
life of travelers—irrespective of their religion—throughout much of
the Islamic world during the first centuries of Islam. Ranging from her-
mitages to larger complexes with a church, monks’ cells, shops, and

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 POEMS AND SONGS

inns with attached vinyards and olive groves, Christian diyardt pro-
vided waystations frequented by rulers and princes, merchants and
ordinary folk. These monasteries—and more specifically the taverns
attached to them—are frequently depicted in poetry, perhaps most
famously by Abi Nuwas, but they are also a common element in
Andalusian poetry. In the Arab poetic imaginary, the monastery was,
of course, a place for drinking, but also a safe, enclosed space where
the poetic “T’could meet people from a variety of social classes, engage
in suggestive banter with Christians (of both genders) and proclaim
secret longings and forbidden desires.
We see an example of this in a muwashshah by the twelfth-century
Andalusian Abi al-‘Abbas al-A‘ma al-Tutili, in which the flirtatious
conversation between the Christian maiden and the Muslim drinker is
quietly suggestive of the emotional state of the narrator:

And I said to her: “O most beautiful creature,

What do you [Christians] hold about partaking from
the cup?”
She said “We have nothing against it.
That is what has been passed down to us in the
commentaries of monks and the bishops.””

The drinker asks what he already knows—he is, after all, sitting
in a Christian monastery—to make conversation, perhaps to fill in the
painful silence, or simply to break the ice until the wine takes effect. It
is then that he confesses his passionate, but unrequited, love for Ahmad,
who, it seems, not only disdains the affection of the narrator but also
that of a good number of young girls. The religious terminology in the
poem (the Gospels by which the maiden swears, and the writings of
monks and bishops, the confession) is invoked in a lighthearted way,
the object of puns and word play. Satire is further suggested by the
abrupt shift into pathos and the concatenation of poetic clichés. While
in some of his vernacular poems Shushtari plays on this poetic tradition,
grafting mystical meanings onto scenes in similar monastery-taverns,
the monasteries in these two gasidas are clearly religious—rather than
recreational—spaces, peopled by priests, chanting monks, and crucifix-
carrying deacons in procession. Let us begin with “Is that a lamp?”

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before moving on to “The monastery door,” where the Muslim-Christian

encounter is much more clearly enunciated.

Is that a lamp?

The poem is structured around three major themes or narrative

elements. The first is the night journey guided by a mysterious light,
which leads to the encounter at the monastery and the drinking of wine.
The second is a lengthy meditation on the quest for knowledge, and
finally, a self-referential section takes up the question of the poet’s
acknowledgment of his own ego in versifying and his exaltation of the
purpose of the poem. Analyzing the poem’s structure in terms of the
classic divisions of the Arabian ode, one might understand the first sec-
tion as having dispensed with the customary nasib, or remembrance of
the beloved, and plunged the narrator and the audience directly into a
journey, or rahil, to the primordial wine. The second section extends
and complicates the notion of the journey, repeating the exploration of
the notion of quest or journey in a series of images that problematize
the metaphorical representation of the search for knowledge as a linear
process. The desert trek upon a camel or riding animal that is charac-
teristic of the rahil in the classical gasida and that conventionally
serves in mystical gasidas as a metaphor for the soul’s journey is
referred to only once—rather obliquely—in this section: “our mount to
the spacious abode is our patience.” Other codes, metaphors, and sym-
bols of quests of knowledge are piled up: ships plying the ocean of
knowledge, truths revealed through alchemy, an unveiling found in
asceticism. Poetic and religious syncretism are pushed to their expres-
sive limits here. The final section, echoing the madih, the poetic boast
or praise of the powerful or generous patron that customarily closes the
gasida, acknowledges that the questions of language, authorship,
praise, and pride become confused in mystical union: “Didn’t you see
the flash of “‘self’-ness/you felt in composing poetry?/For you are me
but you are You, the One/who says “T’ (35-38). In that confusion of
pronouns, can the poet claim to compose verse? Who can say “T’”?
Returning to the beginning ot the poem, the glowing chalice and
the timeless talismans sought by the travelers in “Is that a lamp?” invite
comparison with certain aspects of the grail legends, raising questions

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as to whether Shushtari might have come into contact with some

European version of the story brought back to Syria or Damietta during
the Crusades, or whether perhaps he was familiar with other material
that is sometimes proposed as an Eastern source for the tales. But the
philological issues of transmission are tangential here; Shushtari is inter-
ested in poetic images, symbolism, and the reworking of commonplaces
to gain access to uncommon knowledge. If the grail legends can often
be understood as enacting a symbolic encounter between Christianity
and paganism or pre-Christian belief, here Islam faces Christianity.
Two curious metaphors describe the transformation—not just of
the self but of the consciousness of all being—wrought by that primor-
dial wine shared in the pivotal lines of the poem. The poet exclaims,
“He continued serving us graciously, adding until the multiple became
single” [ja bi-l-shafii fi al-watr] (11). This ambiguous expression
echoes an oath found in surat al-fajr, “by the even and the odd” (89:3).
This phrase has been understood in many ways; al-Tabari alone lists
more than a dozen different interpretations. Because the two preceding
Qur’anic verses (“By the Daybreak, by the Ten Nights” [89:1-2]) have
been understood by many commentators to refer to Islamic calendar—
although there is no agreement about which ten days are in question—
“the even and the odd” might refer to certain dates during that period.
Others have suggested that “the even’ refers to creatures, because crea-
tures come in pairs, and “the odd” refers to God, who has no peer. Still,
what is most striking in Shushtari’s verses is the logical paradox: the
idea that addition could turn multiplicity into oneness.
In the next line the idea of transformation is expressed anew, now
using the language of alchemy. The poet exclaims: “When we became
substance (tajawharna) and our souls were content, we feared boister-
ousness in our drunken state.” Tajawhara is a somewhat unusual verb
deriving from the nominal root jawhar, “intrinsic, essential nature or
substance” (as opposed to form). After the poet’s intoxication and anni-
hilation, the journey, the knowledge of the divine secrets, and the
poetic imperative itself are evoked, as memory and future knowledge
are collapsed in the totalizing perspective of divine illumination.
Enlightenment erases the division between the faqir and the fagih, that
is, between exoteric approaches of the law and esoteric truths hidden
within it (17). The next hemistich elaborates on the implications of this
unification of religious knowledge or perspectives. I have translated

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Fakka min al-qahr as “brings a release from subjugation, and

” there is
no doubt that Shushtari, like many Sufis, saw blind adherence to the
letter of the law as a regrettable subjugation. Yet the verb fakka, which
means literally “to separate,” “to sever,” “to dismantle,” is—in addition
to the sense of ransoming, redeeming, or emancipating—also used to
refer to solving a puzzle or a riddle. In another poem (“Breaking the tal-
isman’’) the same verb is used in the sense of solving or dismantling the
puzzle of the Names of God. Freedom is linked to that release.
One of the essential elements of that transformation is renuncia-
tion: the “shedding of the sandals,” the giving up of family and of
“boorish habits.” Asceticism as a path to knowledge, as a means of
removing the deceptive veil of the material, is a common theme in the
poet’s work. Yet the unveiling is never definitive, the journey can have
no fixed destination, for God’s power is called “the ship of meaning
that encompasses all that can be known./It sails in the sea of being and
its vastness” (18-19). Learned men “plunge into that sea [of meaning],”
“perplexed, they become confused in the enormity of the wave.”
The language of magic and alchemy adds another way to concep-
tualize power, knowledge, and the perfection of matter. This is one of
several poems in which Shushtari speaks of talismans; his exact mean-
ing is never fully clear. Amulets were—and continue to be—a part of
popular religious practice in Islam. Talismans might be engraved with
short stiras from the Qur’an, divine names, the names of angels, astro-
logical symbols, or magic squares. The Greek origin of the word tilasm
and an abundance of texts attributing rules for their creation to Hermes
Trismegistus link the notion of talisman to late Hellenic gnosticism.
Many of the mystic thinkers who helped to shape Shushtari’s thought,
from Suhrawardi al-Maqtil to Ibn Sab‘in, expressed a lively interest in
hermeticism. The term as used by Shushtari does not seem to refer to
a charm or amulet but is used instead metaphorically. Ibn al-‘Arabi’s
more discursive treatment of the subject may provide us with some
clues as to how Shushtari understands the term. He calls practices or
objects that hold power or control over human beings and prevent them
from perceiving the fullness of reality “talismans.”
Shushtari’s short poem “Breaking the talisman” calls the destruction
or shattering of the talisman the key to “self-knowledge in this world.”In
that poem, just as here in “Is that a lamp?” the talisman is linked to trea-
sure (kanz), but the meaning of tilasm itself remains elusive.

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The “shattering,” or kasara, of the talisman is here etymologically

linked through word play with iksir, a substance thought by alchemists
to be crucial to the transformation of matter. Ibn al-‘Arabi uses “elixir”
metaphorically to refer to the divine truth that transforms the unbe-
liever into a believer.
As the poem moves to its close, the narrator tells of a joining
together that will allow those learned men to travel “on the ship of rev-
erence that approaches landfall” (33). While I have rendered tafriq here
as the “dispersed,” a more precise translation might be division, sepa-
ration, distribution, or dispersion. In certain contexts this verbal root is
closely associated with the division of sects and religious groups; ‘Abd
al-Kathir al-Baghdadi’s famous heresiographical treatise is entitled Al-
farg bayna al-firag (The Differences between the Sects). After using a
series of images and metaphors to describe the search for divine mean-
ing, this union or joining together suggests the syncretism enacted by
the poem’s enunciation and articulation. The poem links the question of
enunciation then to the metapoetic awareness of the final verses. “Let
the names (al-asma’) be understood.” Is this a reference to the Beautiful
Names of God, one of the great sources of confusion and bewilderment
for the believer?

The monastery door

“The monastery door” (Ta’addab bi-bab al-dayr) is more easily

interpreted as a narrative poem than “Is that a lamp?” and its structure
is more readily discernible. The first cluster of verses, all addressed in
the second person (lines 1-8), contains a flurry of commands or direc-
tives (lines 1-3), guiding the listener on how to behave in the
monastery and in the presence of the monks, deacons, and priests, fol-
lowed by a series of warnings (lines 3-5) about the bewitching nature
of their voices and their wisdom. Lines 6—8 delineate the rewards for
meeting the requirements or conditions expressed in the earlier lines.
Thus this entire opening section takes on a clearly didactic tone, echo-
ing the words of a shaykh or master to a student. Beginning on line 9
the poem shifts into the first person. After acknowledging the advice he
has been offered (“everything that you said to me—I listened to it’’), the
narrator begins to recount his negotiations with the priest for the wine,

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a theme that recalls the much less contentious bartering found in lines
8-9 of the first monastery poem. Even though the traveler is willing to
exchange the possessions he is carrying, the priest avers “our wine is
more precious than what you have mentioned.’It is then that the trav-
eler proclaims the value of his khirga, the robes that symbolize the
Sufi’s initiation into the mystical path. The khirga demands sacrifice;
the priest must give up his own robes and his family in exchange for it,
that is, he must abandon the life he knows to seek the enlightenment of
the mystic. The symbolic exchange, effected with the priest’s accep-
tance of the khirga as a bond with the traveler, and his sharing of the
wine, results in disappointment. The traveler realizes that although this
wine is very old, it is not the wine he seeks. It is a moment of crisis, for
while the Sufi pilgrim and the priest have shared the same language,
have spoken of the same wine, they each attribute rather different sym-
bolic associations to the word.
The poem closes with another command, to make a profession of
faith: “Confess that there is no master but God/and the prophet of God is
the best of messengers.” The addressee for that final command remains
ambiguous, and the overall interpretation of the poem depends on whether
the reader understands that directive to be directed to the master in reply
to his initial series of instructions, as a response to the priest, or as con-
cluding moral for the reader. We will return to this question shortly.
Moving from this preliminary narrative-structural analysis, ‘Abd
al-Ghani al-Nabulusi’s (1641-1731) commentary on this poem pro-
vides a useful starting point for understanding some of the complexi-
ties involved in the mystical symbolic interpretation of either of the
monastery qasidas.' As with any mystical commentary, especially one
written nearly five hundred years after the text it glosses, the Syrian’s
treatise must be approached with caution. As Stetkevych observes,
medieval critics were distrustful of poetry’s multiple levels of meaning,
of its self-contained aestheticism. “Much critical effort was therefore
exerted to somehow neutralize the attractive illusoriness of the exter-
nality of poetry, concentrating subsequently, with an even more
unchecked zeal, on the rationally obtainable and meaningfully usable
elements in poetry.” As in his other commentaries, here Nabulusi aims
to resolve the poem’s ambiguities, “constructing meaning through
extrapoetic equivalences”; his commentary is what Stetkevych calls an
anti-poem.” Yet the Syrian’s commentary is important precisely because

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he highlights the most controversial aspects of the poem, oftentimes

heroically trying to make the poem not say what it rather plainly says.
While he is a keen, if idiosyncratic, reader of Shushtari, Ibn al-‘Arabi,
and Ibn Sab‘in, there is an evident tension in his analysis between his
desire to save Shushtari from the charge of heterodoxy and his discom-
fort with the self-conscious universalism of Shushtari’s poetic imagery.
Nabulusi’s treatise crafts an audacious justification for Shushtari’s
use of Christian and biblical terms such as monk, monastery, priest,
church, crucifix, and baptism, terms that must be rescued from their
association with the “polytheists.” The critic’s own anxieties about
maintaining denominational boundaries are made plain when he cites,
at the outset of his treatise, his own verses against the “deniers,” that is,
those who deny the truth of Muhammad’s revelation:

O deniers! you will burn in the fire

your intentions have transformed your acts into serpents.”

Nabulusi’s hermeneutic strategy is to establish symbolic equiva-

lences, generally either through etymology or analogy, that effectively
redefine each of the suspect terms in a way that divorces it from its con-
vential Christian meaning, attributing the different understandings of
the terms to problems of translation from the Syriac.’ He explains that
the deacon (shammas) is thus named because he gives witness to the
sun (shams) of eternity; the monk (rahib, pl. ruhbdn) is known for his
fear of the truth of the Judgment Day (khaufihi hagigata al-gqiyami
alayhi), a formulation rooted in rahba, which means “fear,” “terror”
or
“awe.” The church (kanisa) is the place where the pilgrims sweep away
(kanasa) impurities. Nabulusi’s procedure is by no means unusual;
there are clear echoes of Ibn al-‘Arabi’s attempt to affix spiritual and
metaphysical meanings to the desert landscapes of Tarjumdan al-Ashwdaq
in his later commentary.
The Syrian writer stresses that the central issue underlying
Shushtari’s poem is that of Islam’s relationship to the earlier revelations
of Judaism and Christianity. Nabulusi reminds the reader that because
the religion of God is Islam, all of the prophets of God, even those who
preceded Muhammad, are Muslims. Thus Abraham, while Jewish, was
also a Muslim because he had submitted to God. In no way was he an
infidel (min al-mushrikin). The question then becomes how to appre-

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hend the true meaning of Jesus’ message, which, while identical to that
of Muhammad, has been recorded—through inspiration rather than
revelation—in Surydniyya (Syriac), a language whose spiritual secrets
were rendered unintelligible when its evangelical vocabulary was trans-
lated into Arabic. While Muhammad’s revelation abrogated earlier reli-
gions, this applies only to their legal codes, not their religious truths;
Nabulusi claims that Shushtari, although a devoutly “Muhammadan
Muslim,” is a disciple of Jesus.

Is that a lamp?

O Sa‘d, ask the priest in the monastery: 1

is that a lamp or a glass of wine?

We set out for it at night, it looked like fire on a 2

mountaintop,
until the first blaze of dawn appeared.

I say, my friends, the fire is gone. It appears 3

and then disappears. Why does it do that?

A star would keep moving. 4

That confused me and I was confused

till I arrived at the monastery and above it 5

I encountered a goblet. I didn’t know what was inside.
Didn’t know.

“By what’s due the Messiah, tell us true, what does it 6

contain?”
He said, “The wine of passionate love. Guard the secret.

For it was raised since before Seth for the night visitor 7
seeking the monastery in dark-cloaked night.”

So we said to him, “For those who desire intoxication, 8

He said to us, “We can sell it,
what is its price?”

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however, in exchange for the soul and the wealth that

is its due,
with humility, praise and thanks for the vintner.

So we said to him, take us in and pour us some; 10

anyone who criticizes or insults us [for it] must be
borne with patience.

He continued serving us graciously 11

adding until the multiple became single.

When we became substance and our souls were content, 12

we feared boisterousness in our drunken state.

The vintner took note of us and said, “Drink 13

and be content, for there is no one in the monastery
but me.

If you wish, go and guide others 14

to us, but hide this affair from the unwise.”

Shushtari grew anguished because of the secrecy 15

but the brightness after the obliteration eased him:

Leave me be—I drag my coattails proudly before 16

mankind
and I aspire to the likes of Abi Bakr, the fagih.

The ha of the fagih has become one with our ra, 17

leading to a release from subjugation.

For His power, which encircles all power 18

is the ship of meaning that encompasses all that can
be known.

It sails in the sea of being and its vastness 19

on an easy wind, swayed by horizons of knowledge.

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That is our goal, what captivates us; 20

the lost cannot attain this, no matter how diligently
they journey.

Our mount to the spacious abode is our patience Dal

in adversity. Indeed, the benefit is in that patience.

To aquire the fire of Moses, there are conditions: 22

one must leave family out of obedience and obligation.

That is our practice. The obstinate ones veil Him; 23

to rip [the veil], one breaks with custom.

In the shedding of sandals there is, as you heard, 24

a station, however it comes with morals and dictates.

The talisman of creation’s treasure releases our 25

bondage
to reason and its benefits are eternal.

For you to break the talisman through humility is its 26

transformation,
that elixir known as “the breaking,”

which is the key to the secret of the letters and their 27

symbols;
the meaning of suffering is unraveled with ease.

The clever ones are sundered out of love of rank, 28

from that lower world, they are taken away, as if
by magic.

Our delight is in the upper world 29)

which we now discuss, and life is in the searching.

Divestiture’s hand raises the veil 30

behind which those beauties appear.

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The secrets appear to you, sovereignty and riches. 31

Oh, how many learned men have plunged into that
ocean!

Perplexed, many a man becomes confused in the 52

enormity of the wave,
in the ebb and flow, not comprehending its meaning.

When he joins together what divides, they will travel 38)

on the ship of reverence which approaches landfall.

Having understood the names, he becomes [both] ruler 34

and his lieutenant; bringing forth knowledge while
pulling [believers].

Didn’t you see the flash of “self’-ness 35

you felt in the midst of composing poetry?

For you are me but you are You, the One 36

who says “I.” Fantasy is what proceeds to multiplicity.

Those who see not, are they poor? Si)

It is right to surrender and to compose verse and prose.

The monastery door

Go through the monastery door, shed your

sandals there,
greet the monks, mingle and dwell among them.

And glorify the priest if you seek grace

and praise its sacristan if you wish to rise.

Before you: the voices of the deacons. Listen

to their melodies and be careful lest they steal
your reason.

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 AT THE MONASTERY

They appear like suns rising

in procession with crosses. Beware of being bewitched.

Take heed when you listen to their wisdom

and be careful about joining in with them.

If you respect this requirement with sincerity

and do not break your pacts or promises,

they shall name you a priest and call you a monk

and show you the secrets and approve of your deeds.

They will give you the key to the church in which

the image of Jesus is found in the form of the monks.

Surely, everything that you said to me—I listened to it.

I don’t desire favor or affection for doing so.

When I came to the monastery, I became a master,

so proud, I drag my coattail.

I asked where I could find the winemaker:

“Ts there a way to him or not?”

The priest said to me, “What do you want from him?”

And I said, “I hope for wine.”

And he said, “By my head and Jesus son of Mary and

my religion,
[not even] if you trade jewels for it.”

So I said to him, “I will add gold to the jewels.”

He said: “No.
No matter how much.”

I said to him: “I give you my sandals and my book,

and I give you my staff with which I have
traveled afar.

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Here, take my knapsack, here, take my turban, 16

here, take my sash belt, and my beggar’s bag and
my blade.

And here’s the secret of my meaning and my toothpick 17

and the lamp that accompanies me at night during my
sessions.”

He said, “My drink is beyond what you have described, 18

and our wine is more precious than what you have
mentioned.”

So I said to him: “Stop exaggerating its description. 19

For if your wine is more precious, our khirga is higher.

We saw our masters wear it 20

and in it our masters passed on our discipline.

In it we have the secret we pass round among us 21

and the secret of the secret that manifested itself.

The critics castigate us excessively for it; wp)

our ears cast aside reproach for our garb.

For when we cloaked ourselves in it and became

enamored of it, 23
we left lands and property and family.”

He said, “Perhaps you could give us those robes, 24

for it is proven to me that there is sincerity and justice
in them.”

So I said to him: “If you wish to wear my robe, 25

purify yourself and become fit for it.

And trade all of that garb for it, 26

and for it, shred that belt and renounce your habit.”

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And he said: “Yes, for I have become enamored of it. 27

I shall make it a link between you and me.”

So he gave [the wine] to me. “TI have revealed its 28

secret to you.”
He handed it to me in a jug.

So I said to him: “This is not the wine I seek 29

And I don’t wish for this wine.

However this wine is very old 30

for it has not been described and not been
known before.”

Confess that there is no master but God Sil

and the prophet of God is the best of messengers;

upon him the peace of God wherever it lights a2

as long as the remembrance of God is recited among
mankind.

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 Chapter 8

ODE RHYMING IN NUN

Introduction

The Niniyya, that is, the “Ode Rhyming in Nun,” is Shushtari’s

longest and, in many ways, his most enigmatic poem. Beginning with
its examination of the goals of the mystic and moving on to probe the
role of human reason, logic, and intellection in the apprehension of the
divine, the poem concludes with an enumeration of—and brief remarks
about—an eclectic list of philosophers and mystics. These thinkers,
ranging from Hermes, Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle to famous Sufi
mystics and others considerably more obscure, are often taken to rep-
resent the enormously diverse influences that shaped Shushtari’s thought.
It is a bold declaration of a theosophical approach that attempted to wed
a Hellenic—and pagan—intellectual heritage with the work of later
Islamic philosophers and mystics. The central question here is episte-
mological, how can the believer come to know or understand what is
beyond human comprehension?
At a superficial level, what is most striking about the poem is its
uncharacteristically difficult style, surprising for a poet so well known
for his bold expression and clarity. Ibn al-Khatib notes the poem’s “‘in-
guistic irregularities” and its “poetic shortcomings,” suggesting that the
style of the poem is derived from that of Ibn Sab‘in.’ The suggestion is
certainly plausible. Ibn Sab‘in has a well-deserved reputation as a dif-
ficult and extremely hermetic writer. Furthermore, the poem certainly
presents Shushtari’s master in terms we might expect of a new adept
under the spell of powerful personality: as a uniquely insightful figure
who has overcome all the pitfalls that trapped his predecessors. The
suggestion that this was a very early poem might also be a way to
account for its absence from Eastern recensions of the diwdn despite its
widespread survivals in Maghribi sources.

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The initial verses treat the goals of the mystic, asserting that the
mystic aims beyond a heavenly prize. The importance of sincerity
(sidq) in religious practice, the idea that the believer should be moti-
vated by the pure desire for God, with no thought for any other reward,
is a recurrent theme among Sufi mystics. The twelfth-century Andalu-
sian Abi Madyan is said to have exclaimed: “How great a difference
there is between those whose high ambition is wide-eyed virgins and
castles and those whose lofty goal is the lifting of the veil and [attain-
ing] the Eternal Presence.” A tale told about the famous Sufi woman,
Rabi‘a al-‘Adawiyya (d.801) neatly exemplifies this virtue:

One day some friends-of-God saw Rabi‘a running along

with fire in one hand and water in the other. “Lady of the
next world, where are you going and what does this mean?”
Rabi‘a replied: “I am going to burn paradise and douse
hell-fire, so that both veils may be lifted from those on the
quest and they will become sincere of purpose. God’s servants
will learn to see him without hope for reward or fear of pun-
ishment. As it is now, if you took away hope for reward and
fear of punishment, no one would worship or obey.”

Shushtari highlights the virtue of sidg, speaking of seeking “not

the reward, but something more,/inspired by a thought that shot an
arrow surpassing Eden” (line 1). This is an allusion to Qur’an 10:26:
“Those who did well will have the best reward and more besides.” Ibn
‘Ajiba explains “something more” as “gazing with an everlasting vision
(or knowledge) on the countenance of God (al-Karim).””
Perhaps the most basic task of the believer is to proclaim tawhid,
God’s absolute oneness, yet even in this seemingly straightforward
proposition there resides an unfathomable mystery. How can man
assert the oneness of God, if the act of assertion itself implies separate-
ness from God and the very multiplicity that is being denied? Logic
offers no escape, and thus the first half of the poem becomes a sus-
tained critique of reason (‘aq/): “You are bound in conjecture which has
overcome you; the light of reason has conferred upon you a prison”
(line 8). The Arabic language itself asserts a semantic association
between ‘ag/ (reason, understanding, discernment) and “igal (the cord
used to bind the feet of a camel). Shushtari plays on this association,

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calling his own advice “a binding-cord on reason’ (line 19). While he

does admit the intellect’s necessity in attaining a certain level of under-
standing, he proclaims, “Our goal is the rejection of reason” (line 21).
That is to say, the path of the mystic eventually transcends the bounds
of reason and human intellect. Shushtari makes several key points. One
is that reason is the self-contained system upon which humans must
rely to know themselves. Anticipating Descartes’ “I think therefore I
am,” the Andalusian poet observes that humans are manifest to them-
selves through reason. At the same time, it is reason that “confines eter-
nity within time,” placing limits on what is limitless and defining all
reality from its own restricted perspective. He likens reason to a sort of
cocoon: “For we are like a silkworm, enveloped by what/we fashion, in
pushing back the encirclement, we are imprisoned by it’(line 38). The
intellect, thus, is incapable of transcending its own limitations.
Just as the process of shedding (tajrid) was seen to be continuous
and dynamic, so too is the quest for knowledge. (Indeed the two are
metaphors for the same process.) Shushtari warns against the distrac-
tions found along the Way:

Don’t stop in any station, for they are a veil; be earnest in the
journey and seek aid.
No matter what levels appear before you, let them go (15-16).

The believer cannot remain attached to any station or level, for other-
wise rather than a step on the Path, it becomes an obstacle, a veil.
The second half of the poem, verses 39-69, is devoted to listing
major intellectual and religious figures. It is introduced by a verse that
speaks of the diverse benefits and pitfalls of ‘agl: “How often it
destroys the bystander, and how often it rightly guides the traveler./
How often it reveals wisdom and how often it enriches the poor” (line
39). In a sense, this final section can be understood as a madih, that is,
the conventional praise and/or boast that closes the traditional Arabian
ode. The poet acknowledges his predecessors in the journey, recalling
their contributions or alluding to a noteworthy trait or action of theirs.

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The Niniyya

I see those who bid us seek not the reward, but

something more,
inspired by a thought that shot an arrow surpassing Eden.

Our bidder is what we seek, within our own existence;

through it we disappear to ourselves when lightning hits.

We abandon our inclination to the pleasures of the low

places,
deserting the distant purpose for the most brilliant quest.

And we find the existence of the cosmos to be but

delusion.
Nothing is fixed. This is the essence of extinction.

The rejection of multiplicity is a duty for us,

because our creed is to obliterate polytheism and doubt.

But how to reject [multiplicity],

for those who reject are [themselves the] rejected: us
and we are not.

So you who speak of union while at the station that

is veiled from [union]; listen well, as we have already
done.

You are bound in conjecture that has overcome

you; the light of reason conferred on you a prison.

You fell in love with the lights; we understood their

source,
the fountainhead from which they came into being.
We did not fall.

The lights can veil [reality] from the servant, just as

darkness binds the soul filled with spite.

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What kind of union can be claimed in this case, 11

if the most perfect of men did not claim certainty?

If God’s mystery could be known in this way, 12

would the commoners say to us: “Look, we do
not fail’”?

How much strife and toils before reaching it 13

and how many [wildernesses] have we traversed?

On the journey, pay heed to nothing else, that is, 14

nothing but
God alone. Hold fast to His remembrance as a
fortress.

Don’t stop in any station, for they are 15

a veil; be earnest in the journey and seek aid.

No matter what levels appear before 16

you, let them go. Those we abandoned were much
the same.

And say: I have no desire but Your essence. 17

Therefore, no image appears, no rare treasure
is collected.

Go toward the banners on the right, for they 18

are the path to good fortune. Do not abandon
good fortune.

Great horror lies before you; listen to my advice, 19

a binding-cord on reason, indeed, we have turned away
from it.

It destroyed mankind with difficulties, and before them 20

it destroyed with conjecture the Jinn and the Binn.

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Our goal is the rejection of reason, and this 21

is our pilgrimage
and our proof; what follows is the “b” in which we are
enraptured.

[Reason] impedes our ascent because 22

it would that we stay here, rather than attain
the highland.

Among [reason’s] aspects, three are manifest to us: 2B

as seers, as seen, and in the seeing of which we speak.

Reason views man as a slave in his permanence. 24

he returns a lord through extinction, and [reason] has
no extinction.

As tablet, if the lines of our being are manifest 2S)

to it, through it, [reason] is the tablet and the small Pen

sketching out the lines of time. From its perspective 26

its comprehension is the utmost, and in it we are
manifest.

It established the lotus tree of its essence beneath 2

dahr
We and description of totality confused ourselves in
describing it.

[Reason] confines Eternity within time just as 28

from its essence it fashions joints for bodies.

It fashions the Throne, the Chair, the Orbit, and the 29

celestial bodies;
its ocean is that in which we swim.

It fashions the innermost of the body of totality, 30

the secret of the letters through our letters.

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In appearance it divides the whole of matter Sl

and diversity is made whole because our triumph has
interlocked it.

It made multiple that which was but One 32

by pronouncing names through which meaning is
dispersed.

It ascends, and the ascent is from itself to its essence; 53

to get to its highest stage we must use imagination.

And it creates a lowness and makes us imagine 34

a descent,
forcing our souls to go down.

It ordains union after its own separation 35

and imposes distances that must be traversed as if
a wilderness.

The stage of plurality reveals to us its uncertainty, 36

when [plurality] flashes from it, the falsehood catches
up with it.

It attains the level of the polytheism of the dualists. 37

Reason is made apparent through them.

For we are like a silkworm, enveloped by what 38

we fashion, in pushing back the encirclement, we are
imprisoned within it.

How often it destroys the bystander, and how often it 5)

rightly guides the traveler,
how often it reveals wisdom and how it enriches
the poor.

It enthralled the hearts of all the Hermes, 40

and it sufficed for Socrates to dwell in the barrel,

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and to abstract all the forms of the world 41

and reveal Plato in his ultimate beauty.

And Aristotle became enamored until he became 42

peripatetic out of his love,
and spread his ideas and did not withold anything.

It helped Dhu al-Qarnayn in his achievements, 43

for he was the one who sought the spring of life.

and he searched for the origin of what you know, 44

and in searching he overlooked the well when
prevented by clouds.

And it made Hallaj enjoy the taste of unity 45

so he cried out, “I am the one uncircumscribed by
meaning.”

He was told to retract what he said and he said, “No. I 46

drank the wine that makes all those who taste it sing.”

And it uttered through al-Shibli the union that 47

he referred to when he effaced the universe.

And it enraptured the essence of al-Niffari so that he 48

spoke of monotheism until it became his companion.

He was a speaker between two essences. He who is 49

Poor can see the ocean into which we have plunged.

It silenced Ibn Jinni in his “Tajrid al-Khalq’; 50

the matter was such it made his eloquence incoherent.

Qadib al-Ban was made drunk drinking its wine, 51

for he was like the others but he was dualist.

It made al-Shudhi leave his kindred, so he did not 2

incline toward friendship or to dwell in cities.

133
 POEMS AND SONGS

In it al-Suhrawardi became bewildered. 53

He shouted, but existence (al-wujud) did not listen.

Through it, Ibn Qasi, wrote “Khal* Na‘l wujudihi”

and 54
“Libs Ihata,”
which made us repent of the forbidden.

Al-Masarra made pleasure the cupbearer, 55

represented the mysteries symbolically and bade
the rain to fall.

Because of his proximity to reason, the radiance of 56

lightning
gleamed upon Ibn Sina, and he thought what he thought.

Al-Ghazali imitated what I have mentioned Si)

but he was inclined toward Sufism.

It awoke Ibn Tufayl and Ibn Rushd; 58

the Epistle of Awakening brought destruction.

It clothed al-Shu‘ayb in the garment of unity of its 59

essence;
he dragged over those envious of him the trail and the
sleeve [of his garment].

And in it Ibn al-‘Arabi cloaked the simplicity of 60

his being,
in it the presence of the drunken profligate he removed
the weakness.

He publicly called himself spirit of the Spirit, and he 61

was not tested.
He saw no peer or equal in the mystical station.

In it [reason] ‘Umar ibn al-Farid, the poet who gave 62

himself over
to travel, eased what is difficult.

134
 ODE RHYMING IN NUN

Ibn al-Harrali proclaimed it when 63

he saw his hiddeness was weakness and his
manifestation cloudy.

Al-Umawi had verse and prose on what 64

we mention and arguments like those we have.

Al-Ghafiqi revealed what was hidden [in it] 65

and revealed its levels, taking away the clouds and
the darkness.

He clarified the mysteries of worship 66

from their manifestation, which were not freed from
confusion and error.

We unveiled the cloak from its intermingling with 67

its secret
and what you saw hidden in it became visible.

He guided us to the creed of al-Haqq that caused us 68

to lose ourselves
by His power over our hearts and in Him we were guided.

Those who desire to go to the side of 69

holiness, let them accept it from us.

135
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PART THREE

Prose
 BAGHDAD TREATISE
[ON SUFI CUSTOMS]:

Introduction

The medieval critics of Sufism not only disapproved of its theo-

sophical speculation and exegetical methods; but often their sharpest
criticism was directed at issues of outward practice. Sufis were criti-
cized for their wearing of wool, hairshirts, and other materials associ-
ated with ascetics and their use of distinctive clothing, such as the khirga
(a cloak of investiture in a mystical order) or the muraqgga‘ (a patch-
work cloak symbolic of voluntary poverty). In The Devil’s Delusion
(Talbis Iblis), Yon al-Jawzi (d.597/1200) categorizes the wearing of
Sufi clothes as a misrepresentation, “exhibiting what is false in the form
of truth,” stressing that the outward piety of the Sufis misleads others
and is calculated for notoriety and to gain the sympathy of others. He
argues that the Prophet and his Companions favored austerity because
they had no choice; they “patched out of necessity.” To choose poverty
voluntarily is, in his view, a deviation from tradition, a wrongminded
“innovation” (bida‘) because “man is commanded to display God’s
bounty towards him.”
In this short treatise, Shushtari rebuts many of the criticisms lev-
eled at Sufis regarding questions of practice, or sunna. It is unclear if it
is addressed to someone in particular, and if so, who that might be. The
points covered correspond quite closely to the objections of Ibn al-
Jawzi, who, though based in Baghdad, died before Shushtari’s time.
Perhaps he is responding to one of his disciples; in any case, this list of
objections was probably quite common. Shushtari is adamant in assert-
ing that the central issue at hand is how one determines and defines
sunna, that is, the customs and habits of the Prophet and his Companions
and by extension the proper practice of the devout Muslim. He appeals

139
 PROSE

to the Qur’an and the Hadith to make his point. He frequently makes
use of the abundant detail found in many hadith to make points entirely
unrelated to the central thrust of that particular tradition. For example,
Shushtari refers to the hadith about how the Prophet once wrapped
Fatima, ‘Ali, Hasan, and Husayn in a cloak he was wearing and told
them that God wished to keep them pure. This Tradition is generally
interpreted as defining ahi al-bayt, that is, the family of the Prophet, yet
here Shushtari is more interested in the fact that the Prophet’s cloak was
made of black camel hair.
Shushtari defends the Sufis’ wearing of camel hair and wool, the
patchwork cloak, and several other specific items of clothing. In this
context his comments about the khirga are quite noteworthy. He says
that because so many people wear the khirga the bad actions of just one
person wearing it reflect badly on all Sufis. He seems to be making a
distinction between the many people who had been invested as Sufis
and a smaller group whose members have elected the way of voluntary
poverty.
One particularly controversial practice of some Sufis was the con-
templation of human beauty, especially in the form of beardless youth.
Shushtari argues that veneration or worship goes far beyond simply
praising God (in speech). All five senses can become paths of veneration.
The opposition between legist (fagih) and Sufi (faqir) is among
the most persistent themes in his poetry, and it is repeated throughout
this treatise as well. As Shushtari observes, the root meaning of figh—
in a religious context taken to mean “jurisprudence’—is “understand-
ing.” He argues that Sufis are concerned with understanding only the
Qur’an and the Hadith, implying, of course, that the jurist is more con-
cerned with legalisms removed from those essential texts. His conclu-
sion echoes that of Suhrawardi and others, that the fugard’ are the real
fuqaha’. Yet Shushtari’s final observation, that different schools of law
offer different interpretations of sunna and that it is “obscure” rein-
forces a point he makes at the beginning of the treatise: people tend to
think their own practice is sunna and that of others is bida‘. While he
offers a spirited defense of the ways of the Sufis, ultimately it is up to
God alone to judge a person’s intentions; one should not question the
practice of others, for casting blame on a fellow believer is a sin.

CX

140
 BAGHDAD TREATISE

In the name of God, the Lord of mercy, the Giver of mercy

Greetings and peace upon our master Muhammad and his family
and Companions. And peace to whomever knows the Truth (al-Haqq),
for he serves Him; he distinguishes what is false and declares it to be
so. “These are the signs of God. We recite to thee in truth” (2:252,
3:108, 45:6). “Alif. Lam. Mim. This is the scripture in which there is no
doubt, containing guidance for those who are mindful of God, who
believe in the unseen, keep up the prayer, and give out of what We have
provided for them” (2:1—3).
Now then, you say the wearing of camel hair (sha‘r) is contrary
to sunna and that the patched frock (muraqqa‘) is a gaudy show [of
piety] and that those seen in it are then treated deferentially by people.
You also say that gazing upon the fugard’ is an improper form of ado-
ration, that veneration is saying “praise God” or words to that effect,
and that sunna is the province of the jurists (fugahda’).
To this we answer, and God is our refuge: Most people err in [the
practice of] sunna, even though they profess it. For every member of
the community claims that he is correctly practicing sunna and that
others are duped by innovation. Thus, it is necessary for us in this work
to study the righteous believers, and before God Almighty, defend
against the fanaticism of those who err and the error of the innovators.
The Prophet of God said: “Be guided by those who come after me: Abi
Bakr and ‘Umar.”
[The Prophet] said, “My Companions are like the stars, by any of
them you will be rightly guided.” For sunna is the path, the following
of the Prophet and his Companions. Whoever draws near to them and
their way of life with respect to food, drink, clothing, shelter, com-
pletely in all his doings is sunni. As for the custom (sunna) of wearing
camel hair, it has come down to us through Muslim that ‘Aisha reported:
“The Prophet went out one day wearing a striped cloak (mirt murahhal)
of the black camel’s hair. Fatima came, and he wrapped her with it. ‘Ali
came, and he wrapped him in it. Then Hasan came, and he wrapped
him in it. Then Husayn came, and he wrapped him in it. Then he said,
“God wishes to keep uncleanness away from you, people of the
[Prophet’s] House, and make you completely pure” (33:33). This true
hadith can be doubted only by a heretic, whether or not you acknowl-
edge it. The disapproval of the wearing of camel hair or of the other Sufi

141
 PROSE

[practices] does not come from sunna. Their disapproval is because it is

a “breaking of custom.” If there is no text, neither the Qur’an nor the
Hadith, to support their disapproval, then wearing it is permissible and
acceptable. How could there be a prohibition? For we know from the
texts that the Prophet wore it. The Almighty said, “[It is God who has
given you a place of rest in your houses and tents, made from the skins
of animals, that you find light to handle when you travel and when you
set up camp;] furnishings and comfort for a while from their wool, fur
and hair’ (16:80).
As for the wearing of patchwork (muraqqa‘), there is what is told in
the Muwatta‘ on the authority of Ishaq ibn ‘Ubayd Allah Ibn Abi Talha.
He said, “Anas Ibn Malik said, ‘I saw ‘Umar ibn Khattab when he was the
amir of Medina. Three patches were sewn between his shoulders, one
patched over the other’.”” It is also said that the Prophet wore sandals and
a patched cloak. He once said to Aisha while she was patching with white
and black fabric, “Don’t discard a piece of clothing until you’ve patched
it.” Furthermore, several Companions said that they had seen Abt Bakr
wearing patchwork. And the author of Jawahir fi al-tasawwuf claims that
‘Ali said, “I patched that coat of mine to the point that I became embar-
rassed by it. Someone said to me, “Throw that out! The owner of a don-
key would not give it to his donkey.’ Thabit said on the authority of Anas:
“T was with ‘Umar and he was wearing a shirt with four patches on the
back and he was asked about that verse ‘fruits and fodder’ (80:31). This
hadith was related by the author of al-Safwa. Sufyan al-Thawri said,
“Umar was wearing an izar with twelve patches.”As for the (abd’a) [an
outer garment or blanket] made of wool, the Sahih of Muslim has that
Hudhayfa said, “The Prophet wrapped me in an extra abd’a of his.”’As for
the aqgbiya, the hadith of Maymtn ibn Makhzum says, “One was pre-
sented to the Prophet, and he shared it with his Companions.”
As for wearing narrow sleeves—which is known as muzannad—
according to Muslim and Bukhari and Malik ibn Anas, Mughira Ibn
Shu‘ba, reported on his father’s authority, that the Prophet went to
relieve himself while on the expedition to Tabuk. Mughira said: “So I
went with him, taking water. Then the Prophet came back and I poured
water on his hands and he washed his face. Then he went to take his
arms out of the sleeves of his garment but he wasn’t able to [because of
their narrowness]. So he took them out from underneath [his garment].”

142
 BAGHDAD TREATISE

On the wearing of wool, according to Anas ibn Malik, “The Prophet

accepted the invitation of a slave; he rode a donkey and wore wool.”
According to Abt Misa al-Ashari, “If you had seen us while we were
with the Prophet and the rain had fallen on us, you would have thought
that we smelled like sheep because we were wearing wool.” Aisha said,
“sAli came to see the Prophet while I was mending with various patches.”
As for needlework with a contrasting stitching, like white on black
or black on white, Muslim has on the authority of ‘Abd Allah Mawla
‘Asma’ bin Abi Bakr that she said, “I saw Ibn ‘Amr in the market and he
had bought an izar from the Levant and he saw a red thread in it so he
returned it. Then I went to Fatima and mentioned this to her. And she said,
“Girl, hand me the Prophet's jubba,”’ and she brought out a jubba with
pockets and openings stitched with red brocade. All clothing is permissi-
ble except silk,’ which is forbidden. Wool and camel hair are sunna.”

CX

As for those who claim, “‘you flaunt yourselves so that people will
act deferentially toward you,” none of that applies to us. The Prophet
said, “Works depend on their intentions and to each affair what is
intended.” This applies to whomever seeks notoriety, whether he is a
Sufi or a jurist, and it is God’s affair. No one else should judge what is
unseen in another or ask, “Why do your seek fame?” He sins in [judg-
ing] if that person did not intend fame, for he is slandering his fellow
believer. This is not permitted. And God Almighty said, “some suspi-
cions are sinful” (49:12). The Prophet said, “Beware of suspicion, for it
is the most deceitful of speech.”
Sulman Abi Darda visited the Levant from Iraq, and he was
wearing coarse fabric draped around him (kisd’un ghalizun madmiim
mutawashshahun bihi) and he was told, “You are showing off.” He
said: “what is good is the good of the next life. I am only a slave. I eat
as the slave eats. I dress as the slave dresses. When I am free, I will
wear a cloak (jubba) whose seams are not worn out.”
You should know that nowadays wearing the khirqa is an act of
effacement (‘ayn al-khifa’) because many people wear it and already there
are negative impressions and ignorance about them. For someone wear-
ing a khirga is seen doing something despicable and that is then attributed
to the Sufis (fugara’), so they are shunned on account of one man.

143
 PROSE

As for your claim that the Sufis’ contemplation (al-nazar) [of

human beauty] is an improper devotion, to that we say, God Almighty
said, “Do they not see (yanzari) the sky above them, how We have
built it?”(50:6). And He said, “Has it not occurred (anzari) to them...”
(7:184), and He said, “See (anzari) [what is in the heavens and on the
earth” (10:101), [and] “Do they [the disbelievers] not see (yanzariina)?”
(88:17). Thus He spurs us to gaze upon created things and these are the
greatest proof of the greatness of the Creator. As God says, “We shall
show them Our signs in every region of the earth and in themselves”
(41:53). So there is praise [of Him] in mankind and in the regions of
the earth. Gazing upon the countenance (wajh)” is to gaze upon the
countenance or head or hair of a poor man or a rich man, or in general,
upon animals, plants, and matter. The Almighty said, “Have they not
contemplated the realm of the heavens and earth?” (7:185), and “on
earth there are signs for those with sure faith” (51:20). Gazing on all of
these is veneration. The Prophet said, “He who knows himself, knows
his Lord.”” For verily, man was created in the best form and honored
above all else. [God] said, “We have honored the children of Adam”
(17:70). He made the angels bow before him and teach Adam the
names because of his specialness, and He specifically created him with
His two hands.” Because of this man is greater than the animals and
the plants and the minerals and gazing upon him is worship. In every-
thing He has placed signs that He is one.
As for your claim that worship is praising God or similar invoca-
tions, we share [the praise of God] with inanimate things and the plants
and animals: “There is not a single thing that does not celebrate His
praise” (17:44). What man adds to this is [praise through] examination
and thought. For the Almighty said, “We shall show them Our signs in
every region of the earth and in themselves” (41:53). And part of the
horizons is the face of man. Listening (samd‘)" is veneration, as He
said, “[My servants] listen to what is said and follow what is best”
(39:18). Speech is veneration as long as what is said is good. Sensatory
experience is veneration, all five senses.
As for your saying, “Sunna is with the jurists (fugahd’),” to this
we say, the word figh means understanding and our concern is only to
understand the Qur’an and the Hadith. For it is incumbent upon whomever
understands the book of God and the traditions of His Prophet to act in
accordance with what is understood to be obligatory, and he who does

144
 BAGHDAD TREATISE

this is by necessity one of the fugard’. For the book of God commands
asceticism in this world and warns people against it [this world]. Thus
He said to best of His creation [that is, Muhammad], “Do not gaze
longingly [at what we have given some of them to enjoy, the finery of
the present life] (20:131). How much more so for anyone else? His
understanding will make him flee all of his possessions. The exemplar
in this is Abt Bakr or his justice (nasafuhu) guided by ‘Umar or to be
unto him a loan to the Muslims, like ‘Uthman and ‘Abd al-Rahman bin
‘Awf. Thus, the degree of sincerity is known in one’s following of the
Prophet. Imitate each [of his] actions.
If you say that the fugaha’—those who are so called— have a cer-
tain sunna or that they practice a part of the sunna, we accept that.
Fargad said to Hasan al-Basri, “The fugahd’ are talking about you.” He
replied: “You have left your mother without child, dear Farqad. Have
you really seen a fagih? For a faqih is an ascetic in this world, a seeker
of the next.”
And know that if you ask those who wear wool if that is sunna or
not, then [also] ask those you judge to be Sunni. For we say—and trust
in God for yourself—the Prophet never ate his fill of bread, and did not
build brick upon brick or build up a house as people do. So who are
they following in their building of homes and their ornamented door-
ways? It is said that Sufyan al-Thawri averted his gaze when he passed
by an ornamented gate. The clothing of the Prophet is known to have
cost between five and twenty dirhams. The shirt that Uthman wore had
mid-length sleeves, so by whom are they guided in their long, wide
sleeves and their shawls (tailasdn) and their turbans, which do not look
like the turbans worn by the Prophet? And in this deviation by whom
are they guided? The ancestors wore sandals.
In our view, the fugard’ (the poor) are the fugahd’ (the ones who
understand). For the source of their clothes is known, and their food is
the food of the ahi al-suffa,* and their dwellings are their dwellings,
and their path is their path. They obtain what they need through the
command of their religion. God Almighty does not impose on them
figh with regard to divorce, manumission, oaths of condémnation,
inheritance, sharecropping contracts, laws, precedence, and similar
things. And these decrees are handed down from generation to genera-
tion because they are a collective duty (fard al-kifaya). But God asks of
us sincere devotion: “All they were ordered to do was worship God

145
 PROSE

alone, sincerely”(98:5). So how is it that you claim they imitate sunna?

Do they follow it in food or clothing? Or in humility? Or in sharing
with their slaves? Or in their mode of travel? Or in their wills? Or in
their asceticism or their divestiture or in the paucity of what they have
accumulated? Or in their visiting of poor sick Muslims and the unfor-
tunate? Or in their morals?
In the Sahih of Muslim it says that the Prophet of God died leay-
ing neither dinar nor dirham nor slave, just his white mule and his
weapons. The land he left to charity. This is the custom among the
fugara’. We know that he wore sandals and patched his gown and did
the grinding [of food] with the servants. This is how the poor do things.
It is said that marks of the mat were on his side and in this his practice
was as that of the Sufis.”
It is said that once he said the afternoon prayer (al-‘asr), then he
entered his house and left quickly, and he saw people’s astonishment at
his rushing. So he said, “I remembered that some gold had been given
to us, and I did not want it to stay with us overnight, so I distributed it.”
This is the custom among the fugard’. Patience, thankfulness, morals,
bearing insult and other trials, these noble characteristics are the way of
the fugara’.
As for the sciences (‘u/iim), know that in the time of the Prophet
and his Companions there was not such fastidiousness (tadqiq) in the
sciences, nor was there talk of personal judgment (ra’y) nor analogical
reasoning (giyds). For their sciences pertained to the hereafter: the one-
ness of God (tawhid), trust in God (tawakkul), asceticism, and faithful-
ness. For what is the sunna you seek if not the suwnna in which most of
the fugard’ believe, whether you acknowledge it or not.
As for the fugard’ staying in the mosques, according to the
Messenger of God, in the Sahih, he had a delegation to Thagif dismount
in one. He said, “It is dearest to their hearts.” And the Sahih says that
when Sa‘d ibn Ma‘adh was injured, [the Prophet] erected a tent for him
in the mosque. The Bani Ghifar also had a tent in it."°
And it is said in the Sahih of Muslim that the Abyssinians (al-
habsha) stayed there and that they danced (zafani) there. The Prophet
watched and screened Aisha with his mantle while she watched them
play. Abi ‘Ubayd said, “the zafna is a dance.” As for their eating from
charity, it has come down to us through al-Bukhari in [the chapter on]
the prayer of the two Eids that [the Prophet] walked through the rows

146
 BAGHDAD TREATISE

of women commanding them to [give] alms. And Bilal took in his

gown what they gave him. And that sunna (practice) of the fugard’ is
the reason for the palm-leaf baskets we use. [The Prophet] gave alms
only to the fugard’ (poor) and the Ahl al-Suffa, who were poor.
And as for earning little (gillat al-kasb), Bukhari says in a hadith
attributed to ‘Abd al-Rahman ibn Abi Bakr that the ahi al-suffa were
poor men and that the Prophet gave to them and he entrusted their wel-
fare to his Companions. He did not command them to aquire things. In
Muslim it says that the fugara’ were clothed and fed until the death of
the Prophet. He did not object to their custom; rather, he loved them
and praised their path. God Almighty entrusted them to him when he
said, “Be steadfast along with those who pray to their Lord morning
and evening” (18:28)."
And among the errors of people the most astounding thing is that
they say that ‘Umar made the people leave the mosque and commanded
them to seek earnings. If that is true then that would show—God for-
bid—that ‘Umar had a different view than the Prophet in a matter
regarding the ahi al-suffa and the fugarda’.
Whoever says such a thing censures and criticizes what happened
among the Companions out of his ignorance. The community is agreed
that the fugard’ will enter heaven half a day earlier than the rich (in the
days of the next world). And the reason for the controversy in the
Maghreb between the fugard’ and the fugahd’ is that Imam Malik
believed that the unfortunate (masdkin) [those unable to make a living]
were more deserving than the fugard’. This is the school of Abi Hanifa
and his followers. Al-Shafi‘l thought that the fugarda’ were needier than
the unfortunate because God said, “The boat belonged to some needy
people” (18:79) and God mentioned the fugarda’ in his book, saying,
‘Alms are meant only for the poor, the needy” (9:60). And he gave
precedence to the poor (fuqgard’), as the order in the book shows. The
Almighty and All-powerful does not tell us that alms go to the blind
and the infirm; instead we say, “For the chronically ill and the sick,
their sickness is their storehouse.” As [Muhammad] said, “It is not
licit to give alms to a rich man, or to him who is perfect of form.” Those
alms are designated for the chronically ill and the sick, and otherwise
the Qur’an and the hadith are flawed, for they say only “to the poor.”
And in the Muwatta of Malik, the Prophet said, “Give to whomever

147
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asks, even if he is riding a horse,”and whoever has a horse is rich. This

hadith is [attributed to] Qabisa and others.
In general, sunna is very obscure, whether you admit it or not.
Praise is to God alone, and may God bless and keep the last of the
Prophets and his family and his Companions.

148
 COMMENTARY ON POEMS AND SONGS

The commentary and notes that follow give further detail about
the poetic, religious, and linguistic dimensions of the poems in this col-
lection. Many of Shushtari’s poems quote or allude to the Qur’an or
Hadith, to earlier mystic poets, and to both formal and highly informal
registers of secular Arabic poetry. Because the poet’s unprecedented
blending of disparate cultural, literary and religious references is cen-
tral to his craft, these allusions are explored here. The reader will also
find some explanations of Sufi technical terms (istilahat) and concepts.
Almost all of these technicisms are everyday words that have acquired
additional layers of meaning when used in mystical contexts. These are
glossed here with definitions taken from Shushtari’s own writings and
from some of the well-known Sufi manuals, such as Abt Nasr al-
Sarraj’s Kitab al-Luma‘, Qushayri’s Risdla and Kalabadhi’s Kitab al-
ta‘arruf. In any case, many of these poems are easily grasped and
enjoyed as poetic compositions without this information, in part because
Shushtari targeted listeners unfamiliar with mystical hermeneutics.
An understanding of the multiple meanings conveyed by key
vocabulary should aid the reader in apprehending the religious dimen-
sions of the poems, especially those which on the surface seem worldly
or perhaps even licentious. Rather than overburden the notes with copi-
ous detail on the technical aspects of the poetry—such as meter, rhyme
schemes, or word play such as tajnis (using two words with the same
root letters but different meanings either in the same line or nearby in
the poem)—these are limited to the relatively few cases in which such
rhetorical flourishes contribute substantially to questions of interpreta-
tion. As with all poetry, many of the aesthetic pleasures of Shushtari’s
songs are, sadly, untranslatable. As for the purely linguistic level, the
dialecticisms and other features of the Andalusi idiom have been stud-
ied in detail by Corriente, thus my own comments on these issues will
be brief.

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1. Intoxicated by the Divine

How I began (Diwan 339-40)

Line 1: Dhikr, literally recollection or remembrance. The Qur’an fre-

quently enjoins Muslims to remember God, as in 33:41: “Believers,
remember God often.” For the Sufis, this meant the solitary or commu-
nal repetition of a word or phrase, such as the shahdda (profession of
faith), “There is no god but God,”or “Allah”or “Huwa [Him].” For an
excellent brief introduction to Sufi approaches to dhikr, see Alexander
Knysh, /slamic Mysticism (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 317-22.
9: The refrain “God forgives what is past” (“‘afa Allahu ‘amma
mada,” repeated in lines 18 and 26) is a paraphrase of Qur’an 5:95:
“God forgives what is past” (“afd Allahu ‘amma salafa’’).
17: The lightning flash, barg or burayg, was in traditional Arabic
poetry a herald of rain as, for example, in this couplet of Imru al-Qays:

a-sahi tara barqan urika wamidahu Look, that flash, now flickering
there
ka-lam‘i l-yadayni fi habiyin mukalli __ \ike hands shot forth, in a
towering cloud;
yudi'u sandhu aw masabiha rahibin a shimmering light, like the
. lamp of a monk,
ahana s-alita li-dh-dhubali |-mufattali. fueled full for the twisted wick.
(Translated by C. Greville
Tuetey, 43)

Mystic poets borrowed the trope to symbolize mystical illumina-

tion, as in this example by Ibn al-Farid:

Is it a flash of lightning that shone over the mottled mountain,

or do I see a lantern flickering in the hills of Nejd?
Or is that Laila of the Bani ‘Amir who unveiled her face at night,
and converted the evening dusk into radiant dawn?
(Mystical Poems of Ibn al-Farid, trans. A. J. Arberry
[Dublin: Emery Walker, 1956, 34])

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The idea of a sanctuary (al-himd), a private, protected grazing area claimed

by a ruler or tribal lord, dates back to pre-Islamic Arabia.
24: Sadat al-kiram, the noble saints. This is a plural for the collo-
quial form sidi used as an honorific before the names of saints, espe-
cially in the Maghreb.

Licit to drink? (Diwan 35-36)

Line 1: Fi al-khalwat can mean “in places of retirement or seclusion,”

but it also refers to the Sufi hermitages or retreats where Sufis might
gather.
3: This line echoes a verse from Ibn al-Farid’s famous wine-ode
(khamriyya):

wa qali: sharibta al-ithma. kala wa Then they said: “what you’ve

innama drunk is sinful.” “No,
sharibtu al-lati fi tarkiha “indi what I’ve drunk, in my view,
al-ithmu would be sinful to shun.”
(Diwan, 329, v. 33;
translation mine)

Strikingly similar lines in the poetry of “bad boy” poets such as

Abi Nuwas or Ibn Quzman carry a far different meaning. For example,

lam qatt yabas li min sharib My moustache is never dry from

wa hadha huwa ‘indi ba‘da-l- it [wine]
wajib For me, it’s like an obligation.
wa man yaqul ‘anni inni ta’ib Who says that I’ve repented?
fa-hadha shay lam yaqum fi bali Why, that’s never even occurred
to me. (Ibn Quzman, Diwan,
164; translation is mine)

8: Mount Arafat is said to be where Muhammad received his last

revelation. As part of the Hajj, Muslims climb Mount Arafat and spend
a day there in prayer. This is the high point (literally and figuratively)
of the Pilgrimage.

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9: The circumambulation (al-tawdf) of the Ka‘ba in Mecca, done

seven times, generally during the hajj or during the lesser pilgrimage or
‘umra which is optional and can be performed at any time of the year.
Sa‘y is the ritual of going back and forth between Safa and Marwah
seven times. This is done either during the hajj or the ‘umra. It is oblig-
atory to do it upon arriving in Mecca and superogatory to perform once
again when departing.
10: Yulabbd refers to the pilgrims’ calling out “Labbayka” “Here
we are, Lord,” while performing various rituals associated with the
hajj. Yurma bil-jamrat, the throwing of stones, forms part of the com-
pulsory ritual of the hajj and symbolizes chasing away the devil.
11: Dhikr, see note 1, “How I began.”

My art (Diwan 276-77, Escorial 14v-15r, Yale 42v-43r)

Line 2: Dhi al-malih, literally, the possessor of beauty, here, while

clearly a reference to God also gestures to a rich tradition of profane
poetry.
4: Hadra, which literally means “presence,” is used by mystics to
mean “being in the presence of God.” The term also refers to ecstatic
mystical gatherings.
9: Madhhab here refers to the schools of religious thought in Islam.
10: Shari‘a: Although the word carries different meanings in dif-
ferent contexts, it generally refers to the rules and law codes governing
the lives of Muslims, which are derived from the Qur’Gn and hadith.
The study of shari‘a is termed figh, whence the term fagih for “jurist.”
12: As Shushtari repeats in the Risdla al-Baghdddiyya, a Sunni is
simply one who follows the practice (sunna) of the Prophet and his
Companions.
28: Literally the line reads “‘you are your own ephebe.”

Timeless love (Diwdn 33)

Line 10: Madhhab is here rendered “path,” in keeping with the poem’s
foregrounding of the personal. However, the original retains that ten-
sion between the idea of the traditional juridical schools and what
Shushtari offers: an amazing path of love.

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 COMMENTARY ON POEMS AND SONGS

14: ‘Ahi, literally “people,” clearly referring to the “people of

God,” and, as I have rendered it here, to the idea that the mystical path
is well traveled, that the believer is not alone on the path.
18: Uhayl (the diminutive of Ahi, “people”). The diminutive was
a common feature of Andalusian Arabic, used to convey a range of
meanings, from warmth and affection to dismissive disdain. I’ve trans-
lated it here as “dear ones.” Najd is a frequent toponym in classical
Arabic poetry.

Let go of Zayd and Mayya

(Diwan 86-87, Escorial 16v47r, Yale 45v)

Line 4: My essence (dhdati). Shushtari defines al-dhdat as “unchanging

reality” (al-haqigqa al-thabita), (‘Ilmiyya 164).
14: Zayd and Mayya are prototypical Arab lovers, the protago-
nists of many amorous verses, just as are Qays and Layla. To abandon
him and her, Zayd and Mayya, is to give up the notion of duality and
separateness that is inherent in any pair and to give up concern for
worldly affairs.
17: The line might also be read as a series of adjectives, “wanton,
a Shushtari, unrepentant.” The poetic “I’’ would be calling himself a fol-
lower of Shushtari or an imitator of his ways. Corriente has expressed
skepticism about the attribution of another poem with a similar refer-
ence. See Poesia estrofica, 19 n.1.
20: Draw near (nuqbil): the verb choice here echoes Qur’an 28:31,
when Moses recoils in fear after the staff he threw down at God’s com-
mand turns into a snake and God calls out again: “Moses! Draw near!
Do not be afraid, for you are one of those who are safe.”

Many a cup (Diwan 170-71, Escorial 34r—34v,

Yale 34r—34v)

Line 5: Literally, “My throne encompasses my depths.” This is an allu-

sion to Qur’an 2:255, a famously powerful description of the power and
majesty of God: “God, there is no god but Him, the Ever Living, the
Ever Watchful. Neither slumber nor sleep overtakes Him. All that is in
the heavens and in the earth belongs to Him. Who is there that can

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intercede with Him except by His leave? He knows what is before them
and what is behind them, but they do not comprehend any of His
knowledge but what He wills. His throne extends over the heavens and
the earth; it does not weary Him to preserve them both. He is the Most
High, the Tremendous.” This line and the one preceding it, attempt to
communicate an unfathomable vastness.
9: I have chosen Escorial for my reading here—further supported
by Yale Landberg (33r), Sprenger 1134 (18r), Wetzstein 195 (28r).
Yale omits this stanza (lines 9-14) entirely. British Library 41r: reads
“when I cast off sleep.”
12: Ba‘d milk al-nds, literally, “beyond what people possess.” In
common usage, applying the word nds to others often carries with it a
certain elitism, verging on disdain for those who lack the wisdom or
perspective of the speaker.
18: Strictly speaking, the word dayr refers to a Christian
monastery. Monasteries were a common aspect of life in the medieval
Islamic world, commonly serving as inns or taverns frequented by
Muslims and Christians alike. When dayr refers to a place where
drinkers gather, I have translated it “tavern,” to demarcate it from
instances in which the word dayr is used to refer to monasteries as
places devoted to Christian worship; in those cases, I have translated it
as monastery.

Wine from no wine press (Diwdn 139-40,

Escorial 8v, continued on 9r after an interpolation,
Yale 8v—9r)

Line 15: The Moroccan recensions of Shushtari’s diwdn here present a

curious feature: two instances of Eastern dialectal usage: bdlak in the
sense of “beware,” or “careful not to”; and buwayh meaning “loose-
lipped,” “overly talkative.” The manuscripts written in an Eastern hand
use instead the standard Arabic iyaka and bawwah. The question, thus,
is whether one or more early Eastern copyists “corrected” what had
been an intentional interpolation of Eastern colloquial (perhaps to
delight an Egyptian or Levantine audience with an Andalusian’s appro-
priation of their local dialect). Or were the Moroccan manuscripts
copied from Eastern manuscripts that had made a careless substitution?

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At your service (Diwan 101,

Escorial 3v, Yale 3v)

Line 1: NuqI, literally candied almonds or nuts, sweets, dried fruits.

The idea is a scene of leisurely indulgence.
8: [htisabi, in the sense of something credited toward one’s salva-
tion. This usage is attested in the hadith; see Wensinck, Concordance,
1:463-64.
11: Ya huwa, literally, “O Him,” Him being a frequent way of
referring to God, here translated “O Lord.”

O perplexed heart! (Diwdn 174-76,

Escorial 50r—51r, Yale 19r—20r)

Line 1: This intensely lyrical and intimate muwashshah is marked by

its many internal rhymes, spirited word play, and use of structured rep-
etition. Although it utilizes a mostly classical diction, there are collo-
quialisms sprinkled throughout the poem.
5: The Eastern manuscripts read kabid (persist) rather than kana
(it was). I have chosen this reading over that given by Nashshar.
23: The idea that this wine has intoxicated others before echoes
line 10 of “Ethereal wine.”
39-40: As Ibn al-‘Arabi did in the Tarjumdan al-Ashwdq, the poet
here refers to passionate love, the love of Lubna or Sa‘ada, as immor-
talized by the poets, or of whomever, as a pale reflection of divine love.
53-54: Tafuz biha, literally, “you will stumble across it” [the
remains or traces of the lover] in the desert, marked with the sign “Here
lies...” Thus the poet gestures allusively to the sorts of desert scenes
common in the pre-Islamic odes that spoke precisely of the suffering
lovers of Lubna and others like her.

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2. Love-crazed

Layla (Diwan 81-82, Escorial 79r—79v,

Yale 92v—93r)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: ramal.

Line 1: Shushtari plays here between hayy, “life,” and hayy, “quarter”
or “neighborhood.” The line reads literally; “But for Layla, no life is
seen in the neighborhood.” The syntax of the second hemistich makes
its meaning equivocal; “when in doubt, ask her about everything” is
another plausible reading.
7: The suffering here is, of course, the suffering of the lover, an
omnipresent motif in the poems of this section.
14: Anthand could mean to incline, bow, turn away, or renounce.
Each of these choices would result in vastly different readings. In my
translation, the image is one of a Qays overcome with—perhaps stunned
by—Layla’s brilliance.

The torments of love (Diwan 34-35,

Escorial 63r, Yale 73v)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: tawil.

Line 2: The image here recalls schoolchildren reciting lessons written
on a slate.
6: Cf. the saying attributed to Dhu ‘Il-Nin that common men
repent of sin (al-dhunib) but the elect repent of forgetfulness (al-
ghafla) (Kitab al-Luma‘, 68).

Only love remains (Diwan 35, Escorial 62r, Yale 72v)

Monorhyme qasida, meter: mujtathth.

Line 2: That is, the heart can see what the eyes cannot.
4: The ‘adhil, the naysayer or stern censurer, and the ragib, the
spy or guardian who breaks the lovers’ secret, are the two quintessen-
tial obstacles faced by lovers in classical Arabic poetry.

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My heart resides in the east (Diwan 55-56, Yale 6r-6v)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: ramal.

Line 5: The Arabic word for “east,” mashriq, is derived from the verb
sharaqa, “to rise” (sun) or “to shine,” “radiate.” The word for the west,
maghrib, is derived from the verb gharaba, “to depart, withdraw,” or in
the case of the sun, “to set.” Thus, the opposition here between east and
west is one between illumination and darkness.

Before the morn (Diwdn 38)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: khafif.

Line 8: “My time (wagqti) is sweet’: Sufi manuals contrast waqt, “instant”
or “time” to “fixity”or “stability.” Thus what is celebrated here is that
fleeting ecstatic state that the mystic tries to make endure. Yet, Knysh
reminds us that “wagt must not be understood as a temporal measure; it
transcends measured and measurable time and can thus be seen as ‘a unit
of psychic measure’ of this encounter, or of its absence. One can there-
fore describe wagt as a spiritual or psychological aspect of time’ ?
(Alexander D. Knysh, /slamic Mysticism: A Short History [Leiden: Brill,
2000], 305-6).

The Lover’s Visit (Diwan 89-91,

Escorial 36v—37r, Yale 36v—37r)

Muwashshah with Andalusian vernacular elements.

Line 4: Ragib, “spy or censurer.” A stock character in Arabic poetry
whose aim is to prevent the lovers from meeting.
10: The printed Diwan should read “masarrati,” joy or happiness,
as per the manuscripts.
13: Mishkdati, my lamp, is an allusion to the celebrated verse of
the Siira of Light (Qur’an 24:35): “God is the Light of the heavens and
earth. His Light is like this: there is a niche, and in it is a lamp, the lamp
inside a glass, a glass like a glittering star, fueled from a blessed olive
tree from neither east nor west, whose oil almost gives light even when

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no fire touches it—light upon light—God guides whoever He will to

his Light.”
19-20: The speech of the birds takes on a religious dimension, for
they not only are perched on “pulpits,” but rather than sing, they preach
or lecture (takhtatib).
47: Intimacy or joy (uns) is one of the mystical states. Abi Nasr
al-Sarraj defines uns as relying on God, resting in God and turning to
God for help. Ibrahim al-Marastani defines it as the heart’s joy in the
Beloved (Kitab al-Luma‘, 96, 97).

Robbed of my senses (Diwdn 282-84,

Escorial 3r—3v, Yale 3r—3v)

Zajal, in classical Arabic with numerous dialectalicisms.

While the previous poem spoke of losing oneself in mystical
wine, here the beloved is portrayed as a thief who steals the lover’s
heart and even his ability to perceive himself. But the bulk of the poem
is didactic, explaining the importance of humility and poverty and the
need to shut out the voices of those who don’t understand.
Line 41: This very catchy line (‘ishqu-l-malih ya sah fanni wa shurbi
min danni) closely echoes the refrain of “My art,” found in Chapter 1.

My lover is beyond compare (Diwdn 94-96,

Escorial 70v—71r, Yale 811r—82r)

Muwashshah with numerous dialectal features.

This poem is discussed at some length in my article “Reading the
Mystical Signs.”

Line 1: Literally, “my lover (or beloved) has no second.” This is at once a
boast of the incomparability of the lover and an affirmation of monotheism.
5: “I am content in the Creator” (or pleased with the Creator)
echoes the injunction in Qur’anic verse 89:27: “Return to your Lord
well pleased and well pleasing.”
16: The edited text here reads wa nagqrda sirra maktibi fi sitrati-l-
‘uqud that is, “I read the secret written for me in the image of the

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covenant(s).”” Many manuscripts—including Escorial and Yale—read

instead sarati-l-‘uqid, that is, the Qur’anic sara al-‘Uqiid. While there
is no sura by that name (hence the corruption in multiple copies of the
text), the word ‘uqiid appears only once in the Qur’an, in the first line
of Sarat al-M@’ida, a stra that focuses on obligations incumbent on the
believer, yet also stresses, in language echoed by line 17 here, “Today
the good things are permitted you” (5:5).

3. Denudatio/Stripping Bare
Burning all discernment (Diwdn 63-64,
Escorial 66v—67r, Yale 77v—78r)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: basit.

Line 1b: Mahabbatikum, “your love.” This poem is unusual for
Shushtari in that it employs the second person plural throughout, rather
than the singular.
5c: The secret of the letters: It is unclear whether or not Shushtari
actively sought to uncover divine mysteries using esoteric techniques
to decipher the occult meaning of letters. In the poem “The letters of
His name,” his meditation on the forms of the letters that spell Allah
becomes the basis for devotion.
5d: Look towards the mountain. When Moses asked to see God,
He replied: “You will never see Me, but look at that mountain: if it
remains standing firm, you will see Me” (Qur’an 7:143).
8a: ‘Araftumikum, “You know Yourself.” This is a prime exam-
ple of how the poet at times destroys standard syntax, making a transi-
tive verb reflexive in a way that is linguistically unnatural yet, at the
same time, remains intelligible.
8b: Al-khabir is the expert or experienced one, but it is also one
of the names of God, the Knowing.
9c-d: An allusion to Qur’an 21:37: “Man was created hasty: I
will show you my signs soon, so do not ask Me to hasten them.”
10c—d: The image of the moth burned in the flame harkens back
to a hadith, al-fardash al-mutahdfit (see Wensinck, Concordance, 5:110.)
As al-Hallaj explains the image, “the light of the flame is the knowl-

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 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

edge of reality (<ilm al-haqiqa), the heat of flame is the reality of the
reality (hdgiqat-al-haqiqa) and union with [the flame] is the truth of
reality (haqq al-haqiqa). [The moth] is satisfied neither with the light
nor the heat, he flings himself into the flame completely” (al-Hallaj,
Diwan, 95). For a French translation, see Louis Massignon, La passion
de Hallaj, 3:307. The English translation here is mine.)

Leaving my land (Diwdn 332-34,

Escorial 38v—39v, Yale 38v—39v)

Muwashshah in classical Arabic.

Nashshar notes that in one manuscript (British Library 9255) this
poem is ascribed to Ibn al-Khatib, the fourteenth-century Andalusian
polymath known, among other things, for moving evocations of his
homeland from which he was exiled.

The rank of the poor (Diwdn 64-65,

Escorial 76r, Yale 86v—87r)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: munsarih.

That the poor will enter heaven before the rich or more easily than
the rich is an idea shared by both Muslims and Christians. One can cite
numerous passages in the New Testament to this effect: “Blessed are
the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matt 5:3).
“Hearken, my beloved brethren, Hath not God chosen the poor of this
world rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which he hath promised
to them that love him?” (Jas 2:5). Or, perhaps most famously, “Go to
now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come
upon you” (Jas 5:1). And “It is harder for the rich man...” (Matt
19:16ff.; Mark 10:17ff.; and Luke 18:18ff.).
In Muslim tradition the idea of the precedence of the poor is made
explicit in numerous hadith, including one sacred tradition (hadith
qudsi). According to this hadith, held to record a saying of the Prophet
that had been revealed to him by God, “the Messenger of Allah (peace
be upon him) said: Paradise and Hell-fire disputed together, and Hell-
fire said: In me are the mighty and the haughty. Paradise said: In me
are the weak and the poor. So Allah judged between them, [saying]:

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You are Paradise, My mercy; through you I show mercy to those I

wish. And you are Hell-fire, My punishment; through you I punish
those I wish, and it is incumbent upon Me that each of you shall have
its fill.”In the “Baghdad Treatise,” Shushtari claims that the poor will
enter heaven half a day before the rich, clarifying that he speaks of “the
days of next world,” which are beyond calculation.
Line 1: The poem begins with the declaration of the existence of a
nation or people of poverty. By the mid-thirteenth century, Sufism was
becoming a thriving movement, no longer the province of small groups
of visionaries, ascetics, and dissidents.
3: For the hadith concerning the ordering of the ranks entering
heaven, see Wensinck 5:187.
8: Qisma: A part or allotment. It can also refer to one’s destiny or
fate as foreordained by God. The lines here play on both senses of the
word.

Purify the houses of God (Diwan 57, Escorial 67r, Yale 78r)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: tawil.

Line 2: This is an allusion to the Qur’an 20:10 and 28:29, which speak
of how Moses saw fire on the mountain and told his people to remain
while he went to seek guidance from it. The same motif appears in
Shushtari’s poem “Is that a lamp?”
3: Literally, ‘there is no house but the heart.”

Borrowed goods (Diwdn 192-94, Yale 61r—-61v)

Zajal.
Line 1: I have translated “‘doesn’t understand the signs” very colloqui-
ally here to match the extremely informal diction of the poem.

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Poverty and riches (Diwdn 68-69,

Escorial 63r—64v, Yale 73v—74r)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: mutaqarib.

The seventeenth-century Syrian Sufi poet and scholar ‘Abd al-
Ghani al-Nabulusi glossed this poem in a mukhammas, a strophic poetic
form that added lines matching the meter and rhyme of the base poem to
form strophes of five lines (Nabulusi, Diwdn al-Haqda’iq [Damascus:
‘Abd al-Wakil al-Duribi, 1968], 141-42). It is unclear whether the mis-
taken attribution of the base poem to Abii al-Hasan al-Shadhili comes
from al-Nabulusi himself, the compiler of his diwdn, or the modern edi-
tor of the volume.

Let go of delusions (Diwan 112-14,

Escorial 49r—49v, Yale 17v—18r)

Zajal with many colloquial Andalusian features.

Line 4: Faqri, “poverty,” here echoes the insistent theme of “Poor like
me” that poverty, understood as the shedding of all attachments to the
material world, is the natural condition of man.
20-22: The critique of the circularity of reason seen here is
greatly elaborated in the Niiniyya, presented in the final chapter of this
book.

Riding away (Diwdn 98-100, Escorial 2r—3r, Yale 2r—3r)

Zajal with abundant colloquial features including some Egyptian

expressions.

Line 44: Jawz al-‘aj@’ibi. Nashshar suggests that this could simply mean
“peanuts”; however, he cites a line of classical verse that suggests the
word may already have a metaphorical association with empty words.

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4. Among the Sufis

Little shaykh of Meknes (Diwan 272-75,

Escorial 76v—77v, Yale 90r-91v)

Zajal with a mix of dialectal features.

This is perhaps one of Shushtari’s most widely known poems; bits
of it are found scattered in many later songbooks. Moroccan Sufis
today are likely to mention (or even sing) this song when the poet’s
name is mentioned. Yet this popularity has rendered the poem one of
the most problematic of those included in this collection. Most of the
manuscript diwdns—even the earliest ones—have several very dubious
strophes that appear to have been appended by another author. I have
chosen to omit those lines from the main body of the poem and repro-
duce them here because in both spirit and subject matter they seem at
odds with the rest of the poet’s work.

This is how he went about

praising Muhammad.
and asking for blessings on his vizir,
Abu Bakr the illustrious,
and ‘Umar, who spoke the truth,
and the martyr of all martyrs.

And ‘Ali annihilator of the filthy ones,

the awesome striker.
What care have I for others?
What care have they for me?

O my God, I beg you

grant me repentance
By the Prophet, I ask of you
and by the Blessed Ones.
The devil did his work on me
and I was embroiled with him.

The devil filled my heart

with what he wished for me.

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What care have I for others?

What care have they for me?

So ends the description of the little shaykh

in poetic symbols
And verily I am one of the elite and I recite
my greetings to the fans of my art.
If you'll allow me,
I'll repeat my opening words:

Little shaykh from Meknes

wanders the souks and sings:
What care have I for others?
What care have they for me?

The doubts about these final strophes arise from both structural
and thematic issues. First, self-conscious or metapoetical references to
the singer or the artistry of the poem are frequently used as a device to
signal the end of the poem. Thus the lines that introduce the presum-
ably final refrain, “those whose spirit is sweet/can forgive the singer”
(lines 51-52 of the poem on page 76) mark the end of this poem. This
alone calls attention to the subsequent verses, especially in a zajal that
greatly exceeds the length of most of Shushtari’s zajals. Furthermore,
the invocation of the Prophet and the early caliphs (lines 55-64) is
atypical of Shushtari, but it is a common feature of later Sufi poetry and
song. Further doubt is cast upon these lines by the description of <Ali
as “the annihilator of the filthy ones,”a reference to ‘Ali’s valor in the
battle against the Jews of Khaybar. Such a hateful line is incongruous
with Shushtari’s philosophy, which he repeats in nearly every one of
his compositions, that is, that God is manifest in all of creation.
Furthermore, the references to the devil (al-rajim, al-waswds) and his
power over the speaker (69-72) are completely anomalous. The poem,
as recorded in several early diwdns, employs a mixture of colloquial
dialects, suggesting scribal additions or changes. The Escorial manu-
script uses shuwaykh, the diminutive of shaykh, and Ash as an interrog-
ative. By contrast, the Yale manuscript refers to shaykh, and uses ish as
an interrogative.

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Line 1: In Arabic, shaykh literally means “old man.” While the term is
often used to refer to revered personages, from the master of a Sufi
order to an elder or tribal chief, here the term appears to refer to an
elderly ascetic, possibly viewed as an eccentric by many of those people
(nds) whose judgment he disdains.
3-4: A more colloquial English translation might read: What do I
care what people think of me? What do they care what I think of them?
25-30: These verses echo in the third person what the old man
said in the previous verse. This sort of repetition from a slightly differ-
ent perspective is a typical feature of popular storytelling and oral lit-
eratures.

In my heart so near (Diwdn 87-89,

Escorial 741r-74v, Yale 84r—85r)

Zajal with a mix of Andalusian dialectal and classical Arabic features.

This relatively short zajal is marked by the insistent repetition that
characterizes the opening of each of the refrains (markaz), echoing the
repetition in the opening verse, “Allah, Allah” (God, O God), a verse
that is then repeated in the second line of each refrain. Thus the poem
alternates between a series of commands: “Let me speak,” “Listen,’
>

“Witness” and “Enter,” and an exposition of the power of God’s love

and the rewards for the truly faithful.

Remembrance of God (Diwan 351)

Monorhyme song or chant with no clear meter.

This song is marked by its insistent repetition, closing each line
with “Allah/God.” Whether or not this piece was actually composed by
Shushtari—and the fact that it is missing from the most reliable sources
for his poetry points to a false attribution—it is emblematic of much of
the apocryphal material attributed to him. Those poems tend to be sim-
pler and more repetitious, often with repeated chants of “Allah, Allah,
Allah,” and far more likely to include pious—and quite formulaic—
references to the Prophet, his family, and his Companions.

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Line 27: The “best of the messengers” is a reference to Muhammad and

Ahmad (derived from the same root h-m-d, with the meaning “most
worthy of praise”) is one of the names of the Prophet.

Shirts and caps (Diwdn 245—46)

Zajal in Andalusian vernacular Arabic.

The distinctive clothing worn by many Sufis is a frequent theme
in Shushtari’s poetry and the subject of the Baghdad Treatise (included
herein) in which he defended it against accusations that it was an inno-
vation (bida‘) or even worse, a flagrant ostentation of one’s piety. Here
the subject is treated in the form of a dialogue between a suffering Sufi
disciple, impatient to find contentment, and his teacher, who stresses
poverty, emblematized in the characteristic dress of the Sufis.

Line 1: Khirga is a Sufi robe of investiture, often made of patchwork,

traditionally presented by a master to a disciple. In many cases this
would mean that this disciple could in turn present a khirga to future
disciples and thus preserve a body of knowledge or devotional practice
and extend a chain of spiritual authority. The word derives from the
root kh-r-q, associated with the notion of tearing or rending (fabric).
2: The shashiyya is a kind of cap worn by North Africans in the
Middle Ages. That this particular item of clothing is not mentioned in
the Baghdad Treatise, which examines and defends Sufi dress rather
systematically, raises some questions about the certainty of attribution
of this poem, found only in a handful of Moroccan manuscripts.
4: Khalwa, here rendered “seclusion,” can mean a place for reli-
gious retreat. In North Africa, zawiyas became walled-off centers for
mystical communities, including a mosque, Qur’dn school, and the
tomb of the order’s founder. The full development of the institution of
the zawiya comes in the fourteenth century, casting additional doubt on
Shushtari’s authorship of this poem.
7: The four schools: the four juridical schools in Sunni Islam—
Hanafi, Maliki, Shafi, and Hanbali—which, insofar as they are con-
cerned with exoteric religious practice, are here placed in contrast to
the esoterism of the mystics.

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8: The most distinguished station (al-magam al-akramda) here

clearly intends to signal a worldly station of prestige and honor among
men, a station that entails wearing haughty robes. This is precisely
what the shaykh then warns against.

Poor like me / By God, natural (Diwan 184-90,

Escorial 25v—27r, Yale 55v—57v)

Zajal in Andalusian vernacular.

As this poem repeats its insistent refrain, matbii‘ matbii‘ (rendered
here as “natural”), it explores the myriad meanings and associations of
its root, taba‘a, which literally means “to stamp”or “‘to seal,” but in the
passive voice has the meaning of having a natural aptitude or propen-
sity, or a natural disposition.

Line 4: Sharshuh: According to Nashshar, this is a knapsack hung from

a stick. The line actually says it is fi ‘unquh (“on his neck’), which
gives an image of the stick resting on the neck/shoulder area.
28: Muwallah: One of the attributes of the lovers of God in
Shushtari’s verse, meaning giddy, distracted, madly in love.
48: Tarjahara, a word of Persian origin, which R. P. A. Dozy lists
as an “espéce de plateau ou d’assiette” (Supplement Aux Dictionairies
Arabes, 2 vols. [1881; Beirut: Libraire deu Liban, 1981], 2:30). Nashshar
notes that in Eastern usage the word denotes a musical instrument sim-
ilar to the oud.

5. Deciphering the Signs of God

Just understand me (Diwdn 176-80, Yale 62r—64r)

Zajal with Andalusian dialectal features.

Line 44: Presence, hadra, is used by mystics to refer to being in the
presence of God. It is paired with absence, ghayba, in the sense of
being absent from everything but God.
53-57: These lines move from an abstract treatment of the mys-
tical imperative to the concrete invitation to join with the community

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of mystics. Al-rijdl, literally “the men,” here refers to the members of

the Sufi order. In this context Al-hadra is a Sufi gathering for dhikhr
and samd‘. The clothing of perfection is the garb of the Sufi. Busut,
“carpets,” is derived from basuta, “to spread,” “to unfurl,” or “to unroll.”
In its intransitive form, basuta, the verb means “to be simple, open-
hearted, or frank,” qualities which Shushtari, in other poems, more
explicitly links to the perfection of the Sufi.
59: Dhawgq in common usage means “taste,” such as for food. By
extension, just as in English, it can refer to aesthetic or literary sensi-
bilities, and Sufis use it to refer to the mystical senses, to insight, or to
intuitive perception.
66: Several of Shushtari’s poems move toward their conclusion
with a similar line, khudh ‘anni, “take or accept from me,”an expres-
sion that echoes the “believe what I am saying” meaning of the collo-
quial English expression “take it from me.” The Arabic has other layers,
however: “follow my example,” “adopt my method.” The line here
reads takhudhii (the colloquial form of the plural imperative) mimman
shart that is, “follow the example of the one who placed the condition,”
referring to the condition set forth in the previous line.
69: Ahwal al-rijdl, literally, “the states of men,” here the ecstatic
states of the mystics that he warns—as do many other Sufis—are not
ends in themselves. For those states themselves will ultimately be anni-
hilated in the divine.

I translated an illegible letter (Diwan 277-80,

Escorial 44v—45v, Yale 13v—14v)

Zajal with some Andalusian dialectal features.

Line 1: The verb tarjama can mean to translate from one language to
another, but it also can mean to comment upon something. Here, the
poet seems to speak of the aporia of the mystic, the inability to render
in human language truths that lie beyond it.
3: “The dot of ba”: Ba is the second letter of the Arabic alphabet
but also the consonant for the preposition bi, which defines a variety of
relationships, from instrumentality, innerness, and the direction of
motion. It is a preposition that Shushtari repeats in some poems to

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emphasize the complete dependence of creation on the Creator. See

especially, “My lover is beyond compare.”
4: The rank of alif would then define an upward motion, to the
first letter of the alphabet, which is also the first letter in Allah.
14: This difficult and ambiguous expression echoes an oath found
in the Qur’an, “by the even and the odd” (89:3). As Abdel Haleem
explains in a footnote to his translation of the Qur’an, “this has been
interpreted in many ways: as a reference to numbers (as translated
here); or e.g. as the multiple (God’s creation) and the One (God himself)”
(The Qur'an, trans. M. A. Abdel Haleem [Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2004], 420). Shushtari uses similar expressions in a number of
his poems, often suggesting some sort of paradox.
46: “In the midst of gloom and blindness” (mda bayn ‘abas wa
‘amma): The line makes sense read at its surface level—that confusion
about the Names of God and the deep hermeneutical questions raised
in attempting to reconcile strict monotheism with the idea of God’s
multiple names and attributes—however, the fact that ‘abas is the first
word of Stra 78 (“The Announcement”) and ‘amma is the first word of
Stra 80 (“He frowned”) suggests the possibility of additional readings.
Both Stra 78 and Stra 79 (the two Siras between those two words)
speak of judgment day, and while the fulfillments of Paradise are men-
tioned here, the severity of God’s judgment against the transgressors is
described in much more vivid detail.

The letters of His name (Diwan 243-44, Escorial 20r—20v,

Yale 48v—49v)

Zajal with a few Andalusian dialectal features.

The idea of seeking meaning in the letters of the name Allah is not
a new one (see Kitab al-Luma‘, 125). Nashshar claims that this poem is
often recited in Syria during Ramadan. The poem was commented on
by Ibn ‘Ajiba.

Line 4: When Lam comes at the end of a word, it takes on a distinctive

form J, this is a form that many medieval copyists took special delight
in highlighting and elongating. Here, Shushtari calls the two Lams in
the middle of the word Allah incorporeal, partly because the word ini-

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tial or medial form of Lam is rather unassuming: J, but also, of course,

to highlight that God himself is incorporeal, beyond place.
11: Shrouded: This might seem like an odd choice here, but remem-
ber that the soul is on its way to oblivion. According to Nashshar’s com-
mentary, the heart will be placed between two coffins that represent
mortality and spirituality or concrete and abstract or the divine Omni-
potence and wisdom. When the person loses hope and lusts, he is wrapped
in two garments; one of them is a garment of light, and the other is a gar-
ment of darkness.
14-17: Nashshar asserts that here Shushtari maintains that he is
the radiant guide of his era, claiming the great sainthood, or the Great
Axis of his time. I find it hard to agree with such a conclusion.
Shushtari’s radical monism is incompatible with claims to personal
sanctity and superiority over other mystics. While he certainly vigor-
ously defended the superiority of his views over those of other mystics,
philosophers and jurists (see, for example the Niiniyya, in which he
undertakes a systematic critique of many of his predecessors), I find
nothing in any of his writings that would support Nashshar’s interpre-
tation.

Master of illusion (Diwdn 141-45, Escorial 58v—59v,

Yale 28v—29v)

Muwashshah in classical Arabic.

Line 9: “The universe was there to Him even before He made it’: Given
the heated controversy in Islam surrounding the question of the eternity
or createdness of the universe, a debate that often pitted philosophers
(arguing for the eternity of the world) against theologians (arguing the
contrary), this seems to be a way of bridging the difference.
31-32: This is a variation on the metaphor of the stars seeming
bright until the vastly brighter sun comes into view (see “Riding away,”
lines 37-38). The beauty and appeal of icy water seems insignificant
when compared to the source.
51: The line is ambiguous, the pronoun (hd) seems to refer to
remembering “the string” (khuyit), that is, man’s complete dependence
on God. Dhikr, of course, signifies both memory or recollection and
invocation, as in the specialized Sufi use of the term.

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57-58: I understand this to mean that divine revelation gives man

the tools to “read” the veils.

Don’t say He forgot you (Diwan 203-04, Escorial 55v—56r,

Yale 24v—25v)

Muwashshah, mostly in classical Arabic.

Lines 1-4: These lines echo the opening line of “The night’s journey.”
31-34: These lines highlight the question of predestination,
which is a frequent theme in Shushtari’s poetry. The poetic treatment
of the subject affords quite a lot of interpretative latitude.
39: Literally, “Don’t hope except in God,”a construction that par-
allels the profession of faith, “there is no god but God.”

I’m a sight to see (Diwan 266-68, Escorial 46r—46v,

Yale 14v—15r)

Muwashshah, in classical Arabic with some dialectal features.

Line 1: The Arabic here, lagad and shayun ‘ajib liman rani, is quite
playfully polysemic. ‘Ajib ranges in meaning from “wonderful, mar-
velous, or astonishing” to “strange or odd.”
34: “The seven mathdni’
are traditionally understood to refer to
the fatiha, the opening Stra of the Qur’an, thus, the seven oft-recited
verses. (I borrow the translation from Abdel Haleem.) See Qur’an
15:87: “We have given you the seven oft-recited verses and the whole
glorious Qur’an.”

I sang to the moon (Diwan 147-49, Escorial 17r18r,

Yale 45v-46v)

This zajal-like muwashshah employs a highly colloquial and

informal diction throughout. The effect is especially pronounced in the
very informal asides to himself.
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

Line 1: The opening line announces the highly informal register and
constant verbal play that characterize this poem. The use of the voca-
tive ya with the first person is contrary to the logic of the language; the
destabilizing effect is intensified with the following second person aysh
khabarak, which could be translated, “what’s happening?” “what’s up?”
If in the first hemistich Shushtari breaks conventions regarding prepo-
sitions, rendering directional prepositions almost maddeningly circular,
in the second hemistich it is conventions of person. Thus from the very
first line, I and you, human and divine are confused and the poem
jumps back and forth between declarations made by God to those more
appropriate to God’s creatures. For this reason, in this poem I have
opted to make no attempt to reduce the ambiguity through the use of
capitalization.
43-44: Another example of Shushtari’s proclamation of the
apparently counterintuitive idea that focusing on the search for God
will not lead to God.
47: “The names”: The Names of God.
51-54: The kharja of this poem is borrowed from Ibn Zaydin
(1003-71) and is repeated in “In my heart’s eye.”

Breaking the talisman (Diwan 46-47,

Escorial 76r—76v, Yale 87r)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: sari‘.

Line 1: Here it would seem that Shushtari is using talisman in the same
sense that Ibn al-‘Arabi does when he says: “hence everything given
power to rule is a talisman, as long as it keep its ruling power. One kind
of talisman has power to rule over the rational faculties. It is the
strongest of talismans, since it does not let the rational faculties accept
from the divine reports and the prophetic sciences of unveiling any-
thing except that which can come under their interpretation (ta’wil) and
the weighing of their scale” (Chittick, Sufi Path of Knowledge, 184).
The word appears in several other poems by Shushtari and in its verbal
form in a letter cited by Ibn al-Khatib, “Kanz al-wujitd al-ladhi
tallasamahu al-insan” (hata, 4:214).

1/2,
 COMMENTARY ON POEMS AND SONGS

4: An allusion to Qur’aén 74:50—51, which describes how the

unbelievers turn away from the Prophet’s warnings “like frightened
asses fleeing from a lion.”
5: al-husnd’: I have translated this as the Beautiful Ones, that is,
the ninety-nine names of God; however the word could also mean the
planet Venus. The word play continues in the remainder of the line.
The luminous seven here could refer to the seven verses of the fatiha
(the opening stra of the Qur’4n) or the seven planets.
7: Literally, he loosened, untied the lock of the names. The
biggest problem posed by this poem is understanding whom or what
Shushtari is calling khalifa al-haqq, that is, the caliph of God.

In my heart’s eye (Diwan 150-51, Escorial 40v—-41r,

Yale 41r-41v)

Muwashshah in classical Arabic.

This short poem is also included in Zarrtiq’s Sharh al-Nasiha al-
Kafiya (MS 3024 Alexandria). It repeats the same kharja taken from
Ibn Zaydin that is found at the end of “I sang to the moon.”

Line 24: “He wants to test you’: This idea is frequently expressed in
the Qur’an, for example, Qur’an 5:49 “If God had so willed, He would
have made you one community, but He wanted to test you through that
which He has given you.”

Hidden in plain sight (Diwan 134—36, Escorial 51r—52r,

Yale 20r—20v)

Muwashshah with occasional dialectal features.

Line 9: Literally: “One with no second,” echoing the phrasing in “My
lover is beyond compare.”
23: Al-’ayn: “the where” or place.
25: Igtasar, from the root g-s-r, “to be short or limited,” here could
mean something on the order of “suit yourself,” “restrict or limit your-
self.” Given that Shushtari’s poems frequently feature injunctions to stop
making excuses or protesting his advice, I understand it in that vein.

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27-34: This series of rhetorical questions, which I believe the

poet means to dismiss, are contrasted with the understanding and dis-
cernment of the sensible one, who follows the road of truth.

Stop tiring yourself (Diwdn 105-08,

Escorial 34v—35v, Yale 34v—35v)

Muwashshah in classical Arabic with occasional Andalusian dialectal

features.
While the opening line of each refrain features a repetition much
like that seen in “In my heart so near,” this is a deeply enigmatic poem,
with rapid shifts in voice and perspective that constantly destabilize the
reader.

6. Desert Wanderings

The night’s journey (Diwan 50, Escorial 63v, Yale 74r)

Monorhyme qasida, meter: ramal.

Line 4: This verse is a paraphrase of the Arabic proverb ‘inda al-sabah

yahmadu al-qawm al-surd (at daybreak, the party commend night-
journeying), often directed to someone enduring difficulties, urging
patience. Of course, for the mystics the night journey (swrd or isrd)
refers both to Muhammad’s night journey from Mecca to Jerusalem
and from there to heaven and back again (Qur’an 17:1, 60, 53:1—18)
and, by extension to the spiritual journey of every seeker.

When lightning flashes (Diwan 45-46,

Escorial 75v—76r, Yale 86r)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: munsarih.

Line 1: Himd is a frequent topos in the desert ode. As a common noun,

it means a sanctuary. In pre-Islamic Arabia the himd was an inviolable
space protected by tribal deities.

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1-2: The word play between shdma, (to watch for, to be on the
lookout, to hope or expect) and sha’ma (to take something as an evil
sign or bad omen) evokes both the anxious scanning of the skies and
possible misreading of the brilliant flash of light.
4-5: That blinding light is quickly linked through the disorienta-
tion and perplexity that it provokes to the mystical wine carried by the
cupbearer.
8: The equivocal al-kibar (great ones), frequently refers to great
or eminent men, but in this context of drunkenness should likely be
read as “great sins.”
9: This wine, once tasted, leaves the drinker with no choice but to
persist in his “wantonness.”
10: The builder of the wall appears to be a reference to al-Khidr
(also known as al-Khadir). This is the name commonly associated with
the unnamed figure in Qur’an 18:60—82 who meets Moses and then
tests his patience by performing a series of odd and initially inexplica-
ble actions, including repairing the wall of a town that had refused them
both hospitality. At the end of their meeting, the stranger tells Moses
the meaning of the things he had not been able to bear patiently.
Among Sufi mystics, al-Khidhr is seen as a prototypical shaykh or
teacher who leads the student from bewilderment to understanding.
11-13: The mystical understanding brings about a paradigm shift,
a radically new perception, here exemplified in the reassessment of the
story of Qays and Layla. The story of the love-mad Qays, who wan-
dered through the desert anguished at his separation from Layla, is a
frequent theme in Arabic and Persian poetry and adab. Shushtari closes
a number of poems with references to this tale, always showing how
the popular understanding of the tale distorts or misreads its deeper
meaning. Here he claims that Qays’ madness was not brought on by
Layla’s departure, for she never left him. He fails to perceive her
through her veil, but even more surprising, and the true sign of his mad-
ness, is that when she reveals herself to him, he, perhaps worried about
maintaining appearances or too wrapped up in the petty morality of
others, calls it a disgrace.

PIS
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

Pay no attention (Diwdn 48-49, Escorial 75v—76r, Yale 86v)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: sari‘.

According to al-Ghubrini (240), Shushtart composed this poem
shortly after arriving in Gabes (Qabis), a Tunisian coastal city, and
stopping at a Sufi lodge (ribdt) known as the Sahrij Mosque. A lofty
delegation headed by Abii Ishaq al-Warqani and Abi ‘Abd Allah al-
Sanhaji came to visit him and found that he had gone on an errand that
had taken him out of town. They hadn’t waited long before he arrived,
greeted everyone, kissed the Sufis, and with a tear running down his
cheek, asked for writing implements, and with moans that by them-
selves moved the audience, he wrote these lines.

Line 2: These are all common tropes of the Arabian gasida, illusions
the poet warns against. The insistent repetition of the interrogative or
exclamatory particle md (which translated literally would read “what
[is] a flock, what [is] a ban tree’’) gives the line a dramatic quality. The
ban tree, which grows tall and slender, is often used as a simile for an
attractive beloved. La‘la‘ is a place name, but it can also mean glimmer
or mirage. In his commentary on the poems of Tarjumdn al-Ashwaq,
Ibn al-‘Arabi calls this a mystic station of bewilderment or perplexity
and infatuation (tawallu‘). Khayf, another toponym, refers to the slope
or the peak of a mountain and has come to be associated with Mina.
The gazelle of Bani Amr can be read as a reference to Layla, the
beloved of Qays.
6: “The first and the last’ are two of the beautiful Names of God,
widely used in a Sufi context to refer to all of the ninety-nine Names of
God because as opposite attributes they synthesize all of the (apparent)
contradictions in the essence of God. These two attributes are also cou-
pled with zahir and bdtin, that is, the manifest and the hidden.

But you are in the Najd (Diwdn 65)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: basit.

Ibn al-Khatib attributes this poem to Ibn Sab‘in (Jhdta, 2:37). It is

not found in the Eastern recensions of Shushtari’s diwdn.

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 COMMENTARY ON POEMS AND SONGS

Line 3: This line suggests a reply (or a partial reply) to the fifth poem
in Ibn al-‘Arabi’s Tarjumdan al-Ashwaq, “Anjada al-shawg wa athama
al-ghuram.” In Michael Sells’s translation, the first line reads:

Yearning sought the highlands.

Heartbreak sought the plain.
I was trapped somewhere in between
Najd and Tiham. (Stations of Desire, 60)

The Najd, or the uplands, are the plateau region lying to the east
of al-Tihama, the Red Sea lowlands. Shushtari can’t seem to resist the
verbal play between the topographical designation, al-Tihama and mut-
taham, (suspected, suspicious), derived from the root w-h-m, which is
related to ideas of delusion, conjecture, and self-deception.
4: This verse echoes the opening line of “Layla.”

Desire drives the camels (Diwdn 49, Escorial 64r, Yale 74v)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: kamil.

Line 3: Sal< is a hill in the marketplace of, or a spot near, Medina;
Yaqit, 5:107.
5: Al-‘Agig (literally, “the ravine”) here refers to a location near
Medina (Yaqit, 4:199). The lines recall verses of Ibn al-Farid, here
translated by Arberry:

By God, if you pass by al-‘Aqiq in the forenoon, recite a

greeting to them, and that unaffectedly,
And say, “I left behind me, struck down among your
dwellings, one living, and yet as if dead, that lends
sickness even to sickness’ self.”
(Mystical poems of Ibn al-Farid (Dublin: Emery Walker, 1956],
95; I have modified Arberry’s translation)

6: “Earth stands in for water” refers to the dispensation granted

for ablutions, which can be performed with sand or soil when water is
unavailable. (Qur’an 5:6).

17t
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

Drop all pretense of shame (Diwdn 38-39,

Escorial 63v—64r, Yale 741r—-74v)

Monorhyme qasida, meter: khafif.

Line 1: Here the poet alludes to the rich poetic tradition that describes
the weariness and emaciation of the camels after an arduous journey.
He sees no need to repeat those tropes, compare with these lines of Ibn
al-Farid:

Ease the pace of your journey, O camel driver,

truly it is upon my heart that you are driving.
Don’t you see how the red-roan camels hunger and thirst,
urged on and yearning for the Spring of the grassy
encampments?
The deserts have not left any body to them at all,
save skin stretched over protruding bones;
and their pads have become attenuated,
and they march chafed like glowing coals on ashes.
Weariness has emaciated them. (Arberry, Mystical Poems
of Ibn al-Farid, 39; I have modified Arberry’s
translation)

7: Asfar (sing. safar), which I have translated as “wandering,”

also plays on asfar (sing. sifr), which means “books,” especially the
scriptures.
8: Mizmar is a musical reed or pipe, here translated “flute.”
12: Sab‘ini, that is, a follower of Ibn Sab‘in. Sahwa is associated
with the notion of wakefulness, clarity, serenity, and recovering from
drunkenness. Midmar is a richly suggestive word here; while the noun
commonly denotes a fixed space for an athletic activity, a race course,
or an arena, the word is etymologically linked to notions as diverse as
weight loss, hiding something away, stripping someone in the sight of
others (such as while washing a cadaver), thinking to oneself, or under-
taking some course of action with great assiduousness and zeal. The
final phrase is thus remarkably polysemic. Does it refer to a clarity that
follows the mystic’s erasure of self? Or perhaps to that state of height-

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 COMMENTARY ON POEMS AND SONGS

ened consciousness that leads to a more zealous observance? Or a

greater awareness of what is innermost?

If the scold could see (Diwan 41)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: kami.

When Moses performed miracles and brought God’s clear signs to
his people, they mocked him and called the signs conjuring tricks. In
the Qur’an, the disbelief and mockery that Moses encountered pre-
figures the resistance that Muhammad encounters to his message.
Shushtari draws here on the same story, alluding to Qur’an 28:36.

7. At the Monastery

Is that a lamp? (Diwan 41-44, Yale 93r-94v, Escorial 79b)

Monorhyme gasida, meter: tawil

Line 3: The first enigma is that the bright glow is not constant; it is vis-
ible at night, brilliant even, but then it disappears. The travelers are
confused as to its nature. This back and forth, the idea that the spiritual
quest is not linear, is repeated in several different ways: In the sobriety
after the obliteration (line 15), and in the ebb and flow in the waves of
the great ocean of knowledge (line 32).
5: The polyvalence of the word zujdj is fully at play here. At root
is the meaning of glass and its clarity. The word can refer to a glass bot-
tle or a glass candle holder as well as to a drinking glass.
6: Literally, “by what is due the Messiah.”
7: Seth: The third son of Adam and Eve, the ancestor of all
humankind, for his older brothers, Cain and Abel, left no progeny.
Although he is not mentioned in the Qur’an, there is quite a lot about
him in the Qisds anbiyd literature. One story about Seth that ties him to
a journey is that his father had fallen ill and sent Seth to Mount Sinai
to ask God for some olives and oil from Paradise.
10: The travelers accept the hospitality of the monastery, aware
that this may lead to criticism or insults from those who find this
improper. This can be read on several different levels, for example, that

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it is improper for Muslims to drink at all, or that partaking of wine with

sacramental value—as is clearly implied—is an improper action
between Christians and Muslims.
11: This difficult and ambiguous expression echoes an oath found
in the Qur’an, “by the even and the odd” (89:3). As Abdel Haleem
explains, “This has been interpreted in many ways: as a reference to
numbers (as translated here); or, for example, as the multiple (God’s
creation) and the One (God himself)” (420). Shushtari uses similar
expressions in a number of his poems, often suggesting some sort of
paradox.
12: Tajawharnd can be translated “to become substance,” but
given jawhar’s meaning as “essence, substance.”
15: Literally, Shushtari’s chest tightened or contracted.
16: This is likely a reference to Abi Bakr ibn al-‘Arabi (d.543/
1148), a leading fagih of his era and—at least for a time—an admirer
and imitator of al-Ghazali’s writings. See Maribel Fierro, “Opposition
to Sufism in al-Andalus,” in /slamic Mysticism Contested: Thirteen
Centuries of Controversies and Polemics, eds. Frederick de Jong and
Bernd Radtke (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 185.
17: That is, fagih and fagir become united, undistinguishable. The
division between the exoteric knowledge of the law and esoteric prac-
tice is erased. Fakka min al-qahr, release from subjugation, compul-
sion, coercion, sorrow or grief. Some manuscripts read instead fakka
min al-qabr, or release from the grave.
22: Al-kalim here clearly refers to Moses, known in Islamic tradi-
tion as kalim Allah or the one who spoke with God (or to whom spoke
God). This is an allusion to Qur’an 20:10 and 28:29, which speak of
how Moses saw fire on the mountain and told his people to remain
while he went to seek guidance from it. The same motif appears in
Shushtari’s poem “Purify the houses of God,” 24.
24: Reference to Qur’an 20:12: a frequent Sufi trope, see Khal<
al-Na‘layn Ibn Qasi (twelfth-century). Ibn Qasi is remembered princi-
pally as the leader of a Sufi revolt against the Almoravids (see
Goodrich, “A Sufi Revolt in Portugal”). Ibn Qasi’s writings continued
to exert some influence in al-Andalus in the following century: Ibn al-
‘Arabi wrote a commentary on Khal< al-Nalayn, and Shushtari makes
numerous references to him as well.

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 COMMENTARY ON POEMS AND SONGS

25: It is not entirely clear to what the pronoun huwa here is refer-
ring.
26: Although Shushtari’s exact meaning is unclear, he appears to
use the term talisman in a similar sense to that employed by Ibn al-
‘Arabi, as practices or objects that hold power or control over human
beings and prevent them from perceiving the fullness of reality.
Sabgha has several meanings here. In the context of a discussion
of Christian sacramental theology, “baptism” is a key meaning, here
described as the breaking of or breaking with lowness, shame,
ignominy, and disgrace. Of course, for Christians, baptism represents
the washing away of original sin, a breaking of the punishment
imposed on man because of Adam. But the word also has meanings
related to alchemy, and here it seems that this language of talismans
and magic is being used to explore man’s access to knowledge.
30: Tajrid comes from a root that means “to peel, remove a shell,
to peel away, to strip or denude.”
31: The root h b r and its many meanings: pope, a learned man
among the Christians or the Jews, or learned men.
34: Grammatical imagery.
37: Iftigaruhu, his impoverishment, that is, his abandonment of
the material for a spiritual path.

The monastery door (Diwdn 58, Yale 76b, Escorial 65B)

Line 1: Ta’addab bi-bdb al-dayr: ta’addab (imperative form), can

mean “to educate oneself”or “to be guided.” Here, the crossing of the
threshold into the monastery symbolizes also a submission to the disci-
pline (ta’dib) and an openness to the customs of the monks.
8: Religious icons being such a point of contention between
Muslims and Christians—especially the orthodox Christians that
Shushtari would have encountered in the Levant—the reminder that the
church the pilgrim will enter contains images of Jesus fashioned by the
monks highlights the unusual nature of this poem.

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 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

8. The Niniyya
Although this poem is not collected in the Eastern recensions of
the Diwan, it is widely known in the West, reproduced by Ibn al-Khatib
(713/1313-776/1375) in two of his works: Rawdat al-ta‘rif (ed. Anmad
Ata, 606-10, ed. Kettani 609-13) and the Ihata, 4:208-11. The
Moroccan Sufi leaders Ahmad Zarriq and Ibn ‘Ajiba both wrote exten-
sive commentaries on the poem.

Line 1: This line alludes to Qur’an 10:26: “Those who did well will
have the best reward and more besides.” Ibn ‘Ajiba writes: “The best
reward is not heaven, which is understood (fassirat) as the best reward.”
“The something more” mentioned in the Qur’anic verse is gazing with
an everlasting vision (or knowledge) on the countenance of God (al-
Karim). An ever-rising ascent. So their desire was to grasp their high
aspirations and lift them completely out of the cosmos, for heaven
belongs to the cosmos. For he who in his heart departs from this world
(al-dunya), seeking paradise and its embellishments, has simply left
one world for another. He is like a donkey pulling a millstone; he can-
not get away from it. Ibn ‘Ajiba cites a similar verse of Ibn al-Farid.
3: In his commentary, Ibn <Ajiba lists three levels of “pleasures
of the low places,” pleasures that bring no contentment to those with
higher aspirations. These are bodily pleasures, such as food, drink, and
women; pleasures of the heart, such as the love of money, power, rank,
and praise; and spiritual pleasures, such as the desire for miracles and
grace for pious deeds.
“Distant purpose,” Al-magqsid al-aqsd, means Paradise, and “the
most brilliant quest,” the presence of God.
11: “The most perfect of men’: Muhammad.
18: “The banners on the right”: Stira 56: “That which is coming,
vividly depicts how people will be divided on judgment day. The
people on the right will enjoy God’s reward, while those on the left will
be subject to torment.”
19: “gal min al-‘aql: literally, the binding-cord of reason.
Shushtari seems to suggest that even at a linguistic level there is an
association between reason and binding.
40: Hermes (Hirmis) is held to be the author of a large body of
philosophical, theological, and magical texts. A large number of Arabic

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 COMMENTARY ON POEMS AND SONGS

texts have also been attributed to Hermes (for details and bibliography,
see “Hirmis” in Encyclopedia of Islam, 2nd ed. (Leiden: E.J. Brill,
1954-).
On Islamic ideas about Socrates, including the idea that he lived
in a barrel in the desert, see Ilai Alon, Socrates in Medieval Arabic
Literature (Leiden: Brill, 1991).
43: Dht al-Qarnayn, literally, “the two-horned one,” is discussed
in the Qur’aén 18:82-98. Most scholars hold that this refers to
Alexander the Great, who in many versions of his tales is said to have
gone on a quest for the spring of eternal youth. There is an extensive
bibliography on this figure, his portrayal in the Qur’an and other
sources and his interpretation by commentators (see Brannon Wheeler,
“Moses or Alexander? Early Islamic Exegesis of Qur’an 18:60-65,”
Journal of Near Eastern Studies 57 [1998}).
45: Husayn ibn Mansur al-Hallaj (244/857—309/922), an influen-
tial and polarizing figure in the history of Islamic mysticism, without a
doubt one of Shushtari’s most important influences. Yet, Shushtari crit-
icizes him on several occasions for his failure to conceal his mystical
rapture (and the ecstatic utterances that are popularly held to have led
to his execution as a heretic). Although recent scholarship has
superceded some of the details of Massignon’s work, The Passion of al-
Hallaj (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982) is still an
indispensable reference.
47: Abi Bakr al-Shibli (247/861-—334/945): a student of al-
Junayd, also associated with al-Hallaj (although he is said to have
denied him before the vizier and accused him at the foot of the scaf-
fold). Known for eccentric behavior, ecstatic utterances, and extrava-
gant claims about his powers. Many poems are attributed to him. See
Diwan Abi Bakr al-Shibli, ed. Muwaffiq Fawzi al-Jabr (Damascus: Dar
Batra, 1999).
48: Al-Niffari, Muhammad ibn ‘Abd al-Jabbar, d. 366/976—7:
Sufi mystic of Iraq. His works, The Book of Spiritual Stayings [or
Standings] (Kitab al mawdgqif) and The Book of Spiritual Addresses
(Kitab al-mukhtabdt) are marked by the influence of al-Hallaj. See the
translation by A. J. Arberry. His work was later commented by Ibn al-
‘Arabi. According to Chittick, seventy-eight chapters of the Futuhat al-
Makkiyya—5 percent of this massive text—are devoted to this
commentary (William Chittick, Sufism: A Short Introduction [Oxford:

183
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

One World, 2000], 144). His work was also commented by <Afif al-Din
al-Tilimsani (see Sharh al-Mawaqif, ed. Jamal Ahmad Marziqi [Cairo:
Markaz al-Mahrisa, 1997]).
50: Ibn Jinni (d. 392-1002): noted grammarian credited with
inventing the science of etymology. Ibn ‘Ajiba quotes Zarrtiq as saying
that he wrote a book called Tajrid Khalq al-Insdn on grammar and
logic. His explanation of this line is that the vastness of the subject mat-
ter led to Ibn Jinni’s silence.
51: Qadib al-Ban: Mystic of Mosul, known for changing his
appearance (from Kurd, to Bedouin, to doctor of theology). See R. A.
Nicholson, The Mystics of Islam (New York: Schocken, 1975), 144-45.
52: Abu ‘Abd Allah al-Shidhi, also known as al-Halwi: said to be
a Sufi from Seville, a teacher of Ibn Sab‘in. Although his name sur-
faces occasionally, little is known about him. See Muhammad ibn
Muhammad Ibn Maryam, Al-Bustdn fi dhikr al-awliya’ wa-al-‘ulama@’
bi-Tilimsdn (Algiers: Diwan al-Matbu‘at al-Jam‘iyya, 1986), 68-70;
and Abu al-Wafa al-Ghunaymi al-Taftazani, “Al-Madrasa al-
Shidhiyya fi al-tasawwuf al-andalusi,” Revista del Instituto Egipcio de
Estudios Islamicos 23 (1985). Ibn ‘Ajiba’s identification of him with
‘Afif al-Tilimsani (d.1291) is highly improbable.
54: Ibn Qasi (d. 546/1151): leader of the anti-Almoravid revolt
and a member of the Almeria school of Sufism, author of Khala‘ al-
Na‘layn. This work was later commented by Ibn al-‘Arabi (see
Goodrich, A Sufi Revolt in Portugal).
55: Ibn Masarra (269/883-—319/931): Andalusian philosopher and
mystic born in Cordoba. A pivotal figure in the development of
Andalusian Sufism. He lived during a period of time in which the
Maliki fugahda’ of Spain actively persecuted those deemed heterodox.
He is credited with writing two books, Kitab al-tabsira and Kitab al-
huriif, neither of which is extant (see Miguel Asin Palacios, The
Mystical Philosophy of Ibn Masarra and His Followers, trans. Elmer
H. Douglas and Howard W. Yoder [Leiden: Brill, 1978]).
56: Ibn Sina (d.1111): towering Islamic philosopher, held by
many also to have some mystical inclinations, known in Europe as
Avicenna.
57: Abia Hamid al-Ghazali Al-Tiisi (1058-1111): noted theolo-
gian, mystic and religious reformer, called the Proof of Islam (Hujjat
al-Islam). An especially controversial figure in al-Andalus, where

184
 COMMENTARY ON POEMS AND SONGS

alliances were made and sundered based on one’s support or opposition

to his famous mystical work, The Revival of the Religious Sciences
(Ihya ‘Ulim al-Din). Before his turn to Sufism, he had eagerly pursued
philosophy, an approach he later rejected in his book The Incoherence
of the Philosophers (Tahdafut al-falasifa).
58: Ibn Tufayl (d.1185 or 1186): prominent Andalusian physician
and philosopher—like Shushtari, a native of Guadix—author of cele-
brated philosophical allegory Hayy ibn Yaqzan.
59: Abi Madyan Al-Shu‘ayb (1126-98): Andalusian mystic,
born near Seville. After studying with several masters in North Africa
and in the East, he eventually settled in Bougie (Bijaya, a seaport in
modern Algeria). Although few of his writings survive, he continues to
be held in high esteem as one of the great figures of Andalusian and
North African Sufism. Shushtari may have been a disciple of his for a
time (see Cornell, The Way of Abii Madyan).
60-61: Muhyi al-Din Ibn al-‘Arabi (al-Tayy): The appellation
“spirit of the Spirit’comes from several lines of verse in his “Kitab al-Isra
ila maqam al-asra” in Ras@il Ibn ‘Arabi (Beirut: Dar Sadir, 1997),
171-235; this poem, 173). Shushtari wrote a type of poetic gloss, called a
mukhammiis, on those lines. The bibliography on this figure is immense.
A good starting point is Claude Addas, Quest for the Red Sulphur: The
Life of Ibn Arabi (Cambridge: Islamic Texts Society, 1993).
62: Ibn al-Farid (1181-1235): one of the most renowned Sufi
poets writing in Arabic. For a translation of much of his work, see E.
Homerin, trans., ‘Umar Ibn al-Farid (New York: Paulist Press, 2001).
63: Abt al-Hasan al-Harralt (d.1240): A Moroccan Sufi, the
author of Kitab miftah al-bab al-mugqfal [Book of the key to the locked
door] (BN Paris, MS 1398). Paul Nwyia calls him a writer with a diffi-
cult style, who creates a new language. See [bn ‘Ata’ Allah et la nais-
sance de la confrérie shadhilite (Beirut: Dar el-Machreq, 1972), 56-62.
64: Al-Umawi: This obscure figure was unknown to both Zarruq
and Ibn ‘Ajiba. Zarriiq claims to have heard of him but cannot add any
details. Massignon identifies him—giving no indication as to how he
came to his conclusion—as Shaykh ‘Adi ibn Musafir (d.~1162), who
established a zdwiya for his followers, the ‘Adawiyya, in Qarafa in
Cairo (see Massignon, “Ibn Sab‘in et la “conspiration hallagienne,” 667).
65: Al-Ghafigi, that is: Ibn Sab‘in, Shushtari’s most influential
spiritual master.

185
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 NOTES

PART ONE: Praising God in the Language of

Everyday Life
1. Ganjavi Nizami, The Story of Layla and Majnun, trans. Rudolf
Gelpke (Boulder, CO: Shambhala, 1978), 13.
2. Peter J. Chelkowski, “Nizami.” Encyclopedia of Islam. CD-ROM
edition (Leiden: Brill, 1999).
3. The most complete account of Shushtari’s life and reception is in
Nashshar’s introduction to his edition of the poet’s diwdn, ‘Ali Sami al-
Nashshar, ed., Diwan Abi al-Hasan al-Shushtari (Alexandria: Dar al-Ma‘arif,
1960). The Spanish linguist Federico Corriente, who by his own admission is
primarily concerned with Shushtari as a rich primary source for a philological
study of medieval Andalusian Arabic, published an edition of the poet’s diwdn
in Latin transliteration with a literal Spanish translation, Poesia estréfica:
céjeles ylo muwasSahat (Madrid: CSIC, 1988). Bibliography on Shushtari in
European languages is limited; see also Ali Sami El-Nashar, “Abul Hasan al-
Sustari mistico andaluz y autor de zejeles y su influencia en el mundo musul-
man,” Revista del Instituto Egipcio de Estudios Islamicos 1.1 (1953); Louis
Massignon, “Investigaciones sobre SuStari, poeta andaluz enterrado en
Damieta,” al-Andalus 14 (1949); René Perez, “Le dépoillement (tajrid) dans le
cheminement spirituel d’Abd |’Hassan al-Shushtari,” al-Tawasul al-Sifi bayna
misr wa al-maghrib, ed. ‘Abd al-Jawad al-Saqqat (Rabat: Jami<at al-Hasan al-
Thani, 2000); Omaima Abou-Bakr, “The Symbolic Function of Metaphor in
Medieval Sufi Poetry: The Case of Shushtari,”
Alif 12 (1992); Maribel Fierro,
“al-Shushtari,” Encyclopedia of Islam, ed. C.E. Bosworth (1996); and Lourdes
Alvarez, “The Mystical Language of Daily Life: The Arabic Vernacular Songs
of Abi al-Hasan al-Shushtari.” Exemplaria 17:1(2005), and “Reading the
Mystical Signs in the Songs of Abi al-Hasan al-Shushtari”in Muwashshahat:
Proceedings of the International Conference on Arabic and Hebrew Strophic
Poetry and Its Romance Parallels, School of Oriental and African Studies,
London, 8-10 October 2004 (London: RNR Books and School of Oriental and

187
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

African Studies, Music Department, forthcoming). Arthur Wormhoudt’s

“translations” of Shushtari (Selections from the Diwan of Abu al-Hasan ‘Ali
Ibn Abd Allah al-Shushtari, (Oskaloosa, IA: William Penn College, 1992) are
best described as idiosyncratic.
4. Ibn al-‘Arabi’s muwashshahdat are scattered throughout the pub-
lished versions of his Diwan (Dar al-Kutub al-‘Ilmiyya, 1996). Federico
Corriente and Ed Emery are currently preparing a monograph on these
strophic poems.
5. Massignon, “Investigaciones sobre SuStari,”35.
6. Shushtari’s Naniyya was commented by Ahmad Zarriiq (Escorial
MS 40186) and Ibn ‘Ajiba, “Sharh Niniyya al-Imam al-Shushtari,” Si/silat
Nardniyya farida, ed. al-‘Imrani al-Khalidi ‘Abd al-Salam. (Maktabat al-
Rashad, 1997). The qasida Ta’addab bi-bdb al-dayr (presented here as “At the
Monastery Door”) was commented by ‘Abd al-Ghani al-Nabulusi, “Radd al-
Muftari ‘an al-ta‘an fi al-Shushtari,” al-Mashrig 54 (1960): 629-39.
7. Ahmad ibn ‘Abd al-Halim Ibn Taymiyah, Majmuc‘at al-ras@il wa-
al-mas@il,ed. Muhammad Rashid Rida. 4 vols. ({Cairo]: Lajnat al-Turath al-
‘Arabi, 1976), I: 67.
8. See Lisan al-Din Ibn al-Khatib, Diwan Lisan al-Din ibn al-Khatib,
ed. Muhammad Miftah (Casablanca: Dar al-Thaqafah lil-Nashr wa-al-Tawzi,
1989). This volume has only nine of his muwashshahdat, pp. 783-96. Addi-
tional examples can be found scattered in other writings and in his own anthol-
ogy of muwashshahat, Jaysh al-Tawshih, ed. Alan Jones (Cambridge, England:
Trustees of the E.J.W. Gibb Memorial, 1997).
9. Muhammad ibn Ibrahim Ibn <Abbad, al-Ras@il al-kubrd. ({Fez]:
Matba‘at al-‘Arabi al-Arzaq, 1902), 197.
10. Ibn Khaldun, The Muqaddimah: An Introduction to History, ed. and
trans. Franz Rosenthal, 2d ed., 3 vols. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University
Press, 1967).
11. Although the last couple of decades have seen several new Arabic
language monographs on Ibn Sab‘in, he has still not received much attention
from Western scholars. See V. J. Cornell, “The Way of the Axial Intellect: The
Islamic Hermeticism of Ibn Sab‘in.” Journal of the Muhyiddin Ibn Arabi
Society (1997): 41-79. Louis Massignon’s “Ibn Sab‘in et la conspiration anti-
hallegienne en Andalousie et en Orient du XIIe siécle,” Etudes d’orientalisme
dédiées a la mémoire de Lévi-Provencal, vol. 2 (Paris: G.-P. Maisonneuve et
Larose, 1962) remains useful, although it is marked by Massignon’s tendency
to exaggerate the importance of al-Hallaj. For useful excerpts from various

188
 NOTES

biographical accounts, as well as a translation of one of the philosopher’s con-

cise expositions of his thought, see M. A. F. Mehren, “Correspondance du
philosophe Soufi Ibn Sab’in <Abd Oul-Haqq avec l’empereur Frédéric II de
Hohenstaufen,” Journal Asiatique 14 (7th series) (1879).
12. Ahmad ibn Muhammad al-Maqqari, Nafh al-Tib min ghusn al-
Andalus al-ratib, ed. Ihsan ‘Abbas, 8 vols. (Beirut: Dar Sadir, 1968), 2:185.
13. Al-Ghubrini, “Unwan al-dirdya (Beirut: Lajnat al-ta‘lif wa-l-tarjama
wa-l-nashr, 1969), 239. [This translation and all other unattributed translations
of Arabic sources are my own. ]
14. This borrowing was first pointed out by Massignon. See his “Investi-
gaciones,”’ 30-31. See Ramon Llull, Liibre de Evariste e Blanquerna (Barcelona:
Barcino, 1935), 2:238. English translation here is that of Allison Peers,
Blanquerna: A Thirteenth Century Romance (London: Jarrolds, 1926), 392.
15. Abt ‘Abd Allah Muhammad ibn al-Husayn al-Ha’ik, Kunndsh al-
H@ik, ed. ‘Abbas al-Jarrari (Rabat: Matbu‘at Akadimiyya al-Mamlaka al-
Maghribiyya, 1999), 45.
16. Some noteworthy recordings include Ihsan Rmiki and Ensemble al-
Jiid, Al-Samd@a: audition spirituelle extatique (Institut du Monde Arabe, 2004);
Amina Alaoui and Ahmad Piro et son orchestre, Gharnati (Auvidis France,
1995); Cofradia al-Shushtari and Omar Metioui, Dhikr Y Samad‘: Canto reli-
gioso de la Cofradia Sufi-Andalusi al-Shushtari (Pneuma, 1999); Omar
Metioui and Cofradia al-Harragiyya, Misticismo: Musica sufi andalusi, cantos
misticos de la Cofradia Al-Harraqiyya (Pneuma, 2000); and Omar Metioui
and Mohamed Mehdi Temsamani, Ritual sufi-andalusi (Sony Spain, 1998).
17. The show al-Miasiqa wa-l-Samda‘ al-Sufi ‘abra al-‘dlam [Sufi music
and samd< around the world] is broadcast on Medi 1, which can be heard
throughout Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Mauritania, parts of Libya, and south-
ern Europe. Complete audio archives of the program are available on the
Internet at http://www.medil.com/musique/soufi.php. This particular quota-
tion comes from the show entitled “Poete Soufi: Abou H. Chouchtari.”
18. It should be noted that the errors in the 1960 Diwan came about dur-
ing the typesetting process and do not reflect Nashshar’s actual reading of the
manuscripts. Comparing the printed Diwan with Nashshar’s dissertation
(Cambridge, 1951)—which cannot be reproduced because there is no signed
permission to do so on file at Cambridge—one can find dozens of instances in
which the dissertation correctly reflects the manuscript sources, while the pub-
lished edition does not.

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 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

19. Corriente’s book is clearly aimed at non-Arab specialists in Arabic

linguistics rather than at a general Arab readership. Aside from the problems
inherent in fixing the stress pattern and vowelling of the poems, it should also
be noted that reading Arabic transliterated into another writing system pre-
sents a cognitive challenge that detracts from the pleasure of the text.
20. There is a break in the Escorial manuscript corresponding to over
fourteen poems. Comparing the order of poems in that manuscript with Yale,
Sprenger 1134, Yale Landberg, it is clear that all these copies come from a com-
mon source, but the Escorial manuscript shuffled sections (each run of poems
follows an identical order, however) and omitted one. Nothing about the omit-
ted section would lead one to believe that the omission was intentional.
21. The manuscripts used are listed in the bibliography.
22. Nashshar divides the collection into five sections, each of which he
numbers separately: (1) Monorhyme poetry (gasidas and mugatta‘at), desig-
nated in the notes by Q followed by Nashshar’s numbering; (2) strophic poetry
(muwashshahat and zajals) of reasonably certain attribution, designated in the
notes by an M and Nashshar’s number; (3) strophic poetry about which some
doubt has been raised by a scribe or copyist, designated by *M; (4) strophic
poems found in a series of Moroccan manuscripts that Nashshar calls the
Diwan Saghir or Minor Diwan, designated by DS; and (5) poetic fragments
from the Minor Diwan. None of these is included in the current volume.
23. However, modern American popular musical culture provides many
examples of songs in which a voice speaking an exaggerated standard diction
is juxtaposed with—and clearly mocked by—another voice speaking in the
slang of inner-city youth or rappers.
24. The standard work on the rise of the Sufi brotherhoods remains J.
Spencer Trimingham, The Sufi Orders in Islam, 2d ed. (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1998).
25. Abt al-Hasan al-Shushtari, A/-Risala al-Shushtariyya aw Al-Risdla
al-‘TIlmiyya, abridged by Ibn Luyiin (Casablanca: Dar al-Thaqafa, 2004), 139.
Curiously, at another point in the treatise, in what may well be an editorial note
by Ibn Luytn—for the use of the term fugard’ is otherwise absolutely
invariable—he says the fugara’ al-mutajarradiin are “now called galan-
dariyya’’ (138).
26. Asin Palacios’s efforts to tie the later development of Andalusian
Sufism with the “school of Ibn Masarra” (The Mystical Philosophy of Ibn
Masarra and His Followers, trans. by Elmer H. Douglas and Howard W.
Yoder. [Leiden: Brill, 1978]) have been discredited by later scholars. The dis-

190
 NOTES

covery of authentic works by Ibn Masarra further calls into question many of
Asin’s conclusions. See S. M. Stern, “Ibn Masarra, Follower of Pseudo-
Empedocles, an Illusion,”in Medieval Arabic and Hebrew Thought, ed. F. W.
Zimmermann (London: Variorum Reprints, 1983).
27. For a helpful approach to some of the questions surrounding the
early development of Sufism in al-Andalus, see Maria Isabel Fierro, “The
Polemic about the Karamat al-awliya’ and the Development of Sufism in al-
Andalus (4th—10th/Sth—11th centuries),” Bulletin of the School for Oriental
and African Studies 55 (1992).
28. See Ibn al-‘Arif, Mahdasin al-Majdlis, ed. and trans. Miguel Asin
Palacios (Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1933), 4. Only one work
of Ibn Barrajan survives: see Sarh asm@ allah Al-husna = Comentario sobre
los nombres mas bellos de Dios, ed. Purificacién de la Torre (Madrid: Consejo
Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas; Agencia Espafiola de Cooperacién
Internacional, 2000).
29. See J. Dreher, “L’imamat d’Ibn Qasi a Mértola (automne 1144-été
1145): Légitimité d’une domination soufie?” Mélanges (Institut Dominicain
d’Etudes Orientales du Caire) 18 (1988); D. R. Goodrich, “A Sufi Revolt in
Portugal: Ibn Qasi and His Kitab Khal’ al-na’layn’’
(PhD diss., Columbia Uni-
versity, 1978).
30. Ambrosio Huici Miranda, Historia politica del imperio almohade
(Tetuan: Editora Marroqui, 1956).
31. For example, in his preface to his edition of al-Risala al-TIlmiyya,
Muhammad al-‘Adlini al-Idrisi writes that Shushtari’s first trip to the
Maghreb was “definitely” to Meknes, as evidenced by the poem (p. 13).
Massignon, in “Investigaciones sobre Shushtari,” voices reservations about the
ascribing any historical significance to the rhyme in “Maknas.” (p. 33).
Massignon does infer biographical details from certain other poems, but his
inferences are usually supported by other historical sources.
32. Rachel Arié, Espafia musulmana (siglos VIII-XV) (Barcelona:
Labor, 1984), 35.
33. Ahmad ibn Ahmad al-Ghubrini, ‘Unwan al-dirdyah (Beirut: Lajnat
al-ta‘lif wa-l-tarjama wa-l-nashr, 1969), 239-42.
34. Al-Maqaari, Nafh al-Tib, 2:185.
35. As Gerhard Endress explains, the word fina is rich in religious and
philosophical associations. The word appears in the Qur’an as the matter that
God infuses with life, for example, “He [God] is the one who created you from
clay (tin) (6: 2). The term also appears in Ibn Tufayl’s Hayy ibn Yaqzan as the

191
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

primordial stuff from which the protagonist Hayy was spontaneously gener-
ated. “Tina,” Encyclopedia of Islam, CD-ROM edition (Leiden: Brill, 1999).
36. Aba ‘Uthman Ibn Luyiin al-Tujibi, a/-Risdla al-Shushtariyya, aw
al-Risdla al-‘Ilmiyya fi al-tasawwuf, ed. Muhammad al-‘Adlini al-Idrisi
(Casablanca: Dar al-Thaqafa, 2004). The biography supplied by Ibn Luyin in
introducing his abridgement of Shushtari’s treatise forms the basis for Lisan
al-Din Ibn al-Khatib’s account in al-Ihdata fi akhbar Gharnata, ed. Muhammad
‘Abd Allah ‘Inan (Cairo: Maktabat al-Khanji, 1973), 4: 205-16, and that of al-
Maqaari, Nafh al-Tib, 2:185-87.
37. On the importance of Almeria as a Sufi center dating back to the
time of Ibn Masarra, see Asin Palacios, ed. and trans., Mahdasin al-Majalis by
Ibn al-‘Arif (Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1933), 3.
38. Ibn Luyiin mentions that one of these followers of Suhrawardi was
the gadi Muhyi al-din Abi al-Qasim Muhammad Ibn Ibrahim Ibn Husayn Ibn
Saraqa al-Ansari al-Shatibi (that is, from Jativa), Al-Risdla al-TIlmiyya, 43.
39. Ibn Luyin, Al-Risdla al-TIlmiyya, 53.
40. Al-Ghubrini, ‘Unwan al-diraya, 239.
41. According to ‘Asqalani, after his break with Ibn Sab‘in the poet fol-
lowed a now-forgotten figure by the name of Abt Ishaq Ibrahim ibn ‘Abidis.
42. Ibn ‘Ajiba, “Sharh li-Niniyyya al-imam al-Shushtari.” In Silsilat
Nuardaniyya farida (n.p.: Maktabat al-Rashad, 1997), 9.
43. Further doubt on the question of a rift is cast by a manuscript con-
taining the writings of Shushtari’s student, Abi Yaqub Ibn Abi al-Hasan Ibn
Mubashshir. Yale Arabic Mss Supplement 104 contains Shushtari’s al-Risdla
al-Mi‘rdjiyya, as well as three treatises of Ibn al-Mubashshir that make fre-
quent reference to both Shushtari and his teacher. In a number of writings, that
refer to both Ibn Sab‘in and Shushtari using the honorifics reserved for the
dead, Ibn Mubashshir speaks of them with extreme reverence, quoting exten-
sively from both. The manuscript also contains two works by Ibn al-‘Arabi,
Risdla al-talawa and Kitab al-isra’.
44. Alexander D. Knysh, /bn ‘Arabi in the Later Islamic Tradition
(Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999), 2.
45. Shu‘ayb ibn al-Husayn al-Ansari Abt’ Madyan, The Way of Aba
Madyan: Doctrinal and Poetic Works of Abii Madyan Shu‘ayb, ed. and trans.
Vincent Cornell (Cambridge, UK: Islamic Texts Society, 1996), 4-5.
46. Passages found throughout seem to be paraphrases or direct quota-
tions from Sarraj’s tenth-century manual of Sufism. For example, Shushtari’s
glossary of mystical expressions (“fi al-alfaz al-da’ira baynahum,” chapter 10

192
 NOTES

of the Risdla al-‘Ilmiyya, 159-71) is an abridged version of Sarraj’s glossary

(“bab bayan hadhihi-l-alfaz,” 411-56)
47. The Kitab al-Isra@’ can be found in Rasa’ilIbn ‘Arabi, intro. Mahmiid
Mahmid al-Ghurab (Beirut: Dar Sadir, 1997), 173. Shushtari’s takhmis, not
included in this volume, can be found in the Diwdn, 244—46.
48. See Gerald T. Elmore, “Tbn al-’Arabi’s ‘cinquain’ (takhmis) on a
poem by Abu Madyan,” Arabica 46 (1998).
49. See Th. Emil Homerin, From Arab Poet to Muslim Saint: Ibn al-
Farid, His Verse, and His Shrine (Columbia: University of South Carolina,
1994); and ‘Umar ibn ‘Ali Ibn al-Farid, ‘Umar ibn al-Farid: Sufi Verse,
Saintly Life, trans. Th. Emil Homerin (New York: Paulist Press, 2000).
50. Like Ibn al-‘Arabi, who wrote a commentary on Ibn Qasi’s Khala‘
Na‘layn [The Shedding of the Sandals], Shushtari makes frequent allusions to
Ibn Qasi’s work, mentioning him by name in the Naniyya.
51. On Niffari, see The Mawagqif and Mukhdtabat of Muhammad Ibn
‘Abdi |-Jabbar al-Niffari, trans. A. J. Arberry (London: J. W. Gibb Memorial,
1935); and Michael Anthony Sells, Early Islamic Mysticism: Sufi, Qur’an,
Miraj, Poetic and Theological Writings (New York: Paulist Press, 1996),
281-301.
52. Ibn al-Khatib lists the following titles: al-Urwa al-wathqi fi bayan
al-sunan wa thsda’ al-‘ulim [The Firm Bond in the Clarification of the Sunna
and the Calculation of the [Religious] Sciences], al-Maqdlid al-wujidiyya fi
asrar isharat al-Siifiyya [The Keys of the Universe in the Secrets of Sufi
Symbolism], al-Risdla al-Qudsiyya fi tawhid al-camma wa-l-khdssa [The
Jerusalem Letter on Unity between the Masses and the Elites] and al-Maratib
al-imaniyya wa-l-islamiyya wa-l-ihsadniyya [Stages of Faith, Surrender, and
Praise] and al-Risdla al-Ilmiyya [The Treatise on Knowledge].
53. According to Sarraj’s Kitab al-Luma‘, the use of the term fuqara’ for
Sufis originated in Syria (al-Sham), 46. Abt ‘Uthman Ibn Luyin al-Tujibi,
al-Risala al-Shushtariyya, aw al-Risdla al-Ilmiyya fi al-tasawwuf, ed.
Muhammad al-‘Adlini al-Idrisi, al-Tab‘ah (Casablanca: Dar al-Thaqafa,
2004), 45.
54. See note 43.
55. Shushtari details eight levels or steps (mardatib) in that ascent: con-
templation (al-tadbir), command (al-amr), heavens (al-sama’), earth (al-ard),
ascent (al-‘urij), day (al-yawm), measure (al-miqdar), and millenium (al-alf
sana).

193
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

56. Muhammad ibn al-Hasan Zubaydi, Lahn al-‘awamm ([Cairo:

Maktabat Dar al-‘Uribah], 1964), 6-7, cited in and translated by Ch. Pellat,
“Lahn al-‘amma,” Encyclopedia of Islam. CD-ROM ed. (Leiden: Brill, 1999).
See also George Krotkoff, “The ‘Lahn al-‘Awwam’ of Abi Bakr al-Zubaydi,”
Bulletin of the College of Arts and Sciences [Baghdad] 2 (1957).
57. The recent bibliography on the muwashshahat is imposing. The fol-
lowing works are particularly important: Samuel Miklos Stern, Hispano-
Arabic Strophic Poetry: Studies, ed. L. P. Harvey (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1974). Although Garcia Gémez has been criticized for taking excessive liber-
ties in vocalizing and emending the texts in accordance with the stress-syllabic
scansion that he championed, his Las jarchas romances de la serie arabe en
su marco (Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1990) is still the standard work in the
field and the most complete Spanish translation of muwashshahat. Other note-
worthy works include Alan Jones, Romance Kharjas in Andalusian Arabic
Muwassah Poetry: A Palaeographical Analysis (London: Ithaca Press, 1988)
and his painstaking diplomatic editions of the two most important texts for the
study of Hispano-Arabic poetry, The ‘Uddat al-jalis of ‘Ali ibn Bishri: An
Anthology of Andalusian Arabic Muwashshahat (Cambridge: E.J.W. Gibb
Memorial, 1992) and The Jaysh al-tawshih of Lisan al-Din Ibn al-Khatib: An
Anthology of Andalusian Arabic Muwashshahdat, (Cambridge: E.J.W. Gibb
Memorial, 1997). See also Alvaro Galmés de Fuentes, Las jarchas mozdrabes
(Madrid: Critica, 1994), Otto Zwartjes, Love Songs from al-Andalus: History,
Structure and Meaning of the Kharja (Leiden: Brill, 1997), J. A. Abu-Haidar,
Hispano-Arabic Literature and the Early Provencal Lyrics (Richmond,
Surrey: Curzon, 2001).
58. MS. Berlin, no. 7681. An edition of his Diwan was published by
‘Afifah Mahmitd Dirani. (Beirut: Dar al-Thaqafa, 1964).
59. MS. British Library no. 605. The edition of the Diwan published in
1963 by Ihsan ‘Abbas is based on Cairo MS. Dar al-kutub no. 593 and British
Library Add. 6673.
60. Julian Ribera y Tarragé, Manuscritos drabes y aljamiados de la
Biblioteca de la Junta (Madrid: Centro de Estudios Hist6ricos, 1912). For the
muwashshahat written by or preserved by Moriscos, see LXIV, 5; C, 4. The
coplas in honor of Muhammad written in aljamia with the refrain in Arabic are
found on pages IX, 2; XIII, 25, 40, 41.
61. The section, entitled “May the word ‘ish be applied to love for God
and from God?” immediately follows the preface and enumeration of the chap-
ters in the book. See Abii ‘l-Hasan ‘Ali ibn Muhammad Daylami, A Treatise

194
 NOTES

on Mystical Love, trans. Joseph Norment Bell and Hassan Mahmood Abdul
Latif Al Shafie (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2005), 8-9. The
larger question of classifying and defining terminology for different kinds of
love is discussed at length in Joseph Norment Bell, Love Theory in Later
Hanbalite Islam (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1979), 148-81.
62. Ibn al-<Arabi, Diwan (Beirut: Dar al-Kutub al-‘Ilmiyya, 1996), 283,
translation mine.

PART TWO: Poems and Songs

Chapter 1: Intoxicated by the Divine

1. See Massignon, Essay on the Origins of the Technical Language of

Islamic Mysticism, trans. Benjamin Clark (Notre Dame, IN: University of
Notre Dame Press, 1997), 19.
2. Th. Emil Homerin, “Tangled Words,” in Reorientations/Arabic and
Persian Poetry, ed. Suzanne Pinckney Stetkevych (Bloomington: Indiana
University Press, 1994), 191.
3. For recent English translations of both of these poems, see Homerin,
‘Umar Ibn al-Farid, 73-291, and 45-51.
4. Kalabadhi, Doctrine of the Sufis, trans. A. J. Arberry (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1935), 95.

Chapter 2: Love-crazed

1. In the introduction to his edition and translation of Tarjumdn al-

Ashwagq (especially pp. 2-8), Nicholson examines the textual history of the
multiple recensions of this poetic collection, the addition of the poet’s com-
mentary, and the controversy surrounding the date these poems were com-
posed.
2. Ibn al-‘Arabi, Tarjumdn al-Ashwaq, 123-24. Similar examples can
be found in almost every poem in the collection.
3. Jaroslav Stetkevych, The Zephrys of Najd (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1993), 92.
4, Kalabadhi, Doctrine of the Sufis, 102.
5. Kalabadhi, Doctrine of the Sufis, 141.

195
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

Chapter 3: Denudatio/Stripping Bare

1. John Cassian, The Institutes, trans. Boniface Ramsey, Ancient

Christian Writers; no. 58 (New York: Newman Press, 2000), book VII,
chap. 24.
2. Shushtari, al-Risala al-Tlmiyya, 135.
3. Shushtari, al-Risdla al-TIlmiyya, 55.
4, Shushtari, al-Risdla al-‘TIlmiyya, 48; and Baghdad Treatise, pg. 147,
in the present volume.

Chapter 4: Among the Sufis

1. One songbook, Wetzstein 222, lists it as being sung to two different

nawbas or melodies. As is often the case with songbooks, only the most pop-
ular verses are recorded as a complete performance of the poem as recorded in
the Diwan would be quite lengthy.

Chapter 5: Deciphering the Signs of God

1. T. Fahd, “Ilm al-Hurif,” Encyclopedia of Islam, CD-ROM edition.

Chapter 6: Desert Wanderings

1. Muhyi’ddin Ibn al-‘Arabi, Tarjuman al-Ashwaq, trans. Reynold A.

Nicholson (London: Theosophical Publishing House, 1978), 59, 122, 43.
2. Stetkevych, The Zephyrs of Najd, 81.

Chapter 7: At the Monastery

1. Ghazi, Sayyid. Diwan al-muwashshahat al-andalusiyya. (Alexandria:

Munsha’at al-ma‘arif, 1979) 1: 303-4.
2. See John Walbridge, The Wisdom of the Mystic East: Suhrawardi
and Platonic Orientalism (Albany: SUNY Press, 2001); and Cornell, “The
Way of the Axial Intellect.”
3. An example of this can be seen in chapter 352 of Futuhat al-
Makkiyya, where he speaks of reflection, imagination, and habits as talismans
that must be overcome. He says, “This [talisman] is the most intractable rul-
ing power in the cosmos, for the person put under its charge loses abundant

196
 NOTES

knowledge of God. This talisman is reflection.” See Chittick, Sufi Path of

Knowledge (Albany: SUNY Press, 1989) 184-85; cf. Chittick’s The Self-
Disclosure of God (Albany: SUNY Press, 1998), 342.
4. ‘Abd al-Ghani al-Nabulusi, “Radd al-Muftari ‘an al-ta‘an fi al-Shush-
tari,” al-Mashriq 54 (1960). Portions of this essay are translated and discussed
in Dominique and Marie Thérése Urvoy, “Les thémes chrétiens chez Ibn
Sab’in et la question de la spécificité de sa pensée,” Studia Islamica 44 (1976).
The essay is also discussed in Omaima Abou-Bakr, “The Symbolic Function
of Metaphor in Medieval Sufi Poetry: The Case of Shushtari,” Alif 12 (1992).
5. Stetkevych, Zephyrs of Najd, 97.
6. Stetkevych, Zephyrs of Najd, 96-97. Although Stetkevych’s com-
ments are directed to Nabulusi’s commentary on Ibn al-Farid, the same holds
true for his commentary on Shushtari.
7. Nabulusi, “Radd al-Muftari,”’631.
8. Nabulusi, “Radd al-Muftari,” 632.

Chapter 8: Ode Rhyming in Nin

1. Ibn al-Khatib, /hdata, 4:211.

2. Quoted in Ibn ‘Ajiba, Sharh Nainiyya al-Imam al-Shushtari, 11.
3. Michael Sells, Early Islamic Mysticism: Sufi, Qur’an Miraj, Poetic
and Theological Writings (New York: Paulist Press, 1996), 151.
4. Ibn ‘Ajiba, Sharh Naniyya al-Imam al-Shushtari, 11.

PART THREE: Prose

Baghdad Treatise [on Sufi customs]

1. Escorial Ms. Arab 763, ff. 75r—-79v. The Arabic text was edited with
a brief French introduction by Marie-Thérése Urvoy, “La Risala Bagdadiya de
SuStari,” Bulletin d’études Orientales 28 (1976). The manuscript is generally
clear, although the hand is rushed. I was able to resolve many of the difficul-
ties she had in transcribing the manuscript by referring to the hadith cited by
Shushtari. The translation given here reflects my corrections to her transcrip-
tion of the manuscript.
2. Ibn al-Jawzi, Devil’s Delusion, trans. Margoliuth, /slamic Culture
EL (1937), 239:
3. This hadith is cited in Al-Sarraj, Abti Nasr, Kitab al-Luma‘ fi al-

LOR
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

tasawwuf. Edited by ‘Abd al-Halim Mahmid. Port Said (Egypt): Maktabat al-
Thaqawfa al-Diniyya, 2002). 166.
4. This hadith has been taken by Shiites to define the members of the
Ahl al-bayt.
5. Arent J. Wensinck, Concordance et indices de la tradition musul-
mane (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 2:290.
6. The reference is to Ibn al-Jawzi, author of Sifat al- Safwd.
7. A long outer garment.
8. My reading of the manuscript is al-harir (silk), while Urvoy reads
al-hadir which she ammends to read al-jadid (new). Although Shushtari is
defending the use of patches and worn clothing (among other things), I see no
basis on which he would claim that new clothing is not permissible. Further-
more, well-defined traditions forbid the wearing of silk by men.
9. Cf. Kitab al-Luma,, 185.
10. The Qur’an frequently mentions the countenance of God (wajh
Allah) as the goal of the believer. A similar linkage between the signs of God
on earth and coming before God is found in 30:37-38, “There truly are signs
in this for those who believe. So give their due to the near relative, the needy,
the wayfarer—that is best for those whose goal is God’s countenance.”
11. A saying commonly attributed to the Prophet by the Sufis.
12. For a discussion of God’s two hands, see Michael Sells, The
Mystical Languages of Unsaying (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1994),
84-87.
13. Besides meaning simply listening or hearing, samd‘ is also the term
used by Sufis to describe the act of listening to religious poetry or music as
part of a mystical gathering.
14. A group of Muhammad’s Companions who typify the idea of
poverty and piety.
15. That is, that he slept on a rough mat without pillows or cushions.
16. See Wensinck, Concordance, 2:105.
17. Here, Shushtari limits the potential meanings of zafna, which can
also be understood as “to play” or “sport.”
18. The conclusion of the stira would, of course, be known to the reader:
“*...seeking His approval, and do not let your eyes turn away from them out of
desire for the attractions of this worldly life.”
19. This is one of the places where my reading of the manuscript differs
from that of Urvoy.

198
 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Manuscripts of Shushtari’s Work

Diwan (in chronological order)

Escorial 278 [956 AH=1549 CE]. This manuscript is missing fourteen

poems found in most copies of the Eastern recension of Shushtari’s
diwan.
Beinecke Library, Yale University. Arabic MS 21 [1000 AH-1591
CE]. An excellent early manuscript; vowelling is somewhat less
dialectal than in Escorial 278.
British Library 9255 [late tenth century AH? =sixteenth century CE].
British Library 26127 [eleventh century AH=sixteenth-seventeenth
centuries CE]. Poor hand, many mistakes, missing many poems.
Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin. Sprenger 1134 [1012 AH=1603 CE].

Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin. Wetzstein 195 [twelfth century AH?].

Beautifully presented.
Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin. Wetzstein 222 [1111 AH=1699 CE].

Beinecke Library, Yale University. Landberg 484 [1129 AH=1717 CE].

Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin. Wetzstein 209 [1256 AH-1840 CE]. Organized
for singing.
Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin. Sprenger 1126. Many errors; hand is poor.

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 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

Prose Works

al-Risdla al-Baghdddiyya. Escorial 763.

al-Risdla al-Mitrdjiyya. Beinecke Library, Yale University. Arabic MS
Supp. 104.
al-Magdlid al-wujudiyya fi asrar a-sifiyya (Cairo Taymir MS 149 ff.,
413-43). This manuscript, written in a Maghrebi script by a num-
ber of different copyists, is largely devoted to the writings of Ibn
Sab‘in.
al-Risdla al-qudsiyya fi tawhid al-camma wa-l-khassa (Cairo Taymur
MS 149 ff.; Istanbul, Sehit Ali 1389/6).

Other Manuscripts

Zarrug, Ahmad ibn Ahmad. Sharh Zarriiq al-Fasi li-Niniyya al-

Shushtari. Escorial 40186.
——.Tarjama al-Shaykh Abi al-Hasan al-Shushtari naqlan ‘an
mukhtasar al-nasiha al-kafiyya. Alexandria, MS 3024.

Published Works

Primary Sources

Abi Madyan, Shu‘ayb ibn al-Husayn al-Ansari. The Way of Abii

Madyan: Doctrinal and Poetic Works of Abi Madyan Shu‘ayb.
Edited and translated by Vincent Cornell. Cambridge [England]:
Islamic Texts Society, 1996.
Abit Niwas. Diwan. Beirut: Dar Sadir, 1996.
Avempace [Ibn Bajja, Abi Bakr Muhammad], Kitab tadbir al-
mutawahhid. |Beirut]: Dar al-Fikr al-Islami, 1978. Translated by
Joaquin Lomba Fuentes as El régimen del solitario. Madrid:
Editorial Trotta, 1997.
Balyani, Awhad al-Din. Kitab al-Wahda al-Mutlaga [Epistre sur
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Stern, Samuel Miklos. Hispano-Arabic Strophic Poetry: Studies. Edited
by L. P. Harvey. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1974.
. “Ibn Masarra, Follower of Pseudo-Empedocles, an Illusion.”
In Medieval Arabic and Hebrew Thought, ed. F. W. Zimmermann.
London: Variorum Reprints, 1983.
Stetkevych, Jaroslav. Muhammad and the Golden Bough: Reconstruct-
ing Arabian Myth. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996.
. The Zephyrs of Najd: The Poetics of Nostalgia in the Classical
Arabic Nasib. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993.
al-Taftazani, Abt al-Wafa al-Ghunaymi. /bn Sab‘in wa falsafatuhu al-
Sift. Beirut: Dar al-Kitab al-Lubnani, 1973.
. ‘Al-Madrasa al-Shtdhiyya fi al-tasawwuf al-andalusi.” Revista
del Instituto Egipcio de Estudios Islamicos 23 (1985): 173-81.
Trimingham, J. Spencer. The Sufi Orders in Islam, 2d ed. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1998.
Urvoy, Dominique, and Marie Thérése Urvoy. “Les themes chrétiens
chez Ibn Sab‘in et la question de la spécificité de sa pensée.”
Studia Islamica 44 (1976): 99-121.
Walbridge, John. The Wisdom of the Mystic East: Suhrawardi and
Platonic Orientalism. Albany: State University of New York Press,
2001.
Wensinck, Arent Jan. Concordance et indices de la tradition musul-
mane. 2d ed. Leiden: Brill, 1992.
Wheeler, Brannon. “Moses or Alexander? Early Islamic Exegesis of
Qur’an 18:60-65.” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 57, no. 3
(1998): 191-215.
Wilson, Peter Lamborn. “In the Mirror of a Man: Eros and Literary
Style in Ibn ‘Arabi’s Tarjuman al-Ashwagq.” Studies in Mystical
Literature 2 (1982): 1-25.
Wormhoudt, Arthur, ed. and trans. Selections from Diwan of Abu al
Hasan ‘Ali ibn ‘Abdallah Al-Shushtari. [Oskaloosa, IA]: William
Penn College, 1992.
Yaqut ibn ‘Abd Allah, al-Hamawi. Mu‘jam al-buldan. 5 vols. Beirut:
Dar Sadir, 1955.

aT
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

Zayn, Samih. [bn Sab‘in: al-turug al-Sifiyah: dirdsa wa-tahilil. Beirut:

al-Sharikah al-‘Alamiyyah lil-Kitab, 1988.
Zwartjes, Otto. Love Songs from al-Andalus: History, Structure, and
Meaning of the Kharja. Leiden: Brill, 1997.

212
 INDEX

Abit Hafs, 17 Dhu ‘l-Nin, 156

Abt Madyan, 15, 19, 20, 21, 127 Differences between the Sects,
Abi Nuwas, 21, 35, 38, 112, 151 The (Baghdadi), 116
Almeria school of Sufism, 184 Dimashqi, Najm ibn Isra’il al-,
Almohads, 14-15, 16 17-18
Almoravids, 14, 21, 180, 184 Diwan (Shushtari), 7, 8; texts;
Amulets, 115 150-55
Arberry, A. J., 177, 178, 185 Dozy, R. P. A., 167
Aristotle, 133 Durubi, ‘Abd al-Wakil al-, 162
Asceticism, 63-72, 115, 139;
see also Poverty Farq bayna al-firaq, Al-
(Baghdadi), 116
Baghdad Treatise (Shushtari), Fugard’ al-mutajarradin,
11, 12-13, 23, 139-40, 152, 13522
166; text, 141-48
Baghdadi, ‘Abd al-Kathir al-, 116 Ghafiqi, al-, 135, 185
Ghazali, Abt al-Hamid al-, 14,
Cassian, John, 63 15, 20, 134, 180, 184-85
Chelkowski, Peter J., 3 Ghubrini, Ahmad al-, 5, 176
Corriente, Federico, 7-8, 149 Gnosticism, 115
Grammatical Errors of the
Dar al-Tirdz, 25 Commoners (Zubaydi), 24
Daylami, Abi al-Hasan al-, 28
Desert poems, 12, 103-5, 111; Hafiz, 6
commentaries, 174-79; Haleem, Abdel, 169, 171, 180
texts, 105-10 Hallaj, al-Husayn ibn Mansur al-,
Devil’s Delusion, The 21, 35, 133; image of the
(Ibn al-Jawzi), 139 moth, 159-60; Shustari and,
Dhikr, 37, 150, 170 183
Dhi al-Qarnayn, 133, 183 Harrali, Abt al-Hasan al-, 185

213
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

Hermes, Trismegistus, 115, 132, Ibn Sab‘in, 15, 178, 184; radical
182-83 monism, 5; Shushtari and,
Hermeticism, 51, 115 18) 1942053 Tal 263176
Homerin, Th. Emil, 35 Tbn Sana’ al-Mulk, 25
Ibn Sina, 56, 184
Ibn ‘Abbad (of Ronda), 5 Ibn Taymiyya, 5, 18-19
Ibn ‘Ajiba, 19, 127, 169, 182, Ibn Tufayl, 134, 185
184, 185 Ibn Tamart, 15
Ibn al-‘Arabi, Abii Bakr, 180 Ibn Zaydin, 21-22
Ibn al-‘Arabi, Muhyi al-Din, 4, Thya ‘Ulam al-Din (Ghazali), 14,
15519221. 23 slAd bao, 185
176417751637, e 5 ncdesert Interpreter of Desires (Ibn al-
odes, 103, 104; “elixir,” 116; ‘Arabi)e4, 21,54, 32,9155)
Interpreter of Desires, VI6QNTT
30-31, 51, 52; and Shustari, Islamic mysticism, 13—15; see
20; 21: talisman, blo= 172; also specific headings, e.g.:
181 Sufism
Ibn al-‘Arif, 14
Ibn al-Farid, ‘Umar, 20, 31, 134, Junayd, al-, 53, 183
150, 177, 178, 185; desert
odes, 103, 104; figure of Kalabadhi, al-, 12, 37, 53, 149
Layla, 52; Shustari and, 21; Khali: al-Na‘layn (Ibn Qasi), 180
wine odes, 35-36, 151 Khaligh, Ahmad al-, 6
Ibn al-Harrali, 135 Kharjas, 25
Ibn al-Jawzi, 139 Khidr, al-, 175
Ibn al-Khatib, Lisan al Din, 5, Kitab ‘atf al-alif (Daylami), 28
1991260 1602172, 1164182 Kitab al-Isrd (Ibn al-‘Arabi), 21,
Ibn al-Zaqqaq, 24 23
Ibn Barrajan, 14 Kitab al-Luma‘ (Sarraj), 20
Ibn Bassam, 24 Knysh, Alexander, 19
Ibn Hajar al-‘Asqalani, 19 Kunnash al-Ha’ik (Shushtari), 6
Ibn Jinni, 133, 184
Ibn Khaldin, 5 Lahn al-‘Awwam (Zubaydi),
Ibn Luyiin, 17, 22 23-24
Ibn Masarra, 184 Llull, Ramon, 5
Ibn Musafir, ‘Adi, 185 Love poems, 11-12, 36, 51-53;
Ibn Qasi, 14, 21, 134, 180, 184 commentaries, 156—59;
Ibn Quzmanyi22; 2:7, 28/38)151 texts, 54-62

214
 INDEX

Maqagari, al-, 5, 17 Rabi‘a al-‘Adawiyya, 127

Markazs, 25 Renunciation. See Asceticism.
Massignon, Louis, 8, 12, 160, Revival of Religious Sciences
183 (Ghazali), 14, 185
Monastery poems, 12, 111-19; Risdla (Qushayri), 149
commentaries, 179-81; Risala al-Baghddadiyya
texts, 119-25 (Shushtari). See Baghdad
Mozaarabic rite, 14 Treatise (Shushtari)
Mubashshir, Ahmad Ya‘qib Ibn Risdla al-‘Ilmiyya (Shushtari),
al-, 23 P720822,°28
Muwashshahdt, 4, 5, 21, 24-26, Risdla al-mi‘rdjiyya, al-
30502 (Shushtari), 23
Rumi, 6
Nabulusi, ‘Abd al-Ghani al-,
Sarraj, Aba Nasr al-, 20, 149,
117-19, 162
158
Nashshar, ‘Ali Sami al-, 7, 8,
Sells, Michael, 177
160, 162, 167, 169, 170
Shadhili, Abi al-Hasan al-, 15,
Niffari, Muhammad ibn ‘Abd al-
162
Jabbar, al-, 21, 52, 133,
Shadhiliyya, 5
183-84 Shedding of the Sandals, The
Nizami, Ganjavi, 3-4, 6, 27, 52 (Ibn Qasi), 21
Naniyya (Shushtari), 12, 19, 20, Shibli, Abi Bakr al-, 133, 183
126—28, 162, 170; text, Shishtariyya, 5
129-35 Shu‘ayb, Abt Madyan al-, 134,
Nwyia, Paul, 185 185
Shidhi, Abi ‘Abd Allah al-, 133,
Poesia estrofica: céjeles y/o 184
muwasSahat (Shushtari), 7 Shushtari, Abi al-Hasan, al-, 46;
Poetry. See specific headings, biographies, 15—22; desert
e.g.: Monastery poems; poems, 12, 103-10, 111,
Wine poems 174-79; love poems, 11-12,
Poverty, 4, 12-13, 18, 22, 23, 51-62, 156-59; monastery
63-64, 67-68, 69-70, poems, 12, 111-25,
160-61, 162 179-81; poetry, 7-13, 23,
25, 27-31; premonition of
Qadib al-Ban, 184 death, 17; prose writings,
Qushayri, 12, 149 22-23; wine poems, 11,

215
 ABU AL-HASAN AL-SHUSHTARI

35-50, 150-55; see also Translator of Desires (Ibn al-

specific headings, e.g.; ‘Arabi). See Interpreter of
Naniyya (Shushtari) Desires (Ibn al-‘Arabi)
Siddiq, ‘Abd al-Aziz Ibn al-, 37 Treatise on Ascension
Stetkevych, Jaroslav, 51, 104, (Shushtari), 23
7 Treatise on Mystical Love
Sufi poetry, 73-82, 163-67; (Daylami), 28
language, 4, 5, 6-7, 23-24 Tusi, Abt al-Hamid al-Ghazali.
Sufism, 4, 13-15, 20; dress, 23, See Ghazali, Abi al-Hamid
139, 141-43, 166; fugara, al-
22; suppression of, 14 Tutili, Abt: al-‘Abbas al-A‘ma
Suhrawardi, Shihab al-Din al-, al-, 24, 112
20, 134, 140
Umawi, al-, 135, 185
Tajnis, 149
Tajrid, 63 Wine Ode (Ibn al-Farid), 35-36
Takhmis, 21 Wine poems, 21, 35-40;
Talbis Iblis (Ibn al-Jawzi), 139 commentaries, 150-55;
Talismans, 115-16, 172-73, 181 texts, 40-50
Tarjuman al- Ashwdq (Ibn al-
Arabi). See Interpreter of Zajals, 4, 5, 22, 24, 25-26, 27,
Desires (Ibn al-‘Arabi) 28, 36
Tashfin, ‘Ali ibn Yisuf ibn, 14 Zarrug, Ahmad, 19, 173, 184,
Tawhid, 22, 127, 146 185
Tilimsani, Afif al-Din al-, 184 Zubaydi, al-, 24, 25

216
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Abraham Isaac Kook * THE LIGHTS OF PENITENCE, LIGHTS OF
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Catherine of Genoa * PURGATION AND PURGATORY, THE SPIRITUAL
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Classic Midrash, The ® TANNAITIC COMMENTARIES ON THE BIBLE
Cloud of Unknowing, The ¢
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Dominican Penitent Women °
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Farid ad-Din ‘Attar’s Memorial of God’s Friends ® LIVES AND
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Francis and Clare * THE COMPLETE WORKS
Francis de Sales, Jane de Chantal * LETTERS OF SPIRITUAL DIRECTION
Francisco de Osuna * THE THIRD SPIRITUAL ALPHABET
George Herbert * THE COUNTRY PARSON, THE TEMPLE
Gertrude of Helfta © THE HERALD OF DIVINE LOVE
Gregory of Nyssa ® THE LIFE OF MOSES
Gregory Palamas * THE TRIADS
Hadewijch * THE COMPLETE WORKS
Henry Suso * THE EXEMPLAR, WITH TWO GERMAN SERMONS
Hildegard of Bingen ® SCIVIAS
Ibn ‘Abbad of Ronda ® LETTERS ON THE SUFI PATH
Ibn Al’-Arabi * THE BEZELS OF WISDOM
Ibn ‘Ata’ Illah © THE BOOK OF WISDOM AND KWAJA ABDULLAH ANSARI:
INTIMATE CONVERSATIONS
Ignatius of Loyola * SPIRITUAL EXERCISES AND SELECTED WORKS
Isaiah Horowitz * THE GENERATIONS OF ADAM
Jacob Boehme * THE WAY TO CHRIST
Jacopone da Todi * THE LAUDS
Jean Gerson * EARLY WORKS
Jeremy Taylor * SELECTED WORKS
Jewish Mystical Autobiographies * BOOK OF VISIONS AND BOOK OF
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Johann Arndt * TRUE CHRISTIANITY
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John Calvin * WRITINGS ON PASTORAL PIETY
John Cassian * CONFERENCES
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John Climacus * THE LADDER OF DIVINE ASCENT
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John Henry Newman * sELECTED SERMONS
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Julian of Norwich * sHOwINGS
Knowledge of God in Classical Sufism * FOUNDATIONS OF ISLAMIC
MYSTICAL THEOLOGY
Late Medieval Mysticism of the Low Countries ¢
Luis de Le6n * THE NAMES OF CHRIST
Luther’s Spirituality ¢
Margaret Ebner * MAJOR WORKS
Marguerite Porete * THE MIRROR OF SIMPLE SOULS
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Meister Eckhart * THE ESSENTIAL SERMONS, COMMENTARIES, TREATISES
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Meister Eckhart * TEACHER AND PREACHER
Menahem Nahum of Chernobyl * UPRIGHT PRACTICES, THE LIGHT OF
THE EYES
Nahman of Bratslav * THE TALES
Native Mesoamerican Spirituality * ANCIENT MYTHS, DISCOURSES,
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Native North American Spirituality of the Eastern Woodlands *
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Nicholas of Cusa * SELECTED SPIRITUAL WRITINGS
Nicodemos of the Holy Mountain * A HANDBOOK OF SPIRITUAL
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Nil Sorsky * THE COMPLETE WRITINGS
Nizam ad-din Awliya * MORALS FOR THE HEART
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Pseudo-Dionysius * THE COMPLETE WORKS

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Safed Spirituality * RULES OF MYSTICAL PIETY, THE BEGINNING OF
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Shakers, The * TWO CENTURIES OF SPIRITUAL REFLECTION
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Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz * SELECTED WRITINGS
Spirituality of the German Awakening, The *
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Talmud, The * SELECTED WRITINGS
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‘Umar Ibn al-Farid * SUFI VERSE, SAINTLY LIFE
Valentin Weigel * SELECTED SPIRITUAL WRITINGS
Vincent de Paul and Louise de Marillac * RULES, CONFERENCES, AND
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William Law ® A SERIOUS CALL TO A DEVOUT AND HOLY LIFE, THE
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Zohar * THE BOOK OF ENLIGHTENMENT

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