AMERICAN UNIVERSITY OF BEIRUT

TRANSLATING TO INSPIRE: A CASE STUDY OF THREE ENGLISH

TRANSLATIONS OF LABĪD’S MU‘ALLAQA

by
ALFRED JEOFFREY NADDAFF

A thesis
submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of Master of Arts
to the Department of Arabic and Near Eastern Languages
of the Faculty of Arts and Sciences
at the American University of Beirut

Beirut, Lebanon
August 2022
 AMERICAN UNIVERSITY OF BEIRUT

TRANSLATING TO INSPIRE: A CASE STUDY OF THREE ENGLISH

TRANSLATIONS OF LABĪD’S MU‘ALLAQA

by
ALFRED JEOFFREY NADDAFF

Approved by:

______________________________________________________________________
Dr. Bilal Orfali, Professor (on tenure appointment) Advisor
Department of Arabic and Near Eastern Languages
Sheikh Zayed Chair for Arabic and Islamic Studies

Dr. Maha AbdelMegeed, Assistant Professor Member of Committee

Department of Arabic and Near Eastern Languages

_______________________________________________
Dr. Huda Fakhreddine, Associate Professor Member of Committee
Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations
University of Pennsylvania

Date of thesis defense: August 29, 2022

 AMERICAN UNIVERSITY OF BEIRUT

THESIS RELEASE FORM

Student Name: Naddaff Alfred Jeoffrey

_____________________________________________________________
Last First Middle

I authorize the American University of Beirut, to: (a) reproduce hard or electronic copies of
my thesis; (b) include such copies in the archives and digital repositories of the University;
and (c) make freely available such copies to third parties for research or educational
purposes:

As of the date of submission

One year from the date of submission of my thesis.

Two years from the date of submission of my thesis.

Three years from the date of submission of my thesis.

September 14, 2022

__________________________________________________

Signature Date
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to express my sincere thanks to my thesis advisor Dr. Bilal Orfali for taking a
risk with me two years ago and for his unceasing belief, support, and guidance. Thank you
to my brilliant readers, Drs. Huda Fakhreddine and Dr. Maha Abdelmegeed who I selected
wisely and after much consideration. Talking to them is always a breath of fresh air and
they leave me continuously inspired to continue original research on the path less traveled.
For her expert editing, Fatme Chehouri deserves special thanks. For her patience and time
devoted to improving my readings and pronunciation of several pre-Islamic Arabic odes,
I’d like to thank Sarah Tello. Thanks to Dr. Rashid El Daif. Thank you, Rebecca Hayat
Wakim. Thank you to my sister, mother, father, and grandparents Nicholas and Nicole. As
the first in my family to live in Lebanon and re-learn Arabic since three generations, my
interest in roots is natural—as well as the roots of the Arabic language and literature. This
is the stage that sets my study on the English translation of Labīd’s Muʿallaqa, a foundation
of Arab cultural memory, a jewel of literature that deserve a place in the highly elite
company of these perennial world masterpieces. I can only hope that through this study I
have done this literature justice.

1
 ABSTRACT

OF THE THESIS OF

Alfred Jeoffrey Naddaff for Master of Arts

Major: Arabic Literature and Near Eastern Studies

Title: Translating to Inspire: A Case Study of Three English Translations of Labīd’s

Mu‘allaqa

The Mu‘allaqa of the poet Labīd is one of the most analyzed poems of the massive pre-
modern Arabic corpus in modern times. It comes as no surprise that the poem is also one of
the most translated into foreign languages, with its first translation into English tracing
back to 1742. Scholars over the centuries, inspired by early Victorian and post-Victorian
generations, experimented in their translations with metrical and often rhymed renderings.
But above all, a scholarly translation ethos dominated the translation methodology, usage,
and goals. This study presents a textual analysis of three English translations of the past 50
years that aimed at rendering the poetry to a general readership rather than aiming solely at
a narrow, scholarly audience. It examines the use of four rhetorical devices—assonance,
alliteration, rhyme, and repetition—in each translation while also reflecting on diction,
syntax, and fidelity to the source text. It concludes with a brief discussion on the
differences, whether the respective translators under study were loyal to their projects and
who most succeeded in rendering the verses into inspiring English poetry.

2
 TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ................................................................................................... 1

ABSTRACT ........................................................................................................................... 2

INTRODUCTION ................................................................................................................. 4

A. The Text: Translations and Analysis: ........................................................................... 8

HISTORY OF A TRADITION IN ANGLOPHONE SPACES .......................................... 12

A SPIRIT OF TRANSLATION CRITICISMS ................................................................... 27

A TEXTUAL APPROACH TO THREE LABĪD TRANSLATIONS ................................ 34

A. Introducing the Poet: ................................................................................................ 34

1. Comparative Translation and Textual Analysis: ...................................................... 37

2. Statistical Table: ..................................................................................................... 185

CONCLUSION .................................................................................................................. 187

BIBLIOGRAPHY .............................................................................................................. 200

3
 CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION

Translations done well can give us a unique window of access into the world’s

cultures, past and present.1 But can they also inspire? Arabic texts have long been a source

of translation, both from and into other languages. It was not until the late 18th century,

however, that the translation of Arabic texts into European languages emerged. This

coincided with the rise of a globalized capitalist economic system, and the arrival of

European colonial powers to the Arab world’s shores. Among the early works of Arabic

poetry translated into English were the Muʿallaqāt (odes), a collection of what many

consider the apotheosis of not just pre-Islamic poetry but Arabic poetry in general. The late

scholar Jaroslav Stetkevych called the Muʿallaqāt, alongside the Qur’ān, as “one of the

twin foundations of Arab-Islamic literary culture.”2 Indeed, pre-Islamic poetry, which

embodied the classical qaṣīda pattern, formed the basis for subsequent Arabic poetry and

became an essential referent for Arabic grammar, and Qurʾānic exegesis. Analyzed

collectively, the structure, motifs, and images served as a literary model for Umayyad,

Abbasid, Fatimid, Andalusian, and Mamluk poets, and went as far as influencing Persian,

Turkish, and Urdu poetry.3 What we now think of as the Muʿallaqāt are works by seven

1
David Damrosch, What Is World Literature? | Princeton University Press (Princeton University Press,
2003), 34.
2
Jaroslav Stetkevych, The Zephyrs of Najd: The Poetics of Nostalgia in The Classical Arabic Nasib
(University of Chicago Press, 1993).
3
Robert Irwin, Night and Horses and the Desert: An Anthology of Classical Arabic Literature (New York:
Anchor books, 2001); Raymond Farrin, Abundance from the Desert: Classical Arabic Poetry (Syracuse
University Press, 2011). In this book, Farrin explains the impact of the qaṣīda on Hebrew and Persian poetry
and affirms the organic unity of the poems, a key point underlined in the book. Debate concerning the unity of
the qaṣīda has split contemporary scholars into several camps. On the one extreme, Geert Jan van Elder has
argued that the poems are not concerned with structural cohesion. On the other, Michael Sells, Renate Jacobi,
Suzanne Stetkevych, Raymond Farrin and others have demonstrated that the poems are characterized by a
high degree of structural and thematic unity.

4
poets: Imru’ al-Qays, Labīd, T̩ arafa, Zuhayr bin Abī Sulmā, ‘Antara ibn Shaddād,

ʿAmr ibn Kulthūm, and Al-Ḥārith ibn Ḥilliza. Three more pre-Islamic poets are

sometimes grouped with these other seven. They are: al-Nābighah al-Dhubyānī, al-

Aʿshā, and ‘Abīd ibn al-Abraṣ. Containing the beginnings of Arabic poetic memory, the

importance of this poetry in the study of pre-modern Arabic literature and Arabic literature

in translation cannot be underestimated.

A critical moment in the history of Arabic translation into Anglophone spheres can

be traced back to St. Anthony’s College at Oxford University in the 1960s. At the time

Jaroslav Stetkevych delivered a talk to a group of Orientalists later published in the Journal

of Near Eastern Studies calling in to question what scholars of Arabic literature had been

doing. In unabashed terms, Stetkevych laid out an indictment of his field, proclaiming, “We

orientalists are used to behaving like an exotic, esoteric clan,” and “we think the outside

world does not and is not qualified to understand us.”4 Stetkevych went on to state that

there was once a purpose for the foreignizing impulse that had come to characterize English

translations of pre-modern Arabic texts, but Arabists (and he does not exempt himself, for

the blame is self-referential) had now surpassed the innocence of the Romantic tradition.

Rather, Orientalists should ask themselves:

Do we still believe that by conveying our experience with Arabic literature to our
own readers we shall be making a contribution to the creative literary processes that
are going on in our native literatures? Can we in any way stimulate a nascent poet in
the English language, for example, to find some creative affinity with Imru’ al-Qays
or al-Mutanabbī? And if we feel that this is possible, what approach shall we adopt?
Will translations, simply more translations, be enough? 5

4
Jaroslav Stetkevych, “Arabism and Arabic Literature. Self-View of a Profession,” Journal of Near Eastern
Studies 28, no. 3 (July 1, 1969): 13. Emphasis my own.
5
Stetkevych, 146.

5
 The choice to begin with these questions is a conscious one. It points to a critical

intervention in the practice of Arabic translation into English, a call to change the status quo

of dominant scholarship of the time. In fact, if I were to summarize the main preoccupation

of this study it would be the search for English translations of the Muʿallaqāt that carry

creative potential for a wide influence with a particular focus on translation approaches and

decisions. In other words, J. Stetkevych’s intervention is an illuminating point in my search.

In my case study, I select three translations that appear to take his claims seriously.

Thus, to situate the translations of the Muʿallaqāt in its present locus, in chapter one,

I provide an overview of translations of the Muʿallaqāt looking specifically at various

moments of translation and studying their context: Why and where was the poem(s)

translated? How do translators of these classical Arabic odes differ in translation and why

did they differ? What are the causes and/or what gives rise to different translations and

interpretations? While chronological order, especially when it comes to literary history, can

sometimes be counterproductive,6 in this study a linear chronology is the most helpful given

the discursive nature upon which translations improved upon one another, even including, or

acknowledging prior translations.7 Furthermore, many of the Muʿallaqāt were translated

together, or with several in a collection, rarely in isolation. Therefore, in this overview, I

look at attempts to translate the Muʿallaqāt spanning over two centuries. What I find is that

6
Fakhreddine, Metapoesis in the Arabic Tradition, From Modernists to Muḥdathūn, 36:2–3.
7
Raymond Farrin regularly includes in his footnotes other translations such as Arberry and Lyall but also the
more recent translations by S. Stetkevych found in her book The Mute Immortals Speak: Pre-Islamic Poetry
and the Poetics of Ritual. See: Farrin, Abundance from the Desert: Classical Arabic Poetry. In addition,
Pierre Larcher provides a similar sort of chronological mapping in an article in the French, titled: Pierre
Larcher, “TRADUIRE LES MU’ALLAQĀT: HISTOIRE D’UNE TRADITION,” Quaderni Di Studi Arabi
5/6 (2010): 49–74.

6
most translations discussed in chapter one aim to be purely scholarly and targeted for a

narrow scholarly audience.

In chapter two, I place two contemporary translation theorists—Antoine Berman and

Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak—in conversation with Jaroslav Stetkevych’s guiding queries.

Although different, it is evident that Stetkevych’s call for the translator of pre-modern

Arabic texts to translate creatively intersects with Spivak’s tangible advice for translators

to be intimate with language. In addition, the spirit of Berman’s critique also emphasizes

carrying the literariness of the text in his coining of the “ethical” and “poeticality” criteria of

a text for the critic judging the translation. It would be impossible to discuss the entirety of

the gargantuan body of translation theory that has emerged in recent decades, and which

coincides with J. Stetkevych’s criticisms, but I selected these two scholars precisely because

of their powerful convergence on the role of the translator in ensuring the text maintains the

literary, aesthetic and sensibilities of the source text. Alongside J. Stetkevych’s initial

intervention, I find these theorists’ spirit on translation criticism useful and illuminating.

Although in this study, I aim to provide some initial empirical findings and a systematic

treatment without focusing largely on extra-literary categories such as the politics and

patronage of production, materiality of the translations or paratexts, or the judgement of

each translation, I ultimately use this theory to make a judgement on inspiration. This is

the analytical spirit marking my approach. Moreover, this study can be considered a sole

contribution in that it is the first that analyzes these three contemporary translations of

Labīd’s Muʿallaqa, and the first textual study, to my knowledge, of a part of the recent The

Muʿallaqāt for Millennials project.

7
A. The Text: Translations and Analysis:

By employing a textual approach, in chapter three, I meticulously analyze three

translations of Labīd’s Mu‘allaqa (d, between 40-42/660-662); the first is by Michael Sells

rendered in a book titled Desert Tracings (1989, Wesleyan University Press); the second is

a translation in a travelogue style book produced by William Polk titled The Golden Ode

(1977, The American University in Cairo Press); the third is Suzanne Stetkevych’s

translation in the recent The Muʿallaqāt for Millennials: Pre-Islamic Arabic Golden Odes

(2020) project sponsored by the Saudi King Abdulaziz Center for World Culture (Ithra), the

most current and comprehensive English language translation project to date on the

Muʿallaqāt, which includes all ten.

In the following analysis, I include individual lines of the Arabic version of the

qaṣīda using the Iḥsān ‘Abbās edition8 followed by a treatment of each line. To demonstrate

my command of Arabic and to situate this thesis in the Department of Arabic and Near

Eastern Languages at the American University of Beirut, I begin my line-by-line critical

analysis by translating the obscure, convoluted Arabic words. Instead of going through

various commentaries, a work that is also too extensive for the confines of this thesis, I rely

on The Muʿallaqāt for Millennials Arabic commentary (sharḥ) provided in the Labīd section

which is translated by Suzanne Stetkevych, one of the foremost scholars in the field of pre

and early Islamic Arabic poetry.9 The commentary was provided in Arabic in the Arabic

section of this bilingual translation with the “two-fold goal of defining obscure words and

8
Labīd ibn Rabī‘a al-‘Āmirī, Sharḥ Dīwān, ed. Iḥsān ‘Abbās (Kuwait: Maṭbaʿat ḥukūmat al-Kuwayt, 1962),
297-321.
9
Oddly, it does not say which commentary was used by The Muʿallaqāt for Millennials project for translating
Labīd.

8
furnishing the verses with exegesis and interpretation,”10 and I take that Arabic and render it

into English. The most useful part of the commentary was the section called Lugha or

“Language” which is displayed in an end-note sub-section to the left side of the Arabic text

and includes explanations as well as “contemporary names for the ancient locations

mentioned in the odes, along with some biographical information about the poems’

characters, human and non-human alike.”11 After discussing individual words, I

comparatively analyze the rendering of each bayt by the three translations discussing

diction, style, and faithfulness to the original. In my analysis, I sometimes, albeit not

systematically, reveal clear examples where a word in the original Arabic was rendered

idiomatically as opposed to literally. Lastly, I present a statistical table that displays the

number of times four rhetorical devices—repetition, assonance, alliteration, and rhyme—

appeared in each translator’s rendering. I close by summarizing and discussing my

findings.

Labīd is a natural choice for a case study given the abundance of commentary that

has been produced on his poem as the most often studied and translated poem of modern

studies of pre-modern Arabic.12 In addition, Labīd’s Mu‘allaqa is one of the longest (88

10
King Abdulaziz Center for World Culture and King Fahad National Library, The Mu'allaqāt for
Millennials: Pre-Islamic Arabic Golden Odes, 2020, 17.
11
Ibid.
12
Geert Jan van Elder states this point as well in his article “An Experiment with Beeston, Labīd, and Baššār:
On Translating Classical Arabic Verse,” Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies 36 (2006): 7–15.
Indeed, the poem has been used by many to test new literary experiments, theories, and methodologies. For
example, Kamal Abu-Deeb considers the poem “a key poem” for its study of themes, motifs, structures,
morals, values and ideas of Bedouin poetry and life. See: Kamal Abu-Deeb, “Towards a Structural Analysis
of Pre-Islamic Poetry,” 1975. See also Suzanne Pinckney Stetkevych's first chapter of her book The Mute
Immortals Speak where she analyzes how Labīd's qaṣīda confirms three moments of the rite of passage:
separation from the initial community, a liminal period of separation and quest, and a final reaggregation with
the community in a new social position. See: The Mute Immortals Speak: Pre-Islamic Poetry and the Poetics
of Ritual (Cornell University Press, 1993). A. F. L. Beeston has an interesting translation of the poem where
he experiments keeping the Arabic syntax intact as far as possible in the English so as to preserve the original

9
lines) and most pristine exemplars as a result of its clarity and cohesiveness of form, of the

tripartite pre-modern Arabic qaṣīda.13

That explains why I chose Labīd, however, what about the translations under study?

These three texts were selected out of the fecundity of translations on Labīd because of their

unique qualities. Returning to Stetkevych’s initial questions, the respective translations

explicitly state striving to be literary or poetic with an effort to carry out a “creative” core.

For example, Polk writes in his preface: “What we offer here is not an abstract linguistic

analysis. Rather, we have sought to pay homage to one of the world’s great poets by treating

his writing as he intended it to be treated, as poetry.” Sells’ states in his introduction that “the

goal is a rendition of the poem in a “natural, idiomatic, and contemporary American verse.”

In a section titled, The Muʿallaqāt Book: Story, Map, and Contribution, Hatem Alzahrani,

Content and International Communication Supervisor, states that an essential decision that

led to the style and format of The Muʿallaqāt for Millennials: Pre-Islamic Arabic Golden

Odes was to make the odes “more accessible to the non-specialist.”14 In addition, the

introduction consistently talks about the ode’s place in world literature because of their

“human” element. Although changes abound, these three translators state a shared belief

from the outset in their efforts to translate the poems as poetry, an attitude that stands out

amongst many of the other translations (especially before Stetkevych’s intervention).15

sequence of concepts as they manifest in each line. See: “An Experiment with Labīd,” Journal of Arabic
Literature 7 (1976): 1–6. There are many other studies.
13
King Abdulaziz Center for World Culture and King Fahad National Library, The Mu'allaqāt for
Millennials: Pre-Islamic Arabic Golden Odes, 2020.
14
King Abdulaziz Center for World Culture and King Fahad National Library, 15.
15
I am not suggesting that J. Stetkevych’s call was a turning point in the approach to Arabic literature into
English translation. I did not try to study its tangible impact. Rather, what I am arguing is that, with few
exceptions, many translations of the Muʿallaqāt into English prior to 1969 and after 1969 did not treat the

10
 While the pre-Islamic period has been dealt with extensively in its treatment as both

an elegiac topos16 and as a problem to be worked out,17 I depart from a sweeping traditional

view of the Jāhiliyya, which is just, after all, another period in history, and engage with a

specific poem by Labīd that happens to be composed in the qasida genre during this period.

What follows is a study of this poetry in English translation both generally and carefully

including an original, rigorous textual study of three contemporary translations of Labīd.

poetry as having intrinsic literary value for enjoyment and access to an audience beyond the parochial Arabist
circles of their respective times. William Jones and Desmond O’Grady are exceptions.
16
For many contemporary poets, such as Mohammad Maghout, Mahmoud Darwish, and Adonis, al-‘Asr al-
Jāhilī is used as a topos, a way to return to the beginnings. The way that poetry and the legend of the epoch is
mobilized and employed is a gold mine of a topic of potential interest for me in future research. One
fascinating study is by Sinan Antoon, “Mahmud Darwish’s Allegorical Critique of Oslo,” Journal of
Palestine Studies 31, no. 2 (2002): 66–77.
17
Other scholars have worked on jāhilī poetry as a problem, a set of issues to work out. For example, notably
in an article published in 1925, D.S. Margoliouth, Laudian Professor of Arabic at Oxford, argued that all pre-
Islamic poetry had been fabricated by subsequent generations. A year later, Ṭāhā Ḥusayn, the distinguished
Egyptian novelist and man of letters, produced a book titled Fī al-Sh‘ir al-Jāhilī which made essentially the
same case; he cast doubt on the authenticity of much of the corpus of pre-Islamic poetry. His main point can
be summarized in the following: “The abundance of what we call pre-Islamic poetry is not from the pre-
Islamic era in any way, but is a plagiarism from the advent of Islam, for it represents the life of Muslims, their
matters and whims more than it represents the pre-Islam, or Jāhiliyya life” (my translation, p. 8). The book
aroused the extreme anger and hostility of the religious scholars at al-Azhar and many other traditionalists,
and he was accused of having insulted Islam. As a result, a fervent debate in Egyptian literary, political, and
religious circles erupted in the middle of the 20th century around this topic. What is clear is that today there
has been a lot of methodical and scrupulous work inspired by oral composition theory that allows us to
understand how this poetry could have been passed down.

11
 CHAPTER II

HISTORY OF A TRADITION IN ANGLOPHONE SPACES

In 1742, the Muʿallaqāt stopped being the exclusive product of their original culture

and transcended to the fragile and permeable stage of world literature. They were first

translated that year into Latin, the language of scholarly discourse, by German émigrés to the

Netherlands.18 In the Anglophone sphere, the “discovery” of the Muʿallaqāt traces to British

Arabist Sir William Jones (d. 1794). Jones provided the first translation of these ancient odes

into English, citing the prior Latin translations as inspiration.19 Published in 1782, Jone’s

“Moallakát, or Seven Arabian Poems” appeared right before his service in India. This

achievement gained him the distinction, as W.A. Clouston (d. 1896) remarked in his

introduction to Arabian poetry for English readers, of having been the first to translate the

seven Arabic odes into a European language.20

Jones’ impetus to render the poems into English was explicitly political. According

to the 20th century British Arabist A.J. Arberry (d. 1969), “It was political partisanship and

aesthetic appreciation which urged [Jones] to bring the Golden Poems to the notice of the

British public.”21 An ardent supporter of the American colonists in their quest for

independence from the start, Jones envisioned a prosperous career in British politics. The

year after he published his “Moallakát,” he wrote a revolutionary tract titled “The

Principles of Government” and was called by Benjamin Franklin to assist in drafting the

18
Kevin Blankinship, “The Seven Hanging Odes of Mecca,” New Lines Magazine (blog), May 28, 2021.
19
A. J. Arberry, The Seven Odes: The First Chapter in Arabic Literature, 1st ed., vol. 2, Book, Whole
(Routledge, 1957).
20
Heather Bleaney, ed., Islamic Reflections, Arabic Musings: Studies in Honour of Professor Alan Jones
(Cambridge: Gibb Memorial Trust, 2004), 122.
21
Arberry,:8.

12
new U.S. Constitution (an offer Jones refused).22 In his remarks about a pre-Islamic ruler,

he writes: “The king of Hira like other tyrants, wished to make all men just but himself and

to leave all nations free but his own.”23 The allusion to politics of the time was

unambiguous.

Yet beyond political aims, his motivations were also scholarly, to invite readers to

study the language. He writes in the prologue of his translation, “When I propose a translation

of these Oriental pieces, as a work likely to meet with success, I only mean to invite my

readers, who have leisure and industry, to the study of the languages, in which they are

written, and am very far from insinuating that I have the remotest design of performing any

part of the task myself.”24 In addition to being a pioneering translator of the 18th century,

Jones was responsible for establishing the International Phonetic Alphabet, including a

transliteration of the original Arabic. The transliteration served to correct errors of past

scholars, “to end the inconsistent spellings that often-misled Europeans into believing that a

given person or place was actually two or more persons or places.”25 Although his audience

was scholarly, his transliteration system sought to provide a slight idea as to how the

rhyming poems might sound in their original language, perhaps to allure non-Arabists into

studying the language.

It appears that Jones revered the cultures that he studied. Two decades before his

translation, Jones makes a remarkable plea for the benefits of comparative literary education.

He contends that a general education including “the principal writings of the Asiaticks”

22
Ibid,:12.
23
Ibid,: 8.
24
Ibid,:9.
25
9/14/22 7:28:00 AM

13
would provide “a more extensive insight into the history of the human mind’, as well as ‘a

new set of images and similitudes.’”26 His suggestion comes in light of his critique of the

state of European poetry, which he deplores for its “perpetual repetition of the same images

and incessant allusions to the same fables.”27 It is here that we best see his goals of

influencing poets and scholars alike, for he writes:

“It has been my endeavor, for several years, to inculcate this truth; if the principal
writings of the Asiaticks …were printed with the usual advances of notes and
illustration, and if the Eastern languages…were studied in our places of education…
a new and ample field would open for speculation. We should be furnished with a
new set of images and similitudes, a number of excellent models would be brought
to light, which future scholars might explain and future poets might imitate.”28

Furthermore, in an article titled Sir William Jones and the Associated Between East

and West, Garland Cannon presents a positive view of Jones and his contributions as an

Orientalist scholar both to Arabic and Persian works but also to Sanskrit, challenging the

deeply ingrained belief that Indians were a savage uncivilized people devoid of literature

and science.29

While Sir William Jones was most known for his work on Sanskrit, his translations

of the odes marked an important catalyst for future translations in European languages.30

Enthusiasts in France and Italy but most famously in Germany accessed them for the first

time thanks to his translation. In Germany, the luminary philosopher and poet Johann

26
Robyn Creswell, “Playing a Part: Imru’ al-Qays in English,” Ginko Press, January 1, 2019, 125.
27
Ibid.
28
Sir William Jones, Poems Consisting Chiefly of Translations from the Asiatick Languages, The Second
Edition (London: W. Bowyer and J. Nichols, n.d.).
29
Garland Cannon, “Sir William Jones and the Association between East and West,” Proceedings of the
American Philosophical Society 121, no. 2 (1977): 183–87.
30
There are many examples of the Mu‘allaqāt studied and translated in other languages, including French,
Swedish, Latin, Russian, Spanish, and more. For an overview of those as well as another chronological
history of the translation tradition, including editions and commentary, see: Larcher, “TRADUIRE LES
MU’ALLAQĀT.”

14
Wolfgang von Goethe (d. 1832) drew inspiration, writing about them his 1819 West-

östlicher Divan. In Britain, the famous poet Alfred Lord Tennyson (d. 1892) was also

influenced. Lord Tennyson acknowledged that Sir William Jones’ prose translations of the

“Moallakat” gave him the idea of Locksley Hall (1842), the long dramatic monologue that

one contemporary judged to have “had most influence on the minds of the young men of

our day.”31 We see the direct influence in a line where the kilted lover sees a future rivaled

by her husband, saying in a tone resonant of the boastful eroticism from Imru’ al-Qays:

Baby lips will laugh me down: my latest rival brings thee rest.
Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the mother’s breast.32

Tennyson also translated Imru’ al-Qays’ metaphor for rain:

The cloud unloads its freight on the desert of Ghabeit,

like a merchant of Yemen, alighting with his blaes of rich.33

At the time, Sir William Jones’ translation ventured beyond literary influence,

serving as a reference for historians alike. The great British historian Edward Gibbon, who

corresponded with Jones, marveled in his work The History of the Decline and Fall of the

Roman Empire that “we may read in our own language the seven original poems which

were inscribed in letters of gold, and suspended in the temple of Mecca.”34 Jones’

31
Creswell, “" Playing a Part,” 128.
32
The translation of William Jones’ rendering of this part of Imru’ al-Qays’ ode reads: “Many a lovely
mother have I diverted from the care of her yearling infant… When suckling behind her cried, she turned
round to him with half her body; but half of it pressed beneath my embrace was not turned from me.”
33
Christopher Ricks, “‘LOCKSLEY HALL’ AND THE ‘MOÂLLAKAT,’” Notes and Queries 12, no. 8
(1965): 300–301.
34
Edward Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon (Strahan & Cadell,
London, 1777).

15
influence, in sum, extended to litterateurs, poets, philosophers and men of letters across

Western Europe.

Although Jones’ translation is obsolete and in many places error-strewn,35 it an

exemplary example of a work that influenced European translators and writers of the time.

According to Arberry, Jones’ rendering, though not free of faults, flows smoothly and

pleasantly enough, not impeded by the pedantic over-scrupulosity which makes so many

scholars’ translations of classical Arabic virtually unreadable.36 Some critiqued Jones on

account of his understanding of the term ‘Arabia Felix’ (‘Happy Arabia’), which had given

him a fanciful notion of a verdant, rather English-looking countryside prevailing in

Arabia.37 This is a point that Robert Irvin and Jaroslav Stetkevych agree upon when

assessing Jones’ translation: that he transformed the untamed desert landscape into the

bucolic countryside of Claude Lorraine.38 Despite his pioneering role, Jones was still a

product of his time and environment, which most perceptibly is shown in his translations

that reflect an intimate link with English neoclassicism. In Stetkevych’s assessment, he

belonged to an “enthusiastic” school of Orientalism. The “Asiatick,” as William Jones

insisted, was the object of pure emotional genius of primitive man. Goethe, too, as reflected

in his West-östlicher Divan, engaged with the Muʿallaqāt in a straightforward, romantic,

anthropological way. But perhaps Jones most aptly practiced what many contemporary

35
This is the opinion of Arberry. Despite these “errors,” he still believes that Jone’s translation is undeserving
of the unsympathetic treatment which it received in a volume of essays published in 1946. See: Arberry, The
Seven Odes.
36
Arberry, 2:53.
37
Robert Irwin, For Lust of Knowing: The Orientalists and Their Enemies (Allen Lane, 2006), 280.
38
Jaroslav Stetkevych, Arabic Poetry & Orientalism, Arabic Poetry and Comparative Poetics 2 (Oxford: St.
John’s College Research Centre, 2004), 33–35.

16
scholars and critics of Arabic literature argue we must do: he approached literature from his

own critical and conceptual language.

Stetkevych highlights the essential difference that came to mark early romantic

enthusiasts like Jones and that of the subsequent “pseudo-romantic philologists.”39 For the

former, Arabic poetry was admitted into European literary sensibility both practically-

experientially and theoretically as a homage to an already existing or newly evolving

poetics, whereas, in the case of the latter, Arabic poetry and its study were moved ever

farther from the notion of the literary, until the only rationale left was that a more ideal

knowledge of that poetry as ethnography could produce most valuable documentary

material for social and cultural history.40 Romantics such as William Jones and Friedrich

Rückert were followed by a philologically-minded generation of scholars who developed

an unwritten rule that dismissed any further attempts at a poetic understanding of Arabic

poetry. This shift is perhaps best represented by the prominent German Arabist Theodore

Nöldeke (d. 1930) who changed his mind about the value of old Arabic poetry. Gradually,

Nöldeke concluded that poetry deserved the attention of the researcher as a tool to penetrate

the character of the Arabs rather than as a source of artistic expression, replacing the

neoclassical and romantic poetic attitudes of enthusiasm with a kind of devaluation.41 In

light of all this, Jones’ translation perhaps embodies Stetkevych’s challenge for

producing consequential translations (it was arguably more influential than any modern

version including the ones under review in the third section of this thesis). His translations,

39
Stetkevych, Arabic Poetry & Orientalism.
40
Stetkevych, 38-39.
41
Stetkevych, 37.

17
after all, had enormous reach, influencing creative minds from Goethe to Tennyson and

extending to most literary men of nineteenth-century Europe.42

On the other hand, over one hundred years later, Frank E. Johnson’s 1893

translation was born an anachronism and remained as such, never reaching an audience for

evident reasons: he never intended a literary translation. As a captain member of the Royal

Artillery at Kirkee, he found himself in contact with Shaikh Faizullahbhai, a “first-class

Arabic scholar” from Bombay. Under his tutelage, Johnson translated the Seven Poems

“intending to be nothing more than an aid to the student, and for this reason, it has been

made as literal as possible.”43 Every word is grammatically and linguistically explained,

with interjections from different commentaries. Captain Johnson printed for the use of

Indian students a slavish adherence to the literal word in unadorned prose.44

15 years after F.E. Johnson’s esoteric version, Wilfred Scawen Blunt and his wife

Lady Anne Blunt determined to produce a translation that outperformed all prior

renderings. Working as a dynamic duo, Lady Blunt translated the odes, and her husband

Wilfred, a poet of his own merits, turned them into poetry.45 In transforming the

translation into verse, Wilfred Blunt aimed to “present a true poetry, a new flower of

strange and interesting kind added to the body of English classics.”46 He admired this

kind of poetry because it was “native in its display of emotion, uninhibited and

42
Majida Mufti, “A Critical Appreciation of the English Translations of Three Mu’al-Laqat by Jones, Blunt
and Arberry” (Beirut, 1971). In her thesis, she refers to Marie E. Meester’s study titled, Oriental Influence in
English Literature of the Nineteenth Century.
43
Arberry, The Seven Odes, 27.
44
Arberry, 28.
45
Majida Mufti, “A Critical Appreciation of the English Translations of Three Mu’al-Laqat by Jones, Blunt
and Arberry” (Beirut, 1971). Mufti cites A.S. Blunt the Seven Odes p. xxi. He was a poet whose best known
volume of verse was titled: Love Sonnets of Proteus.
46
Ibid.

18
hedonistic.”47 In Wilfred Blunt’s book The Future of Islam, he appealed to his

countrymen to remember the “tremendous influence which Semitic thought had and still

has on the minds of nations… Chivalry is a notion purely Bedouin. Romance is the off-

spring of the Pre-Islamic Arabia.”48 In this sense, he approached the poetry with a

reverence similar to Sir William Jones. However, Wilfred Blunt complained in his

introduction that Jones translation reflects the English of the 18th century: “polite,

Latinized,” and hardly suggestive of the “wild vigor of the original.”49 The Blunts sought

to make their translation more readable. 50

In terms of translation technique, the Blunts applied an energized biblical style to

catch the Arabic. The translators acknowledged the help of Cairene advisors, “receiving

the imprimatur of the more learned Grand Mufti, Shaykh Muḥammad Abdu.”51 In doing

so, the Blunts also religiously restricted the number of syllables and kept this system as a

procrustean rule. In the words of Majida Mufti who wrote her dissertation on three

translations of the Muʿallaqāt of Imru’ al-Qays, T̩ arafa, and ‘Antara using a textual

analysis focusing on “authenticity of rendering, style, and diction,” the restrictive

measure of Blunts’ lines imposed certain structures that “sometimes blur the meaning or

at times miss the nuances and shades of meaning.”52 She provides, for example, a line of

the Blunts from Imru’ al-Qays, translated as “Man! Not of grief thou diest,” which is

more of a negative statement, while the Arabic counterpart is an imperative. Blunt also

47
Ibid.
48
Ibid.
49
Ibid.
50
Arberry, The Seven Odes, 2:30.
51
Ibid.
52
Ibid,: 283.

19
distinguished himself in his diction by using words of French or French origin, keeping in

line with his overall mostly old or Middle English diction. This choice mimicked a

dominant trend of the 19th century, a time when French words or words of French origin

started to replace the classical elements, which were found in the 18th century. The

translation of Blunts was reminiscent of the early works of Yeats and other poets who

were in contact with French writers and were preparing for the Modernist Movement.53 It

is also noteworthy that Mufti believes that the Muʿallaqāt “should not be modernized

with time, but should preserve the distant, unfamiliar sensibilities of the time.”54 Thus,

Blunt’s use of archaic language achieves Mufti’s aesthetic ideal.

As these renderings demonstrate, translators carried—and still to this day often

carry—the assumption that meaning takes precedent over the sound. Therefore, imitating

the rhythmic pattern of the original is forgone.55 One such exception is Sir Charles Lyall

(1845-1920), another British translator of the ancient Arabic odes. Nearly a century after

Jones, like F.E. Johnson, Lyall entered the Bengal Civil Service in India. Translation of

early Arabic poetry became a craft he devoted himself to during most of his leisure hours.

Unlike Jones, however, who showed deterrence to the Arabs and their poetry, Lyall appears

to have had some reservations, observing: ‘To us much in these poems seems tedious and

even repellent. The narrow range of the Kasida [ode], with its conventional framework,

53
Ibid,: 287.
54
Mufti, “A Critical Appreciation of the English Translations of Three Mu’al-Laqat by Jones, Blunt and
Arberry.”
55
In a talk delivered at Cornell University in 2013 by Shawkat Toorawa titled How Not to Translate the
Qur’an, he raises the point on forgoing sound in translation, saying: “The biggest mistake that is made in my
view is that translators that don’t rhyme. 99 percent of people will say: well aren’t you sacrificing the
meaning? Do not function under the delusion that you are sacrificing the meaning. You are sacrificing the
sound. Is meaning more important than sound?” See: How (Not) to Translate the Qurʾān, 2013.

20
tends to produce monotony, and it is not easy to come into close touch with the life that is

so realistically described.”56 Despite his expressed reservations about the qaṣīda, he

rendered them into an English that was poetic in its own time and right. Where he differs

from Jones in his attitude, the two converge as translators’ part of a Romantic age of

translation whose aim was to enrich their own national interests, bringing the qaṣīda, as

poetry, into contact with their literary and critical world.57

The original inspiration for Lyall’s metrical translations of Arabic poetry came from

his reading of the lyrical translations of Oriental poetry by Friedrich Rückert. But Lyall was

also a meticulous philological editor and he followed the example of the Germans as well

as the Dutch.”58 Although his versions are inevitably somewhat archaic today, a product of

their time, Lyall sought to imitate the meter (which is ṭawīl), an observation that reminds us

of the extent to which the Victorian poets, Tennyson among them, sought to extend English

prosody to take in the exciting rhythms newly discovered in the East.59 While on leave in

Europe, Lyall studied with Nöldeke, to whom he dedicated his two collections of Arabic

poetry and whom he called the master of all European scholars in this field of study. The

discussion of Nöldeke’s shift from viewing the poetry through literary optics to an

unfavorable lens as a mere object was already mentioned. Lyall descends from the same

tradition as Nöldeke. Through Lyall’s background and own reflections we understand why

and for what purpose he translated the odes.

56
Irwin, For Lust of Knowing, 476.
57
Michael Sells, “THE QAṢĪDA AND THE WEST: Self-Reflective Stereotype and Critical Encounter,” Al-
’Arabiyya 20, no. 1/2 (1987): 309.
58
Irwin, For Lust of Knowing, 476.
59
Arberry, The Seven Odes, 2:55.

21
 The 20th century witnessed even more renderings of the Muʿallaqāt. The best

known to academics is Arberry’s “The Seven Odes,” partly because it tackles the

question of pre-Islamic authenticity.60 Arberry is another example of an Orientalist who

displayed reverence toward Islamic culture and Arabic poetry. When translating the

Qur’ān, for example, unlike most Orientalists, Arberry was not motivated by a mission to

refute its veracity. Rather he writes in his introduction to the Qur’ān translation that “the

rhetoric and rhythm of the Arabic of the Koran are so characteristic, so powerful, so highly

emotive, that any version whatsoever is bound in the nature of things to be but a poor copy

of the glittering splendor of the original.” 61 In the same introduction, he explains how he,

as the “infidel,” came to appreciate the Koran and react to the thrilling rhymes. His strategy

for the Muʿallaqāt was to maintain the original lexicon that hallmarked them, including

names of places (villages, rivers, valleys, and mountains) as well as different types of

plants that grew where the beloved’s tribe once dwelt. These, as J. Stetkevych states, are

“key elements of the Arabic poetic lexicon.”62 But his literalizing paraphrases, once again,

do not stand on their own as poetry. Can the preservation of the representative patterns in

the Muʿallaqāt only be made possible through literalism, which contradicts the poetic

spirit? For Arberry, the answer is a resounding yes. He sought to highlight the author’s text

as an unparalleled literal artifact with the wholeness of the tribal and cultural fundamentals

contained within it.63 This approach appears to run contradictory to his claims in the

60
For more on this debate, refer to a footnote in the introductory chapter.
61
A. J. Arberry, The Koran Interpreted: A Translation (Simon and Schuster, 1996).
62
Stetkevych. J. (1993) The Zephyrs of Najd: The Poetics of Nostalgia in the Classical Arabic Nasid.
Chicago Univ. Press.
63
Benneghrouzi Fatima Zohra, “Arberry’s Rendition of Imru’al Qays’ Mu'allaqa: Translation and Gender
Issues,” 2016, 12.

22
introduction where he wrote that the poets spoke into his ear as “a natural, even at times a

colloquial language: such I feel sure was the effect they produced on their first audience.”64

Arberry’s translation is a typical modern version of the mid-20th century with a clear

scientific devotion to simplicity and accuracy. The modern demand for plain verse compels

the translator to prune away at the complexities and sacrifice sound.65 As such, the entire

body of English translations of the odes in the 18th, 19th, and mid-20th centuries stated in

explicit terms that they were primarily scholarly in aim, directed at an audience of

specialists with a heavy philological approach to translation and a close adherence to the

literal world. In the view of Geert Jan van Gelder, much of this poetry read “like the worst

products of Victorian English poetry.”66 This paradigm would be slightly shaken only at the

end of the 20th century.

In the year 1997, the project The Golden Odes of Love was published, following the

spirit of Desert Tracings (which will be treated below as one of our case studies) in its

aim to be a readable, inspiring English version. Translated by the Irish poet Desmond

O’Grady, which he dedicates to Doura Shoukri and his first wife Olga, he explicitly

warns that “these renderings do not pretend to be scholarly translations.”67 Thus, we are

presented for the first time with a version that attempts to target solely a lay audience.

Yet in this version, we see the risks of disregarding scholarly sensibilities: it produces an

inaccurate translation.68

64
Arberry, The Seven Odes, 2:61.
65
Mufti, “A Critical Appreciation of the English Translations of Three Mu’al-Laqat by Jones, Blunt and
Arberry.”
66
van Gelder, “An Experiment with Beeston, Labīd, and Baššār,” 9.
67
Desmond O’Grady, Golden Odes of Love-- Al-Muʿallaqāt , 0 edition (Cairo, Egypt: American University in
Cairo Press, 1997).
68
Blankinship, “The Seven Hanging Odes of Mecca.”

23
 As Shawkat Toorawa has demonstrated, the errs come to light first in examining

the biographies of the poets. It becomes clear upon scrutiny that O’Grady merely

paraphrases Arberry and further takes over his titles, not as chapter headings like Arberry

but as titles for the poems themselves.69 In the instances where he does not borrow from

Arberry, O’Grady is imprecise, such as in the passages of Zuhayr.70 Moreover, numerous

translator decisions need better justification or explanation such as the omission of place

names.71 The title’s choice — Golden Odes of Love — is also ambiguous. While Golden

Odes has precedent, such as in the Blunts version, the addition of the word love is

unclear. Lastly, the selection criteria for the verses of calligraphy that adorn the volume is

not explained. In short, according to Toorawa’s assessment, there are some poetic

renderings and lines that inspire, but they do not make up for the slew of errors, including

orthographic issues that are unmentioned. What O’Grady’s rendition reflects are the risks

of not being scholarly, if by scholarly we mean accurate, methodically justified, and

punctilious.

Raymond Farrin’s presentation of classical Arabic poetry in Abundance from the

Desert (2011), includes translations of the Muʿallaqāt of Imru’ al-Qays, Labīd and al-

Shanfarā's Lāmiyyat al-ʿArab, the arguably “three most-often discussed early Arabic odes,”72

69
Shawkat M. Toorawa, review of Review of The Golden Odes of Love: Al-Muʾallaqat. A Verse Rendering
from the Arabic, by Desmond O’Grady, Al-’Arabiyya 36 (2003): 169.
70
Toorawa, 171.
71
Ibid. According to Kareem James Abu Zeid, keeping the place-names “lend to the mystique a little. They
lend to the sense that this is a different world. Even the names, there’s a spring in part of the Imru al-Qays
that’s called Dar al-Juljul, and, even in Arabic it sounds foreign to me. I felt that was a problematic choice,
as a translator. I’m not against those kinds of choices, but in this specific instance it felt a little bit much.
See more: Marcia Lynx Qualey, “On Bringing the Muʿallaqāt into English: ‘There’s Such a Divide That
Needs To Be Crossed by the Translator’ – ARABLIT & ARABLIT QUARTERLY.”
72
Farrin, Abundance from the Desert: Classical Arabic Poetry.

24
amongst many other translations of later canonical Arabic poets. Although Farrin’s writing

vacillates in tone from that of a specialist to that of someone writing to a general audience,

the general audience is not so much a public or a nascent English language poet but an

undergraduate student of Arabic literature. The readership aims are elucidated in the

introduction, as the final aim of the book is to “contribute measurably to recent scholarship”

and examine the credibility of a thesis that states classical Arabic poetry lacks coherence.73

Building off prior views of the Arabic ode, Farrin’s study takes inspiration from

James Monroe’s scholarship refuting the German orientalist Wilhelm Ahlwardt to

“demonstrate that ring composition is indeed a greatly important structural pattern that occurs

repeatedly in classical Arabic poetry.”74 In general, the book brings in various authors and

commentaries to ultimately argue that all selected poems display ring composition. Chapter

seven presents a discussion of the ‘Abbasid period, perhaps best targeting the generalist and

freed from unnecessary jargon. In a review, Majd Al-Mallah writes: “This representation is

all done carefully and without any assumptions so a non-specialist can easily follow and

benefit from the plethora of information.”75 According to Geert Jan Van Gelder, the

translations do not have poetic pretensions and are generally reliable.76 In assessing the

translations, Jocelyn Sharlet goes one step above. She writes “[they are] readable and will no

doubt inspire readers to learn Arabic and pursue the study of Arabic poetry.77 The book,

73
Ibid.
74
Ibid.
75
Majd Al-Mallah, “Classical Arabic Poetry in Contemporary Studies: A Review Essay,” ed. Margaret
Larkin, Samer M. Ali, and Raymond Farrin, Journal of Arabic Literature 44, no. 2 (2013): 245.
76
Geert Jan van Gelder, review of Review of Abundance from the Desert: Classical Arabic Poetry. (Middle
East Literature in Translation.), by Raymond Farrin, Speculum 87, no. 4 (2012): 1190–91.
77
Jocelyn Sharlet, review of Review of Abundance from the Desert: Classical Arabic Poetry, by Raymond
Farrin, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 74, no. 1 (2015): 184–87, https://doi.org/10.1086/679679.

25
according to Sharlet, holds promise for the teaching of classical Arabic poetry in

translation.78

A cursory albeit diverse overview of some of the most important Anglophone

translations of the Seven Odes has been summarized above.79 Ultimately the purpose of this

chapter was to display how most translations of the Muʿallaqāt are academic in nature

translated with the aim of targeting a specific audience of specialists often at the expense of

Stetkevych’s call for a disposition towards creativity. The three translations I have selected

for my textual study are all unique in that they have a creative aim aimed at a wide audience.

Geert Jan van Gelder also cites Stetkevych and Sells as having produced two “reasonably

successful” translations of Labīd, in which he means translating the poems as poetry, that is

translations that are not literal and layered with footnotes.80 In the following section, I discuss

some translation theorists’ musings that echo Stetkevych’s initial call for the literary.

78
Sharlet. It is also important to note, however, that in the note’s section Farrin states that his renditions
reflect his own readings of the poems but at times follow closely the renditions of Michael Sells in his Desert
Tracings, which is one of the texts under review in this thesis.
79
This chapter does not by any means attempt to be exhaustive but provides some of the most famous and
accessible translations in English language.
80
van Gelder, “An Experiment with Beeston, Labīd, and Baššār.”

26
 CHAPTER III

A SPIRIT OF TRANSLATION CRITICISMS

“One is not born a reader of translations, but made one” — Antoine Berman, Toward a

Translation Criticism: John Donne

Antoine Berman’s book on criticism Toward a Translation Criticism: John Donne

originally published in 1993 and translated by Françoise Massardier-Kennedy in 2009

presents a prescriptive frame for analyzing and critiquing translations. Translation criticism,

defined by Berman, is a rigorous analysis of translation, its fundamental traits, the project

that gave birth to it, the horizon from which it sprang, and the position of the translator.

Berman’s practice breathes an entirely different ethos than the so-called Tel Aviv

school of translation, represented most prominently by figures such as Gideon Toury and

Annie Brisset, which views translation through a prism of “secondariness.”81 From the outset,

this school seeks to study in a neutral, objective, and “scientific” way what they call

“translated literature,” which is an integral part of the literary “polysystem” of a culture or

nation. For Berman, on the contrary, a translation criticism can, in no way, be subjective.

Translations must be judged through the socio-historical, cultural, and ideological conditions

which determine their translating position, project, and horizon.82

So, what are the goals of translation criticism? Berman makes it clear that it is not

enough to merely criticize. In fact, criticism has mainly been conceived as a negative director,

81
Françoise Massardier-Kennedy, Toward a Translation Criticism: John Donne / Antoine Berman,
Translated and Edited by Francoise Massardier-Kenney (Kent, Ohio: The Kent State University Press, 2009),
39.
82
Ibid, 37.

27
focusing almost obsessively on translations as insufficient, bad, or defective, without ever

questioning the talent or the professional ethics of their authors. Overall, translations are not

a topic in which reviewers spill much ink. But when critics do write about translations, it is

often to denounce them in the shape of bellicose reviews.83 Following the Tel Aviv school

logic, the translated text seems affected by an original flaw, its secondariness.84 Yet the

critic’s goal, if the translation is problematic, must be to not only shed light on the reasons

for the translation’s failure but to “prepare the space for a retranslation.85” Criticism of

translation, not too different from the translation itself, lacks a certain symbolic status, the

“secret dignification without with no discursive practice can literally be established as

legitimate.”86 Contributing to this dignification, which the criticism of literary works

achieved in the nineteenth century, is a primary goal of translation studies.87

Three technical steps can be taken toward the praxis of producing a “productive”

criticism.88 The first step of a productive translation involves completely setting aside the

original, resisting the urge to compare, and reading the translated text to see if it “stands.”89

This reading is aimed to find problematic “textual zones” where “defectiveness” is spotted.90

Conversely, there are also zones in which the translator has foreign-written in the target

language (in Berman’s case French) and produced a new language that are zones full of grace

83
Ibid, 78.
84
Ibid, 28–29.
85
Ibid, 78.
86
Ibid, 29.
87
Ibid, 30.
88
Here, Berman quotes Friedrich Schlegel. When facing a good translation, a criticism would “send back to
the reader, this excellence or greatness” and when faced with a bad translation it would “shed light on its
failure and prepare the space for a retranslation.”
89
Massardier-Kennedy, Toward a Translation Criticism: John Donne / Antoine Berman, Translated and
Edited by Francoise Massardier-Kenney, 50.
90
Ibid, 50.

28
and richness, that carry felicity. Examining zones of defectiveness or felicity in a translation

appears as a slightly more productive schema than an overall blanket binary assessment of

good or bad.

The second step in the hermeneutics of translation involves going back to the

translator, to determine her translating stance, her translation project, and her translating

horizon and ultimately seeking to understand the logic of the translated text.91 Horizon, in

fact, borrows from modern hermeneutics, referring to the linguistic, literary, cultural, and

historical parameters that determine the way of feeling, acting, and thinking of the translator.

This involves reading everything the translator may have said in various texts (prefaces,

afterwords, articles, and interviews, about translation or not, for everything here is a clue)

and interpreting her words. Berman offers some more questions to ask the author regarding

her nationality, her profession, her oeuvre, her relationships with these works, what types of

works she usually translates, and what other works she has translated.92 Finally, “we want to

know if she has written about her own practice as a translator, about the principles that guide

it, about her translations and translation in general.”93 Scholars operating out of a strict

Barthian post-modernist perspective will likely vehemently argue against this step since the

author’s background should not be a determining factor in the practice of interpretation that

is intrinsic to translation. But Berman primarily believes the translator’s past work—not his

life and moods—are the concern of the critic.

91
Ibid, 57.
92
Ibid, 58.
93
Ibid, 59.

29
 The third step is a concrete and critical phase in the criticism of translation: the well-

founded confrontation between the original and its translation. In principle, there are four

acts to take in the third and final part of his translation criticism. First, there is a confrontation

between the selected elements and passages in the original and the rendering of the elements

and corresponding passages in the translation.94 Secondly, there is an inverse confrontation

between the textual zones of the translation found to be problematic or accomplished and the

corresponding textual zones of the original. Third, there is a confrontation — within the first

two — with other translations. Fourth, there is a confrontation between the translation and

its project, which reveals the ultimate “how” of its realization, linked, in the final analysis,

to the translator’s subjectivity. From here, we can understand how almost identical projects

always lead to different translations. In this last step, what can appear as discordant is the

gap between the project and the translation, indeed the defectiveness found in the initial act

of translation. Since the results are invariably tied to the project, the critic must read the

translation based on its project. In my own analysis, although I apply a non-prescriptive

approach, I take interest in the translator’s faithfulness to the guidelines stated in their

respective introductions, a technique borrowed from Berman.

Gayatri Spivak’s interventions in the context of translating “third-world” women

writers can also be insightful.95 Writing against the racist assumption that all third-world

women’s writing is automatically good, she offers another sort of prescriptive blueprint for

translators. Her point is that the task of the translator is to surrender herself to the linguistic

94
Massardier-Kennedy, Toward a Translation Criticism: John Donne / Antoine Berman, Translated and
Edited by Francoise Massardier-Kenney, 68.
95
Spivak’s article is strangely titled. Perhaps instead of “The Politics of Translation” it should be called “The
Aesthetics of Translation,” its true subject.

30
rhetoricity of the original text to avoid imposing foreign notions on feminism. For her, this

means translating initially at speed, surrendering without thinking about what is happening

in English and often being literal, until she can then go back and revise, without aiming at an

audience but abiding to her protocols.96 Furthermore, zooming out from her position, she

gives a helpful hint to decide whether the translator is prepared to start translating: The

translator should be able to speak of intimate matters in the language of the original.97 In this

light, we should also ask the translator about her intimacy with the language of the source

text– although it is again hard to quantify, it is, at the least, a thought-provoking impulse in

the act of translating. Her translation focuses on the inherently political role of a translator

but is largely about the “jagged relationship between rhetoric and logic,” by which she means

aesthetics, the feelings of translation. A translator must have a sense of the “rhetoricity” of

the text, which brings us back to Berman’s push for translations to be both ethical and poetic

in nature.

In close, Berman’s definition of the poeticality of a translation lies in the fact that the

translator achieves a real textual work, that she creates a text [faire oeuvre] in close

correspondence with the textuality of the original. Ethics lies in the respect, or rather, “in a

certain respect for the original, an offering made to the original text.”98 Beyond the notion of

“servile” attachment, the ethics of translation are threatened by the inverse threat of

deception. This, after all, is what caused the Italian saying traddutore traditore (translator

96
Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, “The Politics of Translation,” in The Translation Studies Reader, 4th Edition
(Routledge, 2021), 406.
97
Ibid, 404.
98
Ibid, 75. Here, Berman quotes Yves Masson, who asserts that the translation “must stand up” to the
original, that it is an “offering made to the original text.”

31
traitor). Yet, there is treachery only insofar as the manipulations are silent, unacknowledged,

perhaps in the preface, the introduction, or notes. The ethical nature of a translation may vary

depending on the additional material accompanying the translated text. A Bermanian analysis

comprises rigorous criteria for both traditional translations as well as modern ones. Ethics

and poetically guarantee correspondence to the original and one’s language. It is through this

method presented to the scholarly translation community that we understand criticism from

a refreshing timeless perspective.

At the same time, the biggest criticism that Berman’s guidelines are susceptible to is

his ultimately subjective translation schema. What, for example, is a “defective zone” and

what is a “felicitous zone”? Perhaps a felicitous zone of translation is what was called for by

J. Stetkevych and echoed by these theorists: it is an intimate literary translation that is perhaps

less literal, can be easily read and understood and might even move the reader to inspiration.

Yet for the scholar, a felicitous zone may precisely be the more literal philological translation.

In this debate, we come to understand translation as a Sisyphean activity.99 In short, it may

be most impartial to conclude this section with the thought echoed in my introduction:

different translations serve different purposes depending on their various goals.100 To avoid

99
Tarif Khalidi opens his introduction of his translation of the Qur’ān with the title “Problems of
interpretation,” which already indicates a sort of unwelcoming or challenging obstacle facing translation. For
him, translation is inherently a Sisyphean activity, a falling short of perfection. In his search for, what Seamus
Heaney calls, the ‘tuning fork,’ he realizes that although he may never reproduce the cadence of the Arabic,
he could still strive for what, again, Heaney calls “a directness of utterance,’ to convey something of the
power of juxtapositions, rhythmic recurrence, sonority, verbal energy and rhymed endings of the original.
Thus, Khalidi’s translation of the Qur’ān perhaps best tries to preserve sound and meaning. See: Tarif
Khalidi, The Qur’an: A New Translation (Penguin Books, 2008).
100
Again, for example, translating the Mu‘allaqāt with a pedagogical goal to instruct students is very different
from translating the Mu‘allaqāt with the goal of creating a literary best seller.

32
the pitfalls of translation criticism, I have opted for a more objective way of analyzing three

translations of Labīd’s poem, which we now turn to.

33
 CHAPTER IV

A TEXTUAL APPROACH TO THREE LABĪD TRANSLATIONS

“English translations of Arab poems differ widely and sometimes when reading several

versions of a passage I have wondered if their translators were actually working on the

same poem,” — Robert Irwin, Night & Horses & The Desert

A. Introducing the Poet:

Labīd ibn Rabī‘a (d, between 40-42/660-662) is an Arab poet and knight of the

Jāhilī tribal aristocracy. He is representative of the mukhaḍram (the period bridging the

Jāhiliyya and Islam) and belonged to the family of Banu Dja‘far, a branch of the Kilāb,

who belonged to the Banu ‘Āmir ibn Ṣaʿṣaʿah. In addition to his extraordinarily long life

(he was counted among the muʿammarūn, those granted long life), he stands out because he

converted to Islam with a delegation of his tribe to the Prophet and lived well into the

Islamic period, thus embodying both paganistic Jāhiliyya and Islamic values.

In his youth, Labīd appears to have attained an elevated position in his tribe because

of his precocious mastery of language. In one well-cited anecdote, he is reported to have

accompanied a deputation from his tribe to the court of King Abū Qābūs Nu‘mān of al-Ḥira

(circa 580-602). There they stumbled upon the king’s drinking companion, an enemy of

Labīd’s tribe, who had previously defamed them. In exchange, Labīd, launched some

invective poetry so strong at the king’s friend that the king would never welcome his friend

back.

34
In other poems Labīd often boasts on having helped his tribe by his eloquence. He

remained faithful to his clan even after stardom. In addition to the qaṣīda, he proved

himself equally master of the hijā’ (invective) and the marthiya (elegy). Al-Nābigha is said

to have declared him the greatest poet among the Arabs or at least of his tribal group, the

Hawāzin, on account of his Mu‘allaqa. In his Mu‘allaqa, he employs traditional pictures of

fauna from his setting—wild asses and antelopes fleeing before the hunter and fighting

with his dogs—and equally paints images about his beloved Nawār, the description of the

aṭlāl, which he compares with artistic calligraphy, drinking bouts, maysir and more. He has

a liking for memories of places of his native district, the palm groves and irrigation

channels which continually inspire him to picturesque descriptions. He often turns to

Nawār, combining the nasīb with the main part of the qaṣīda into a tripartite cohesive

whole. Indeed, Labīd’s Mu‘allaqa exhibits the three-part qaṣīda structure with an elegant

balance of the parts: the elegiac prelude (nasīb), lines 1-21; the journey section (raḥīl),

lines 22-54; and the personal and tribal boast of the virtues and glorious deeds (fakhr), lines

55-88. In his book Early Arabic Poetry,101 Alan Jones breaks down the form of Labīd’s

tripartite qaṣīda in ten sections, which are rendered as follows:

a) 1-9, nasīb one: deserted territory

b) 10-15, nasīb two: women’s departure

c) 16-20, nasīb three: Nawār

d) 21-24, transition: journeying on camel

101
Alan Jones, Early Arabic Poetry, vol. 2nd ed (The Netherlands: Brill, 2011), 453.

35
 e) 25-35, she-ass and mate

f) 36-52, oryx

g) 53-56, looking back to (d) and (c)

h) 57-69, experience: wine (59-61), tribal service (62-65), his horse (66-69)

i) 70-77, personal fakhr

j) 78-89, tribal fakhr

In addition, Labīd’s verse stands out from that of other poets of the pagan period by a

certain proto-Islamic religious sentiment. Whether he foresworn poetry upon his

conversion to Islam, however, is up for debate, as are many historical details. According to

Ibn Nadīm’s Fihrist, his dīwān was edited by several of the greatest Arabic philologists:

Sukkarī d. 275/888 , , al-Aṣma‘ī (d. 216/831), al-Ṭūsī (d.?), and Ibn al-Sikkīt (d. 244/858).

Of these recensions, only half of that of al-Ṭūsī, together with a commentary, has

survived.102 All in all, despite the various details that tradition relays, these are of

secondary importance, for what remains clear is that his qaṣīda is a bijoux of world poetry.

102
W.P. Heinrichs et al., “Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition — Brill,” 1986, 583–84; Suzanne Pinckney
Stetkevych, The Mute Immortals Speak: Pre-Islamic Poetry and the Poetics of Ritual (Cornell University
Press, 1993), 44–47; King Abdulaziz Center for World Culture and King Fahad National Library, The
Mu'allaqāt for Millennials: Pre-Islamic Arabic Golden Odes, 2020, 207–11.

36
1. Comparative Translation and Textual Analysis:

Verse 1:

َ َ‫ﻰ ﺗ َﺄ َﺑﱠـﺪ‬
‫ﻏْﻮﻟَُﮭﺎ ﻓَِﺮَﺟﺎُﻣَﮭـﺎ‬ ً َ‫ِﺑِﻤﻨ‬ ‫ﺖ اﻟﺪّﯾَﺎُر َﻣَﺤﻠﱡَﮭﺎ ﻓَُﻤﻘَﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬
ِ َ‫ﻋﻔ‬
َ

‘Afat al-diyār is a common phrase in the nasīb section of the Muʿallaqāt in general, not just

Labīd’s, and gives the sense of effacement and desertion referring to the disappeared traces

of the beloved’s abode. Al-maḥall is a place of temporary or brief residence and al-muqām

is a place of longer residence. The Arabic pronoun hā thus refers to the beloved’s dwelling

places. Minā, Ghawl, and Rijām are all place names and neighboring mountains in the

upper section of Najd which can still be visited today. Ta’abbada means it became wild

and deserted. It could refer to a place where wild animals and other fauna have taken over,

or it could refer to simply jinn or a barren space dominated by flora. The meaning is

imprecise. Yet according to Kamal Abu Deeb, it also carries another meaning: to remain.103

Thus, in a quintessential matter, the poet stops over the ruins of his beloved’s tribe which

have, over time, become wild and deserted.

103
There are far too many literary analyses of the Muʿallaqāt, including of Labīd’s poem, to discuss in the
confines of this thesis. Yet I would like to summarize briefly Kamal Abu-Deeb’s fascinating and intensive
study of the Labīd’s Mu‘allaqa. He writes that the first brief statement of the effaced aṭlāl (‘afat) is followed
by an element of paradox in the word ta’abbada (to last/remain). This fundamental opposition expressed—
between temporary residence and permanent residence—permeates throughout the entire multi-dimensional
poem. In the end, however, only the ṭūlul are left. Thus, for Abu Deeb, the dominant theme is not one of loss,
sadness and vanishing. The ṭūlul are illuminated through an image of permanence and eternal existence. He
has also demonstrated that the animal scene of the journey are rooted in both imagination and symbol as in
real life observation and descriptive detail. For a more detailed discussion of this analysis, turn to Michael
Sells, “The Qasida and the West: Self-Reflective Stereotype and Critical Encounter,” Al-’Arabiyya, 1987,
307–57.

37
Polk:

Effaced are the campsites, both the stopping points and the campgrounds:

In Minan [in the Central Najd] both Ghaul and Rijam have become the haunts of wild

beasts.

Sells:

The tent marks in Minan are worn away,

where she encamped

and where she alighted,

Ghawl and Rijam left to the wild

S.S.

Effaced are the abodes,

brief encampments and long-settled ones;

At Minā the wilderness has claimed

Mount Ghawl and Mount Rijām.

Polk’s translation of the bayt is lengthy, quite literal but also, in my view, aesthetically

pleasing in this anomalous instance. Unlike Sells and Stetkevych, he specifies the rendering

of ta’abbada as the “haunts of wild beasts,” whereas in its original definition the

interpretation is left open. It could be said that wilderness is a more accurate choice. He

also interjects with brackets to help contemporary readers understand that the location of

these places still exists today and is, in fact, in “Central Najd.” The fact that the stanza is

38
composed of two long lines also adds a sort of lengthiness (a general pattern specific to

Polk’s translation).

Sells rendition rearranges the structure of the original and complicates the meaning with the

word choice "alighted.” The line is composed of a stanza of four lines that form a quatrain.

Sells allows himself poetic license in handling the verse, paying more attention to the

stressed patterns. “The tent marks in Minan are worn away” is a contemporary English

verse that provides an intelligible bridge across the cultural gap for his readers. The

repetition of “where she” is to compensate for lost rhyme and emphasizes the feminine

sense of the source target rhyming scheme corresponding to the link maḥalluhā fa-

muqāmuhā. The order of the translation is switched since Sells places Minā in the first line

of his quatrain and not the third (where it should be if followed literally). In addition, the

idea of “tent marks” is not accurate. Diyār is a common word and “abodes” is, in my view

and the view of van Gelder as well, a better choice.104

S. Stetkevych’s translation is the most literal in terms of structure but also word choice.

“Effaced are the abodes” is a natural rendering of the Arabic. It is as if she attempts to

translate the text as literally as possible, as it is rendered in a version presentable for

scholars with proper transliteration. Her “Mount Ghawl and Mount Rijam” comes from an

old commentator who identifies the places as mountains, although this is up for debate

since another says al-Ghawl is a “well-known water.”105

104
van Gelder, “An Experiment with Beeston, Labīd, and Baššār,” 10.
105
van Gelder, 10.

39
Verse 2:

‫ﻲ ِﺳﻼُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ َ ‫َﺧﻠَﻘَﺎ ً َﻛَﻤﺎ‬

‫ﺿِﻤَﻦ اﻟُﻮِﺣ ﱠ‬ ‫ي َرْﺳُﻤَﮭـﺎ‬ ُ ‫ﻓََﻤﺪَاِﻓُﻊ اﻟﱠﺮﯾﱠﺎِن‬
َ ‫ﻋِّﺮ‬

Madāfi‘ are the water courses of Jabal al-Rayyān. The fa is used as a link with the previous

line. ‘Ariya is he undressed or uncovered. Rasm refers to the beloved’s remaining trace and

is a very common word of pre-Islamic poetry in the nasīb section referring to the traces. Al-

wuḥiyy should not be confused with divine revelation or inspiration but in this context of

writing, meaning inscriptions or writing, and silām is rock.

Polk:

And the flood channels of Ar-Raiyan, their traces are stripped away,

Worn smooth, just like writings on rocks.

Sells:

And the torrent beds of Rayyan

naked tracing

worn thin, like inscriptions

carved in flattened stones.

S.S.

And the torrent beds of Wādī Rayyān,

their tracings are laid bare,

40
Preserved as surely as inscriptions

Are preserved in rock.

Polk’s translation is literal. In fact, it also reflects how a nearly imperceptible difference in

orthography reflects a pronounced difference in the reader’s absorption. “Ar-Raiyan” in

Polk’s version assimilates the article, perhaps so non-Arabists will not be misled into

pronouncing the “al” with an “l.”

Sells again uses the quatrain form, the commonest unrhymed four-line stanza in English

language poetry, employing words and phrases of poetic tone. As opposed to Polk, Sells’

rendering of “Rayyan” flows smoother. Sells’ phrase “inscriptions carved in flattened

stones” is also a more poetic, tangible, descriptive image than, “like writings on rocks,” and

is arguably a free interpretation, since the more literal rendering is just “rock.”

S. Stetkevych’s rendering is also literal with some flavoring reminiscent of Sells’

translation in terms of diction and form (quatrain). The clearest example of literalism is

perhaps the rendering of “‘Urriyya,’ which she renders in its literal passive in her

translating, “tracings are laid bare.” The expression “torrent beds” is the same expression as

Sells’ earlier version but with a bit of an obscure usage.

Verse 3:

41
 ‫ِﺣَﺠٌﺞ َﺧﻠَْﻮَن َﺣﻼﻟَُﮭﺎ َوَﺣَﺮاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ﻋْﮭِﺪ أ َِﻧﯿِﺴَﮭﺎ‬
َ َ‫ِدَﻣٌﻦ ﺗ ََﺠﱠﺮَم ﺑَْﻌﺪ‬

Diman are the remains of the abodes that are left behind and what was blackened. Jarrama

implies the years that have passed. Anīs is a companion (in this context: people). Ḥijaj is

the plural of ḥijja which means sana, a year. Khalā means it passed, referring to the years.

Ḥalāl and ḥarām refer to two different periods of time: the sacred and profane months of

the Jāhiliyya calendar. During the ḥalal period fighting was allowed whereas during the

ḥaram period fighting and bloodshed were forbidden. The verse gives the reader an idea of

the poet stopping at the ruins of the abandoned encampment of the beloved’s tribe that has

become blackened and completely effaced.

Polk:

Dung, no longer renewed after a period of the frequenting of the site:

Years, both the free months and the forbidden months, have

Passed.

Sells:

Dung-stained ground

That tells the years passed

since human presence, months of peace

Gone by, and months of war

S.S.

42
Their grounds are now dung-darkened patches

over which, since they were peopled,

Years have elapsed, the profane and sacred months

all passed away.

Polk’s translation is literal and somewhat ambiguous. A reader unfamiliar with the context

would not be able to distinguish the free and forbidden months, only explained in the

footnote below. He seems to miss out on the translation of anīs, or does not translate it as

people, instead inferring it in the context of “frequenting of the site.”

Sells’ rendition reproduces the Arabic’s textual image with liberty, as seen in the rendering

of dung as “dung-stained ground.” Sells’ rendering is self-explanatory. Take, for example,

his use of “months of peace and months of war.” As a reader we now understand that there

are months were peace was ordained as well as an ordinary season were war was waged.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is literal in word choice and structure but also more poetic with

the clear device of alliteration. She writes, for example, the vaguer “profane and sacred.”

Verse 4:

‫َوْدُق اﻟﱠﺮَواِﻋِﺪ َﺟْﻮدَُھﺎ ﻓَِﺮَھﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ َ ‫ﺖ َﻣَﺮاِﺑْﯿَﻊ اﻟﻨﱡُﺠﻮِم َو‬

‫ﺻﺎﺑََﮭﺎ‬ ْ َ‫ُرِزﻗ‬

43
Marābi‘ al-nujūm are spring rains and wadq al-rawā‘id is the rain of thunderous clouds.

Ibn al-Anbārī said that jawd is the rain that pleases its inhabitants.106 Rihām is soft rain.

Thus, the thunder clouds rained abundantly and softly.

Polk:

Replenished by the rain stars of spring, and smitten by the blows of the thunderheads, both

the downpour and the drizzle

Sells:

Replenished by the rain stars

of spring, and struck

by thunderclap downpour, or steady,

fine-dropped silken rain.

S. S.

They were watered by the rain

The spring stars bring:

Upon them rained the thunderclouds,

Downpour and drizzle

106
King Abdulaziz Center for World Culture and King Fahad National Library, The Mu'allqāt for
Millennials: Pre-Islamic Arabic Golden Odes, 2020.

44
Polk’s translation is literal in terms of word choice and structure. The phrase “smitten by”

is a more creative interpretation of the verb ṣāba which more simply and literally could be

rendered as struck.

Sells’ translation is most descriptive, describing in detail the type of rain as “steady, fine

dropped silken rain,” versus Polk and Stetkevych’s drizzle (or rihām). Sells

characteristically changes the syntax to accord with a translation that maximizes cadence.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is reminiscent of Polk’s in terms of its literalism with both

structure and diction. Further of note in this comparative analysis is the different rendering

of thunder (thunderhead by Polk, thunderclap by Sells, and thunderclouds by Stetkevych).

Verse 5:

‫ِإْرَزاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ٍ ‫ُﻣﺘ ََﺠـﺎِو‬

‫ب‬ ‫ﻋِﺸﯿﱠٍﺔ‬
َ ‫َو‬ ‫ﻏﺎٍد ُﻣْﺪِﺟٍﻦ‬ َ ‫ِﻣْﻦ ُﻛِّﻞ‬
َ ‫ﺳﺎِرﯾٍَﺔ َو‬

Sāriya is a heavy cloud that pours down rain at night. Ghād mudjin is a cloud that covers

the sky in the morning time. Al-tajāwub is a reciprocal act that means to respond to one

other. Irzām is the sound a she-camel,107 the nāqa, makes during thunder. It is as if her

thunder responds, resonates, resounds.

107
According to J. Stetkevych, the nāqa, or she-camel, is a mount whose specifies and gender are both
canonically specified. See Jaroslav Stetkevych, The Zephyrs of Najd: The Poetics of Nostalgia in The
Classical Arabic Nasib (University of Chicago Press, 1993), 27. S. Stetkevych writes that the decision to ride
the she-camel in the rahīl, or desert journey, is perhaps self-evident as the beast is the most suited for
surviving the arduous desert crossing. The classical commentators point out that the she-camel was employed
for travel, whereas the horse (faras, m. or f.) was reserved for battle and hunt. See: Stetkevych, The Mute
Immortals Speak, 27.

45
Polk:

From every unseen evening-traveling one and day-traveling cloud that darkens the sky.

And night voyager, the rumbling of thunder answers one another.

Sells:

From every kind of cloud

passing at night,

darkening in the morning,

or rumbling in peals across the evening sky.

S.S.

And every night-faring cloud,

Each early morning horizon-darkener,

And evening cloud

with resounding rumble.

Polk’s translation makes the verse seem like both the evening traveling clouds and day

traveling ones darken the sky. Polk adds context about a night voyager which Sells does not

add.

46
Sells is most precise in his rendering; some clouds pass at night and darken in the morning.

Sells again uses precise diction with the word “peal.” He also maintains the rhythm with

the “ing” ending of three consecutive verbs.

S. Stetkevych’s rendering arguably pays the most attention to sound with the poetic device

of alliteration as in “each/early” and “resounding/rumble.” She also uses assonance as in

the /o/ sound of “morning horizon.”

Verse 6:

‫ِﺑﺎﻟَﺠْﻠَﮭﺘ َْﯿـِﻦ ِظﺒَﺎُؤَھﺎ َوﻧَﻌَﺎُﻣَﮭـﺎ‬ ْ َ ‫ع اﻷ َْﯾُﮭﻘَﺎِن وأ‬

ْ َ‫طﻔَﻠ‬
‫ﺖ‬ ُ ‫ﻓَﻌَﻼ ﻓُُﺮو‬

Al-ayhuqān is a plant, similar to wild arugula, and ‘alā refers to the branches (furū‘) of the

plant that shoot upwards, from the verb ‘alā which means he rose or ascended. Al-Jalha is a

side of a valley. Aṭfala means that the gazelles (ẓibā’) birthed children and na‘ām is an

ostrich.

Polk:

And then the shoots of the aihuqan arose

And the antelopes and the ostriches have given birth on the valley sides

Sells:

The white pondcress has shot upward,

and on the wadi slopes

47
Gazelles among their newborn,

and ostriches

S.S.:

The ayhuqan thrust up its shoots and

on the two sides of the valley

Gazelles and ostriches

have borne their young.

Polk’s translation is unusually concise. He takes the Arabic al-ayhuqān and latinizes it as

aihuqan. He then defines it in a footnote (referencing Lane’s dictionary).

Sells, on the other hand, tries to find the equivalent for the esoteric plant (which remains

esoteric when he renders it as pondcress). His translation groups the verse in a quatrain

while focusing on the poetic image of the original. The expression “The white pondcress

has shot upward” is more idiomatic, reflecting modern English poetic techniques in

grouping the words in different forms.

S. Stetkevych does not even italicize “ayhuqan” which creates a stilted verse. On the other

hand, Sells leaves the word wadi untranslated and Stetkevych uses the word valley to create

a cultural bridge for the reader. Stetkevych therefore at times uses a foreignizing and a

domesticating approach in the same verse!

Verse 7:

48
 َ َ‫ﻋﻮذَا ﺗ َﺄ َﱠﺟُﻞ ِﺑﺎﻟﻔ‬
‫ﻀـﺎِء ِﺑَﮭﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ُ ْ َ ‫ﻋﻠَﻰ أ‬
‫طﻼِﺋَﮭﺎ‬ َ ٌ‫ﺳﺎِﻛﻨَﺔ‬
َ ‫َواﻟِﻌْﯿـُﻦ‬

‘Alā aṭlā’ihā means on its traces. ‘Ūdhan means newly born. Ta’ajjal means he lead a

group. Bihām are the children of the cows. The verse is highly evocative painting an image

of the yearlings forming a group beside their mother. In the nasīb, the oryx are referred to

by the plural epithet al-‘ayn, “the wide-of-eyes” in a context of longing for the beloved

sand for the uns “companionship” and “intimacy” she represented.108 According to Berdom

al-‘ayn is a metaphorical way to refer to the whole body of a wild ass.109 However, it is also

used as a metonym, as wide-eyed was a term that substituted for the familiar oryx cow by

pre-Islamic poets.

Polk:

And the large-eyes ones resting beside their fawns; Having newborn, their yearlings form

little groups in the open

Sells:

And the wide-of-eyes

silent above monthling fawns.

On the open terrain

yearlings cluster.

108
Sells, “The Qasida and the West: Self-Reflective Stereotype and Critical Encounter.”
109
Abduladim Berdom, “A Comparative Study of Some English Translations of Parts of Three Mu ’allaqat,”
n.d., 381.

49
S.S.

Wide-eyed oryx cows, newly-calved,

Stand above their newborns, motionless,

While on the plain the yearlings,

In clusters, caper.

The three translators render the verses differently with Polk and Sells choosing words as if

the poet is describing a fawn and its gazelle. Stetkevych renders the verse as an image of an

oryx cow. It appears that Stetkevych is the most accurate because in a review Beeston

criticized Polk for mistaking the gazelle for the oryx in the original poetry.110

Polk’s translation does not include a space between ideas with the use of the word “having

newborn” and then “their yearlings” immediately following.

Sells’ translation employs the literary use of the word “monthling,” which describes a baby

that is only one month old. His version is both evocative and concise with the use of

“cluster” instead of Polk’s “form little groups.”

S. Stetkevych uses both the metonymy and the word it is meant to substitute, therefore

adding words to the original, as in “wide-eyed oryx cows.” Stetkevych is the only one of

110
A. F. L. Beeston, “William R. Polk (Tr.): The Golden Ode, by Labid Ibn Rabiah. Xxxii, 177 Pp. Chicago
and London: University of Chicago Press, 1974. $15, £7.50. | Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African
Studies | Cambridge Core.

50
the three translators to include such an addition. Furthermore, she pays attention to sound

with the use of alliteration as in “clusters caper.”

Verse 8:

‫ُزﺑٌُﺮ ﺗ ُِﺠﺪﱡ ُﻣﺘ ُﻮﻧََﮭﺎ أ َْﻗﻼُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ﻋْﻦ اﻟ ﱡ‬

‫ﻄﻠُﻮِل َﻛﺄ َﻧﱠَﮭﺎ‬ َ ‫ﺴﯿُﻮُل‬
‫َوَﺟﻼ اﻟ ﱡ‬

Jalā means it uncovered. Al-suyūl is the plural of sayl meaning stream. Al-ṭulūl is the plural

of aṭlāl meaning ruins. Zubur is a piece of writing, as also used to describe the Book of

Psalms, or a book. The verse, one of the arguably most famous in pre-Islamic poetry, uses

an evocative metaphor to compare the uncovering of the ruined abodes by streams in a

matter akin to writing on old scrolls being renewed by pens.

Polk: And the flash floods uncover the traces just as though they were Writing whose text

has been renewed by pens.

Sells:

The rills and the runlets

uncovered marks like the script

of faded scrolls

restored with pens of reed.

S.S.:

The torrents have exposed the ruins,

as if they were

51
writings whose text pens have

inscribed anew

Polk uses more archaic English and opts for a plain translation that misses the idea of

scrolls as in the word matun, or “scroll,” which Stetkevych also ignores.

Sells’ translation, as usual, employs precise vocabulary, such as the words “rills” and

“runlets” instead of just streams, making use of the poetic technique of alliteration. There is

a difference between flash floods and rills and runlets. Sells is smoother and poetic.

Verse 9:

َ ‫ِﻛﻔَﻔﺎ ً ﺗ َﻌَﱠﺮ‬
َ ‫ض ﻓَْﻮﻗَُﮭﱠﻦ ِو‬
‫ﺷﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ‫أ َْو َرْﺟُﻊ َواِﺷَﻤٍﺔ أ ُِﺳ ﱠ‬
‫ﻒ ﻧَُﺆوُرَھﺎ‬

Kifaf is the plural of kafa which are circles. Wisham is the plural of washam which is a

tattoo. Here the poet compares, in a manner akin to the prior verse, the appearance of the

ruined abodes with the renewal of a tattoo after having been exposed by rain.

Polk: Or the renewing of a tattoo by the sprinkling and rubbing of soot in circles above

which the tattoo appeared.

Sells: Or the tracings of a tattooed woman beneath the indigo powder, sifted in spirals, the

form begins to reappear.

52
S.S.

Or as if they were tattoo marks

that emerge

As the tattooer re-applies lampblack to

patterns needle-pricked on hands

This is a rare example where Polk appears to create a more lucid, clear straightforward

image than the other translators under comparison. Once again, though, we observe how

Polk pays no attention to musicality or any sort of poetic devices.

Sells is once again very precise as the only translator to recall the color—indigo—of the

tattoo. Sells also uses alliteration with “tracings” and “tattooed” and “sifted in spirals.”

S. Stetkevych continues to use a version that is geared to the specialist with the choice of

the word “lampblack,” referring with precision to the black pigment made from soot. Her

use of “needle-pricked” is another testament to her precise diction and renderings.

Verse 10:

‫ﺻﱠﻤﺎ ً َﺧَﻮاِﻟﺪَ َﻣﺎ ﯾَِﺒْﯿُﻦ َﻛﻼُﻣَﮭﺎ‬

ُ ‫ﺳَﺆاﻟُﻨَﺎ‬ َ ‫ﺖ أ َْﺳﺄ َﻟَُﮭﺎ َوَﻛْﯿ‬
ُ ‫ﻒ‬ ُ ‫ﻓََﻮﻗَْﻔ‬

53
The term ṣumm “hard,” “deaf,” “silent” generates a powerful and diverse resonance used in

three other Muʿallaqāt. 111 Here, it is used in connection with the aṭlāl that do not respond

to the poet’s questioning. Yet according to the Arabic commentary provided by The

Muʿallaqāt for Millennials alongside the Arabic word, ṣumm also means a rock, or rock-

like. Alas, in Imru’ al-Qays’ Mu‘allaqa it is used with the rocks to which the stars are

tethered. Khawālid is the plural of khālid, or eternal. Yet the commentary in The

Muʿallaqāt for Millennials renders it as a trumpeter or a horn player. We once again are

revealed the extraordinary depth of the Arabic language and the playfulness of the poet

who undoubtedly would have been aware of how a single word often carries various

implications. The line also reveals how various translators invariably prioritize, analyze and

structure the qaṣīda differently, with Stetkevych viewing this line as most emblematic of

the qaṣīda’s overall theme.112 Here, the poet stops to ask himself the conventional

rhetorical question regarding those no longer then.

Polk:

And so I stopped, asking them, but how can our questions [get answers]?

Deaf things, rocks of the ages. Their speech is not intelligible.

111
Sells, “The Qasida and the West: Self-Reflective Stereotype and Critical Encounter.”
112
Returning to Stetkevych’s 1993 book The Mute Immortals Speak, she analyzes this line as a riddle that not
only reveals much about the nasīb but about the entire qaṣida. The profound question is a synecdoche for the
ruined encampment and can be viewed within the wider culture/nature dialect; in fact, the only way that man
(or culture) can understand this question is by reding the signs and therefore acknowledging his own mortality
(etymologically the root ṣ-m-m (deaf, mute, immortal) is also connected to the ’-s-m, w-sh-m, w-s-m group
implies a sign). “The message is that the silence of illegibility or indecipherability is death. The poet responds
to this memento mori in tow ways. On the poetic level, his realization of his own mortality marks the ritual
separation and his embarking on the “heroic question” that is the rahīl (desert journey) section… On the
metapoetic level, we can interpret the entire poetic enterprise as the poet’s question for immortality, for a
never-muted voice.” See: Stetkevych, The Mute Immortals Speak, 21–22.

54
Sells:

I stopped to question them.

How is one to question

deaf, immutable

inarticulate stones?

S.S.:

Then I stopped and questioned them,

But how do we question

Mute immortals whose speech

Is indistinct

Polk again uses brackets. It as if he employs them to make an editorial statement or

clarification within a literal verse, but often, the addition does not clarify much. As usual,

Polk has a rather literal translation trying to retain the original, adding “Their speech is not

intelligible” which corresponds with mā yabīnu kalāmuhā.

Sells once again employs the four-line stanza. Almost every line contains the same

syllables, between five and six. Sells translates ṣumm as stone instead of rock whereas a

stone is much smaller.

55
S. Stetkevych also follows her typical four-line stanza. Here, however, she uses “mute

immortals” to translate ṣumman khawālid recalling the title of her earlier 1993 book: The

Mute Immortals Speak: Pre-Islamic Poetry and the Poetics of Ritual.

Verse 11:

‫َوﺛ َُﻤﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ُ ‫ِﻣْﻨَﮭﺎ َو‬

‫ﻏﻮِدَر ﻧُْﺆﯾَُﮭﺎ‬ ‫ﺖ َوَﻛﺎَن ِﺑَﮭﺎ اﻟَﺠِﻤْﯿُﻊ ﻓَﺄ َْﺑَﻜُﺮوا‬
ْ َ‫ﻋِﺮﯾ‬
َ

‘Ariya is, again, the idea of being stripped, rendered as it undressed or uncovered. Abkara

means he left early in the morning. Al-nu’yu is a hole around the campsite for water to flow

through and thumām is a type of grass.

Polk: [These sites] have become a bare void, although the group was there; then they went

away in the early morning, Abandoning the rain ditches and the thatch walling.

Sells:

Stripped bare now,

what once held all that tribe–

they left in the early morning

leaving a trench and some thatch.

S.S.

Stripped bare where once a tribe had dwelt

and then one morn departed;

56
The trench around the tents now lay abandoned

and the plugs of thumam grass that filled the holes.

Polk again uses brackets as a form of addition, translating the first line as “[These sites]

have become a bare void.” Polk is more specific than Sells in terms of diction describing

what Sells renders is a trench as “rain ditches,” and the thatch, as “thatch walling.” Once

again, the mere fact of inserting brackets presumes a secondary status of the translator, or

rather asserts the notion of the “original” author as creator, a hesitance to interpret or

display any sort of “infidelity.” It also, as mentioned earlier, creates a stilted verse.

Stetkevych and Sells both opt for the idiomatic expression “stripped bare now”

corresponding to the image of the beloveds’ abodes. Furthermore, Sells uses the em dash—

a modern poetic device made famous by Emily Dickinson in the 19th century—to separate

the bare tent scene with the image of the tribe leaving.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is the most lengthy and detailed, using additional context to

describe the “trench around the tent” and the thatch as “plugs of thumam grass that filled

the holes.”

Verse 12:

‫ﺼﱡﺮ ِﺧﯿَﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ُ ُ ‫ﺴ ﻮا ﻗ‬
ِ َ ‫ﻄﻨَﺎ ً ﺗ‬ ُ ‫ﻓَﺘ ََﻜﻨﱠ‬ ‫ﻲ ِ ِﺣﯿَﻦ ﺗ ََﺤﱠﻤﻠُﻮا‬ ُ ‫ﺷﺎﻗَﺘَْﻚ‬
ّ ‫ظْﻌُﻦ اﻟَﺤ‬ َ

57
Shāqa is he longed. Ẓa‘n al-ḥayy are the tribal women in the howdah. Ḥammala means he

carried. Takannasa is he entered [the howdah]. Ṣarra is it creaked. The verse displays the

poet’s mourning and longing in seeing the women of the tribe pack up their luggage and

place it on their camels preparing for departure.

Polk:

When they mount and enter the cotton-like lair whose covering sights [as the camel lifts it

away], The Howdah-borne women of the tribe smite you with nostalgia.

Sells:

They stirred longing in you

as they packed up their howdahs,

Disappearing in the lairs of cotton,

frames creaking.

S.S.

The clanswomen departing stirring your longing

when they loaded up their gear,

Then climbed inside their howdah frames

with creaking tents

What does a translator do with a word as particular as howdah? Polk leaves it, although he

explains in the footnote that “the howdah is a loosely bound, wood frame box, somewhat

58
like an eighteenth-century sedan chair mounted on the back of a camel.” Polk translates

shāqa as nostalgia which seems more apt for translating the word ḥanīn; longing seems

more appropriate in this context.

As for Sells, he simply leaves the word howdah, confronting us with the difference

(although it is a word in the English dictionary, its usage is esoteric). Yet the second line

clarifies. Now the non-specialist is quick to understand that the howdah is the seat in the

back of the camel, made up of “lairs of cotton” with “creaking frames.”

S. Stetkevych separates this verse as the start of a new, second theme: The Departure of the

Women of the Clan. Instead of employing a metonymic pronoun “they,” she is direct,

beginning with the phrase “the clanswomen.” It is also noteworthy that Stetkevych

translates khiyām literally as tents when the implied is the howdahs, revealing an

inclination towards the literal in her translation.

Verse 13:

‫ﻋﻠَْﯿـِﮫ ِﻛﻠﱠـﺔٌ َوِﻗَﺮاُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬

َ ‫َزْوٌج‬ ٍ ‫ِﻣْﻦ ُﻛِّﻞ َﻣْﺤﻔُﻮ‬
ِ ‫ف ﯾُِﻈﱡﻞ ِﻋ‬
ُ‫ﺼﯿﱠﮫ‬

Ḥaffa is he enclosed. Maḥfūf is the past participle, to be covered—referring to the howdah.

‘Iṣiyya are the two sticks used to support the howdah. Killa is the light curtain or the carpet

of the howdah whereas qirām are drapes. This verse describes the structure and unique

design of the women’s howdah: it is made of a wooden frame covered by a fine cloth.

59
Polk:

From every covered thing whose frame is shaded [by a]

Double-lined covering upon which is a carpet and its embroidered cover.

Sells:

Post-beams covered

with twin-rodden curtain

of every kind of cloth brocade

and a black, transparent, inner veil.

S.S. :

Each howdah’s wooden frame

was shaded by a double woolen carpet

And covered by fine veil

and figured drape.

Polk’s translation is literal in diction and structure. For example, he starts the translation

with “from every covered thing,” which corresponds directly to “min kulli maḥfūfin.”

Sells again provides a quatrain form but with much more freedom in the choice and

organization of his units, showing a great variety in the arrangement of stresses and words

with the alliteration in the three lines: “post-beams covered with twin-rodded curtain of

every kind of cloth.”

60
S. Stetkevych again leans towards the literal translation, translating the word yuẓill in its

passive form as “was shaded.”

Verse 14:

‫ﻋ ﱠ‬
‫ﻄﻔَـﺎ ً آْرا َُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ُ َ ‫َوِظﺒَﺎَء َوْﺟَﺮة‬ ِ ‫ُزَﺟًﻼ َﻛﺄ َﱠن ِﻧﻌَﺎَج ﺗ ُْﻮ‬
‫ﺿَﺢ ﻓَْﻮﻗََﮭﺎ‬

Zujal are groups. Tūḍiḥa is an area in Najd famous for its oryx. Wajra is an area in Taif

famous for its gazelles. ‘Aṭṭafa means he glanced over with tenderness. Ārām is a gazelle

that is pure white. The verse is a simile comparing the group of clanswomen to

stereotypical dessert animals such as oryx and gazelles.

Polk:

Calling out as though they were the oryxes of Tudih hovering over [their young]

Or the gazelles of Wajrah with their fawns clinging close.

Sells:

Strung out along the route

in groups, like oryx does of Tudih

Or Wajran gazelles, white fawns

Below them, soft necks turning

61
S.S.

In clusters the women departed, as if the howdahs bore

the oryx cows of Tūdih

And the white does of Wajrah, tenderly inclining

over their young.

Polk’s translation is less literal and more free, most represented in his word choice in the

expression “hovering over presumably” for fawqahā which literally could be rendered as

“above her.” He also uses the poetic device of alliteration translating ‘uṭṭafan as “clinging

close” which misses the idea of tenderly glancing over.

Sells’ translation uses poetic license clearly reflected in how he interprets the word

‘uṭṭafan. He renders this as “soft necks turning,” which implies young ones but is not

explicit.

S. Stetkevych provides the context, using the technique of addition, adding “the women,”

which helps situate the qaṣīda back in its context of the departing clanswomen for the

distracted reader. All three poets use different expressions to stress the rhymed verse in

ārāmuhā where the suffix hā refers symbolically to the antelopes of Wajra. Stetkevych,

however, curiously translates gazelles as white does, which implies a female deer familiar

to the American or European leader and not the unknown gazelle found in open country in

Africa and Asia.

62
Verse 15:

َ ‫ﺸﺔَ أ َﺛْﻠَُﮭﺎ َوُر‬

‫ﺿﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ُ ‫أ َْﺟَﺰا‬
َ ‫ع ِﺑﯿ‬ ‫ب َﻛﺄ َﻧﱠَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ت َوَزاﯾَﻠََﮭﺎ اﻟ ﱠ‬
ُ ‫ﺴَﺮا‬ ْ ‫ُﺣِﻔَﺰ‬

Ḥafaza means he encouraged or urged on [while walking]. Zāyala means it faded. Ajzā‘ is

the plural of jaza‘a is a turning in a valley. Bīsha is a city situated in the modern-day ‘Asir

province and ruḍām are great rocks comparable to camels in their size. In this verse, Labīd

paints an image of the tribe’s people dissolving into the distance and scattered in the

desert—appearing to the poet in a shimmering haze like the trees and boulders of Bīsha.

Polk: Swiftly fading into the distance, the mirage blurs them until they appear like

Tamarisk trees and basalt blocks in the valley of Bishah

Sells:

They faded into the distance

appearing in the shimmering haze

like tamarisks and boulders

on the slopes of Bishah.

S.S.:

They were urged on, and the mirage

dissolved them ‘til they were like

The windings of the riverbed of Bīshah

With its tamarisks and boulders.

63
In this rendering Polk is literal and uses the poetic device of alliteration as evidenced in

“Tamarisk trees” and “baalt blocks.” He also translates al-sarāb literally as mirage.

Sells’ translation is freer with diction and structure. For example, he translates al-sarāb as

shimmering haze.

S. Stetkevych preserves the pattern of the original, ending her translation of the verse with

“its tamarisks and boulders,” similarly to the original athluhā wa-ruḍāmuhā. She also

offers a translation that attempts to preserve a similar semantic equivalence translating

ḥufizat as “urged on,” which Sells ignores and Polk renders in the adverb as “swiftly.”

Verse 16:

‫ﺖ أ َْﺳﺒَﺎﺑَُﮭﺎ َوِرَﻣﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ ‫وﺗ َﻘَ ﱠ‬

ْ َ ‫ﻄﻌ‬ ْ َ ‫ﺑَْﻞ َﻣﺎ ﺗ َﺬَﱠﻛُﺮ ِﻣْﻦ ﻧََﻮاَر وﻗَْﺪ ﻧَﺄ‬
‫ت‬

Na’ā is he distanced himself. Asbāb are bonds of affection. Rimām are old, worn ropes.

Here we are still in the nasīb and the poet is struggling to move on from his estranged lover

Nawār whom he recalls. The earliest scene of crying on the ruined abodes is evoked; his

sadness is not hyperbolic.

Polk: Nay! [O foolish lover] Do not think longer of the girl Nawar since she has gone far

away; And her ties and bindings [to you] are sundered.

Sells: But why recall Nawár?

64
She’s gone.

Her ties and bonds to you

are broken.

S.S.

What then do you remember of Nawār

when she has gone away,

And her bonds, both firm and frayed,

are cut asunder

All translators render this tense in the second person.

But Sells words it as a question, “but why recall Nawár?” This phrasing implies an extra

scornful tone, as if, the poet Labīd, is blaming himself for recalling Nawār after she

disappeared in the howdah and in the mirage–yet he never recalls her physical traits, as

usually was the case for poets.

Furthermore, Sells’ use of broken is far more modern than Polk’s literary use of “sundered”

and Stetkevych’s literary-archaic use of “cut asunder.” Once again, Sells’ verse disregards

the characteristics of metrical poem but maintains short, snappy rhythm. Sells and Polk

forgo meaning here disregarding the line asbābuhā wa-rimāmuhā, which conveys strong or

weak relationships (used often to convey strong ropes verses weak ropes).

65
S. Stetkevych employs her usual proper scholarly transliteration. Her strategy aims at a

close structural and semantic correspondence based on the transference of the source text’s

literal meaning, as evidenced in the phrase wa-qad na’at which is rendered as “when she

has gone away.”

Verse 17:

‫أ َْھَﻞ اﻟِﺤَﺠﺎِز ﻓَﺄ َْﯾَﻦ ِﻣْﻨَﻚ َﻣَﺮاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ْ ‫ُﻣّﺮﯾﱠﺔٌ َﺣﻠﱠ‬

ْ ‫ﺖ ِﺑﻔَْﯿﺪَ َوَﺟـﺎَوَر‬
‫ت‬

In this line, there are three place names: Murriyya is attributed to the people of Murra, as in

the lineage of Murra in Jabal al-Mismah and Fayd, which is another known area where

Nawār, the inamorata once was (now she is in the Hijaz). A voice interjects and questions

the poet saying that Nawār was in Fayd and then in Hijaz. Between the poet and between

the Hijaz the distance is far, nearly unattainable. The verse turns to the second person,

directly addressing the poet and changing the point of view, questioning: “So how could

you possibly meet her again?” This is a good example where the verse needs to be read in

its unity and not cut off from previous lines. All three translators render the classical nasīb

idea of longing here, but there is nuance in their word choice and rhythm.

Polk:

A woman [she is] of the people of Muriyah who briefly camped at Faid and then became a

neighbor / To the people of the Hijaz. So, where can longing for her get you?

Sells:

66
The Múrrite lady has lodged in Fayd,

then joined up with the Hijázi clans.

Who are you

to aspire to reach her?

S.S.

A Murrite woman who alit in Fayd

and then dwelt near the people of Hijāz—

How could you ever hope

to meet with her again?

Polk, in this translation, strives for literal structure and diction, evidenced in the use of the

phrase “then became a neighbor,” for the Arabic jāwarat, which comes from the root j-wa-

r, from which the word neighborhood (jār) stems. Towards this end, he once again uses

brackets [she is], creating a stilted rendering.

Sells creates short punchy prose, preferring a free colloquial phrasing “joined up with”

rather than the more literal “neighborhood.” The question again takes an almost reproachful

or condescending tone appearing to jab the character of the poet rather than comment on

the mere fact of the long distance causing the implausibility of his desires. “Who are you to

aspire to reach her?” he asks himself.

67
S. Stetkevych as well prefers a free interpretation, although sticking to a literary word

choice with dwelt, the past tense of the verb to dwell, as in to live in or at a specific place.

The use of the word “alit” is also peculiar, meaning to come by chance in its archaic usage.

Verse 18:

‫ﻀﱠﻤﻨَﺘَْﮭﺎ ﻓَـْﺮدَة ٌ ﻓَُﺮَﺧﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬

َ َ ‫ﻓَﺘ‬ ‫ق اﻟَﺠﺒَﻠَْﯿِﻦ أ َْو ِﺑُﻤَﺤﱠﺠٍﺮ‬
ِ ‫ﺸﺎِر‬
َ ‫ِﺑَﻤ‬

Mashāriq is the eastern side and the jabalān are the two mountains where Nawār settled.

Taḍammana is he included [Nawār]. Muḥajjar, Farda and Rukhām are all places known to

the poet. The most difficult part of these verses for the non-specialist is to situate the

geographic location of the place names, all locations where Nawār’s tribe camped. All

three translators decide to render at least some of them literally but with varying strategies

and to varying degrees.

Polk: On the eastern approaches of the Twin Mountains [of Tai’, near modern Hail] or in

Muhajjar, Then Fardah and Rukham would have gathered her in.

Sells:

On the eastern slops

of Twin Mountains of Muhájjar

Lonebutte has taken her in

then Marblehead,

68
S.S.

To the east of Tayyi’s two mountains she alit

or on Muhajjar’s Mount,

then the land of Fardah contained her,

then its nearby Mount Rijām.

Polk’s translation is literal. He translates taḍammanthā as “gathered her in” which sounds

puzzling vis-à-vis the more straightforward “taken her in” used by Sells. He also makes use

of brackets, only this time it gives it a slightly different sense. Unlike prior usages where

brackets were akin to a reticence to interpolate, here he uses them like an anthropologist

interjecting to show that the place names are still present (e.g., this place is still around in

the modern Hail).

Sells decides to use neologisms employing “Marblehead” for Rukhām which sounds like an

American city, creating a cultural bridge to the Anglophone reader. The reason why

Marblehead was specifically chosen is lost on me. Does the name relate to the flora of the

place?

Once again, S. Stetkevych employs archaic word choice and an addition. In the first line,

she uses the archaic verb “alit,” as in the place Nawār once lived in, adding the pronoun

“she” to situate the English reader in the qaṣīda’s context.

Verse 19:

69
 ‫ف اﻟﻘَْﮭِﺮ أ َْو ِطْﻠَﺨﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬
ُ ‫ِﻓْﯿَﮭﺎ ِوَﺣﺎ‬ ٌ‫ﺖ ﻓََﻤِﻈﻨﱠـﺔ‬
ْ َ‫ﺼﻮاِﺋٌﻖ ِإْن أ َْﯾَﻤﻨ‬
ُ َ‫ﻓ‬

Aymana has two meanings: he went to the right of someone or something and/or he went to

the direction of historic Yemen. Maẓinna comes from ẓinna meaning the place where you

think someone is from or is presumably to be found. Ṣuwā’iq is also a place name, situated

at the bottom of Hijaz. Ḥāf al-Qahr and Ṭilkhām are both place names familiar to the poet

in the south of Najd. Lābid reflects on where Nawār is most likely staying.

Polk: And then Suwaiq if she went to the south, and a sign of her [In] the black rock area of

al-Qahr or in its district of Tilkham.

Sells: Then Tinderland if she heads toward Yemen—I imagine her there—or at Thrall

Mountain or in the valley of Tilkhám

S.S.

Then in Suwā’iq, if she headed toward the Yemen,

so that by now

She is most likely in Wihāf al-Qahr

Or in Tilkhām.

Polk offers a more creative approach than his usual literal translation even though he

maintains the place names and structure of the source text. For example, the line “if she

went to the south,” is a functional translation equivalent. Polk draws on his geographic

70
knowledge ostensibly gained or sharpened from his excursion to inform the reader that

what aymana means in this context is the right, which would be south of the poet’s

location, hence the verse “if she went to the south.” There is some effort to translate

geography furthermore with the addition of “the black rock area” to al-Qahr, although his

use of district as in “district of Tilkham” seems misplaced.

Sells, again, mimics a quatrain stanza, keeping some place names such as

“Tilkham” but changing others (replacing, for example, Ṣuwā’iq with Tinderland, and the

typical al-Qahr to Thrall Mountain). His idiomatic version is short and to the point, making

the expressions more resonant within the context of Anglophone culture.

S. Stetkevych treats the verse as specialist transliterating place words such as “Suwā’iq”

and “Ṭilkhām.” This verse concludes what S. Stetkevych categorizes as part II of Labīd’s

verse. Another point of criticism is that Stetkevych did not transliterate Suwā’iq in standard

academic form or else she would have accounted for the ṣaad and therefore the

transliteration here is inconsistent.

Verse 20:

‫ﺻﱠﺮاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬
َ ‫ﺻِﻞ ُﺧﻠﱠـٍﺔ‬ َ َ‫َوﻟ‬
ِ ‫ﺸﱡﺮ َوا‬ ُ‫ﺻﻠُﮫ‬ َ ‫ﻄْﻊ ﻟُﺒَﺎﻧَﺔَ َﻣْﻦ ﺗ َﻌَﱠﺮ‬
ْ ‫ض َو‬ َ ‫ﻓَﺎْﻗ‬

Lubāna is a need. Ta‘arraḍa is he changed. Khulla is friendship. Ṣarrām is the one who

decisively cuts, referring to the bond. This is one of two lines that engenders confusion

71
over the original words, although the meaning of the qaṣīda can be derived. Yet the

question remains: Does Labīd praise himself because he initiates cutting off ties, or does he

disapprove of Nawār because of her changes and, in his blame over her, in fact strengthen

his determination to cut off the bond?

Polk: So [poet], make an end to longing for one whose unison has been thwarted. Even the

best lover of women is one who decisively cuts her off.

Sells: Cut the bond with one you cannot reach!

The best of those who make a bond are those who can break.

S.S.:

Cut off your love from one,

whose bond is wavering,

For the best binder of affection’s bond

is he who cuts it.

Polk’s footnote adds that this verse is difficult to convey in English and his rendering of the

poem, with his use of complicated words, alludes to his own difficulty. First, Polk uses a

bracket again, adding “poet” (the recipient of speech), reflecting again his reticence for

interpretation and his literal approach.

Sells uses assonance at the end of the two verses with the words “reach” and “break.”

72
S. Stetkevych’s verse makes use of alliteration, as in “best binder.”

Verse 21:

َ ‫ﺖ َوَزا‬
‫غ ِﻗَﻮاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ َ ‫ق ِإذَا‬
ْ َ‫ظﻠَﻌ‬ ٍ ‫ﺑَﺎ‬ ُ‫ﺻْﺮُﻣﮫ‬
َ ‫ﺐ اﻟُﻤَﺠﺎِﻣَﻞ ِﺑﺎﻟَﺠِﺰﯾِﻞ َو‬
ُ ‫َواْﺣ‬

Uḥbu means “he gave” but in this context, it is used in the imperative, as in “give!” Al-

mujāmil is the reward. Ṣarma is he cut. Ẓala‘a is he slanted. Qiwam is its straightness. This

line is a continuation of the prior conundrum: what should Labīd do about his love for

Nawār?

Polk:

Give bountifully to one who gives affection while the option to sever ties remains if she

disappears or her posture swerves.

Sells:

Give to one who seems to care,

give again,

but if the love goes lame and stumbles,

you can break it off

S.S.

Be generous to him who treats you well,

73
but only the cutting of bonds remains

When affection falters

and its foundation fails.

Polk’s translation reminds me of God-like language, represented in his use of the word

bountiful in the first line, as in “give bountifully.” The use of posture as well is a traditional

usage different from the more standard definition of posture as a bodily position but rather

posture as attitude. This may be lost to the reader.

Sells again uses a four-line quatrain to render the verses into straightforward idiomatic free

interpretation. The best example of this is his usage of “love goes lame,” which is

extremely conversational and casual, but also shows a particular attention to sound with the

use of assonance in the /o/ of “love” and “goes.” The use of repetition as a poetic device is

known to serve different purposes. Here, Sells repeats the word “give,” which hammers

down the generous attitude of the poet. The third person use of “you can” feels as if the

poet invites the reader into the poem, addressing us.

S. Stetkevych, on the other hand, delivers a more complex rendering with the use of “but

only the cutting of bonds remains.” It is another way of stating the following advice: be

generous so long as affection remains but if it does not then don’t fret to cut off the

relationship.

Verse 22 (start of the rahīl, the journey on horseback):

74
 َ ‫ﺻْﻠﺒَُﮭﺎ و‬
‫ﺳﻨَﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ُ ‫ِﻣْﻨَﮭﺎ ﻓَﺄ َْﺣﻨََﻖ‬ ً‫ﻄِﻠﯿﺢِ أ َْﺳﻔَـﺎٍر ﺗ ََﺮْﻛَﻦ ﺑَِﻘﯿﱠـﺔ‬
َ ‫ِﺑ‬

Biṭalīḥ is a nāqa who has become weakened from travel. Aḥnaqa means he lost weight.

Polk: [Forget her] with a travel-hardened riding beast of whom only a bit of flash remains /

And her lions and hump are shrunken [from the privations of the trip.]

Sells:

On a journey-worn mare,

worn to a remnant,

with sunken loins,

and a sunken hump

S.S.

And depart on a camel-mare jaded by journeys

that have reduced her to a remnant

‘Til she is emaciate

of loins and hump.

In Polk’s translation, he uses brackets to elucidate the meaning of the text and to add his

own interpretation as derived from a reading of the qaṣīda and the previous verses. This is

manifest in his bracketed use of “forget her,” and “from the privations of the trip.”

75
Sells version, conversely, makes little sense on its own and begs interpretation. Still, he is

once again more precise with his diction in the use of “mare” vis-à-vis Polk’s “travel-

hardened riding beast.” He also uses repetition for poetic effect, repeating “sunken.”

S. Stetkevych is most clear, descriptive, and literary. She adds context with the words

“jaded by journeys” (an alliteration as well, so a clear focus on sound). Now we understand

that the camel has been deformed from overuse “emaciated of lions and hump.” The use of

the word “emaciate” is also specific describing someone or something sickened because of

conditions such as lack of sleep or illness, precisely what the mentioned camel suffers

from.

Verse 23:

‫ﺖ ﺑَْﻌﺪَ اﻟَﻜﻼِل ِﺧﺪَاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ‫َوﺗ َﻘَ ﱠ‬

ْ َ ‫ﻄﻌ‬ ‫ﻓَﺈِذَا ﺗ َﻐَﺎﻟَﻰ ﻟَْﺤُﻤَﮭﺎ َوﺗ ََﺤ ﱠ‬
ْ ‫ﺴَﺮ‬
‫ت‬

Taghālā means he went and raised. Taḥassra means he [the camel] lost his hair. Khidām

are belts tightened on the camels’ ankles. Of noteworthiness in these translations are the

various renderings of khidām by the translators under study: “hobbling tether” (Polk),

“ankle thongs” (Sells), and “leathern shoe straps” (Stetkevych). The image evoked by all

translators, despite the slight nuance in meaning, remains powerful. The horse, exhausted,

is still moving so forcefully that the tethering rope on her forelegs breaks.

Polk: And when her flesh had become scare and she was rubbed bare, Then, after her

exhaustion, her hobbling tether was worn off.

76
Sells

When flesh shrinks back around the joints,

and at the limits of weariness ankle thongs fray

S.S.

Even when her flesh has dwindled

and she is exhausted

And, after great fatigue, her leathern shoe straps

are cut through,

Polk is literal as usual but surprises us with the poetic device of rhyme, manifested in

“scare” and “bare.”

Sells takes freedom in his translation preferring to convey the image and idea rather than to

preserve each word of the original. He uses precise vocabulary with his word choice and

phrases such as “limits of weariness” and “ankle thongs fray.”

S. Stetkevych attempts to give a more interpretative rendering. This leads her to use a sort

of repetition of the idea of the horse’s exhaustion. For example, her verse includes “she is

exhausted,” and “after great fatigue.” Yet in the original the only word literally translated

as exhaustion is al-kalāl. We can thus infer that Stetkevych has translated fa-taḥassrat as

“she is exhausted” instead of the more literal “she lost her hair.”

77
Verse 24:

ِ ‫ﻒ َﻣَﻊ اﻟَﺠﻨُﻮ‬
‫ب َﺟَﮭﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ﺻْﮭﺒَﺎُء َﺧ ﱠ‬
َ ‫ب ِﻓﻲ اﻟِّﺰَﻣﺎِم َﻛﺄ َﻧﱠَﮭﺎ‬
ٌ ‫ﻓَﻠََﮭﺎ َھﺒَﺎ‬

Habāb is an activity. Ṣahbā’ is a cloud with red and black hues. Jahām is a cloud devoid of

water. This is another example of a metaphor where the poet draws parallels with the

nimbleness of the horse and the lightness of clouds.

Polk:

And she is as brisk in the halter as though she were [One of the] reddish [clouds] whose

light waterless fringes scurry away with the south wind.

Sells:

She is as fleet in the bridle

as a reddish cloud

emptied of water

skimming along on the south wind.

S.S.

Still she is as nimble in the reins

as if she were a rose-hued cloud,

Rain-emptied, running with the south wind, sprightly.

78
Brackets can often interrupt a text, as we notice in Polk’s usage. The function and effect of

brackets have already been commented on ample times above and the translation is

typically literal here.

Sells rendering, in the form of his usual quatrain, is poetic in so much as it transforms the

stanza into a mellifluous experience, similarly to the reddish cloud skimming along on the

south wind Labīd describes. The use of assonance as in “fleet” and “reddish” and

alliteration as in “skimming” and “south” create a smooth experience. His verse is literarily

best exemplified in the word “fleet,” not as in a group of ships sailing together but fleet as

in the literary usage, as fast and nimble in movement. The use of “skimming” is also

complementary to the idea of nimbleness, moving fast and lightly across something.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is verbose and literal while also applying poetic techniques of

repetition and alliteration with the prolific use of r’s and s’s in just one verse (“still, she,

south, sprightly and reins, rose-hued, rain-emptied, running”).

Verse 25:

َ
َ ‫طْﺮدُ اﻟﻔُُﺤﻮِل َو‬
‫ﺿْﺮﺑَُﮭﺎ َوِﻛﺪَاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ َ َ‫ﺖ ﻷ َْﺣﻘ‬
ُ‫ﺐ ﻻََﺣﮫ‬ َ ‫أ َْو ُﻣْﻠِﻤٌﻊ َو‬
ْ َ‫ﺳﻘ‬

Mulmi‘ is a wild female donkey whose udders are full of milk. Wasaqa means she was

made pregnant. Al-aḥqab is a wild ass with white hips. Lāḥa means he changed. Kidāmuhā

means he bit her. This is another example of the metonymy of Labīd that Sells discusses in

his intro and Polk discusses in a footnote. The pictured scene was highly stylized by the

79
time Labīd wrote that the animals were not even mentioned by name but only by tribute,

“glistening white,” “girded one,” etc.

Polk: Or [as though she were] a glistening white [wild ass] made pregnant by a girdled

[stallion]. Vexed by Driving away [rival] stallions with his hooves and teeth.

Sells: Or a sheen-of-udder, mate of a rutted white-belly.

Gnashing and kicking, the driving off of rivals, has turned him sallow.

S.S. - The Poet Compares his Camel-Mare to a Pregnant Wild Ass

Or is she like a she-ass, teats milk-swollen

pregnant by a white-bellied stallion

That is gaunt from repelling rivals,

Biting them and kicking.

Polk uses brackets which is a way of trying to fit in both the original metonym and to

extend a cultural bridge for the reader.

Sells, on the other hand, only uses the metonymy. Therefore, the expression a “rutted

white-belly” and its original, hidden reference is likely lost on the non-specialist reader.

80
S. Stetkevych, like Polk, blends both the literal metonym and its reference but she does so

without brackets which facilitates the flow of the verse.

Verse 26:

ْ ‫ﻗَْﺪ َراﺑَﮫُ ِﻋ‬

‫ﺼﯿَﺎﻧَُﮭﺎ َوِوَﺣﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ َ ‫ﯾَْﻌﻠُﻮ ِﺑَﮭﺎ ُﺣْﺪ‬
َ ‫ب اِﻹَﻛﺎِم ُﻣ‬
‫ﺴﱠﺤٌﺞ‬

Ḥudab al-ikām are the heaps of the hill. Musaḥḥaj is the bitten (in the past participle).

Wiḥām are the specific type of cravings experienced by a pregnant woman.

Polk:

[The stallion] takes her up the high humpbacked hills, much scarred [by his rival stallions],

Having been wearied by her rebelliousness and her lusts.

Sells:

Bite-scarred, wary,

he takes her high

into the hill curves, pregnant,

recalcitrant, craving.

S.S.

Much scratched and bitten, he leads her up

the hump-backed hills,

Perplexed by his pregnant mate’s

81
recalcitrance and cravings.

Polk’s translation is both literal and mindful of sound employing alliteration in the first line

“high humpbacked hills.” Yet Polk completely neglects the idea of wiḥām as cravings that

stem from pregnancy and only translates it as lusts.

Sells, as usual, creates a short, concise, clever translation. For example, his rendering of the

past participle musaḥḥaj as “bite-scarred” rather than the more literal “bitten” is

particularly artful.

S. Stetkevych’s translation reads very similar to Sells with even some of the same word

choices such as “pregnant, recalcitrance and craving.” Her translation is longer as usual but

also employs alliteration in the line “perplexed by his pregnant mate’s.”

Verse 27:

‫آَراُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ِ ‫ﻗَْﻔَﺮ اﻟَﻤَﺮاِﻗ‬

‫ﺐ َﺧْﻮﻓََﮭﺎ‬ ‫ت ﯾَْﺮﺑَﺄ ُ ﻓَْﻮﻗَـَﮭﺎ‬
ِ ‫ِﺑﺄ َِﺣﱠﺰِة اﻟﺜ ﱠﻠَﺒُﻮ‬

Aḥizza al-thalabūt is a harsh high area that is a wadi or valley. Raba’a is he advanced to

the edge [to see the dangerous areas]. Qafra al-mirāqib is an empty place where enemies

attack. Ārām are signs of the path.

Polk:

82
In the draws of ath-Thalabut, he goes up the hillsides [into danger] to keep a lookout over

her, A bare and waterless desert of lookout stones, oh, the terror of them!

Sells:

Above the craglands of Thalabút he climbs the vantage points, wind-swept, the way-stones

charged with fear.

S.S:

Above the jagged heights of Thalabūt he scouts

the empty lookout posts,

Fearful of hunters hid behind

the piles of stone.

This is an example of how all three translators understand parts of the verse differently.

Polk, for example, includes “danger” in brackets to show that the poet is looking out for the

horse because he is afraid. Sells has a similar concept except he adds the phrase “wind-

swept,” implying the tough weather conditions in an already difficult area, “the crag lands

of Thalabut.” Stetkevych adds the implied fear of hunters directly in the translation.

Polk’s translation is literal and archaic. This is clear in his use of the exclamation “oh,”

which renders the verse into something akin to old English poetry.

83
Once again, we see Sells use a sort of accent for “Thalabút” (the equivalent of an accent

aigu in French) for the transliteration, transforming the word as even more strange. Sells

tends to be more concise, as the last two verses can attest.

S. Stetkevych adds the idea of hunters in her translation, which is what her commentary

also suggests in the brief introduction to the verse meaning that I provided above. She also

uses a scholarly transliteration for “Thalabūt,” as she has done consistently in her

translation. Stetkevych’s translation furthermore pays the most attention to sound in that

she employs the most amount of alliteration and assonance in this verse.

Verse 28:

ِ ‫ﺻﯿَﺎُﻣﮫُ َو‬
‫ﺻﯿَﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ َ َ‫َﺟْﺰًءا ﻓ‬
ِ ‫ﻄﺎَل‬ ً‫ﺳﻠََﺨﺎ ُﺟَﻤﺎدَى ِﺳﺘ ﱠﺔ‬
َ ‫َﺣﺘ ﱠﻰ ِإذَا‬

Salakha is he spend or passed. Jumādā sitta is six months in the winter and then the spring.

Ḥaz’a is the satisfaction of freshness of water.

Polk:

Until, when the cool, rainy months had drawn to a close, and Living on moist food, their

abstinence from water had been long

Sells:

Until they scrape back through

the six dry months of Jumáda,

84
month on month of thirst,

surviving on dew.

S.S.

Until, when Jumāda passed and winter’s six months

of grazing on lush herbage,

While avoid water-holes,

Came to an end,

For the first time, Polk strangely removes the place name “Jumādā,” the month directly

referenced. He replaces it with the phrase “cool, rainy months.” This removes the original

particularities from the text and is a surprisingly freer interpretation than his usual

literalness.

Sells, on the other hand, provides a translation consistent with what he has presented

throughout: short and straightforward. He uses the idiomatic phrase “month on month” to

indicate a lengthy period. Yet his brevity is at a cost. Sells completely ignores the part of

the verse that mentions the fasting of the beast from the freshness of water.

S. Stetkevych is comprehensive in her translation, and, like Sells, includes the place name

“Jumādā” and renders it as “winter’s six months.” Again, she employs both a foreignization

and domestication strategy in the same line!

85
Verse 29:

َ ‫ﺼٍﺪ َوﻧُْﺠُﺢ‬
‫ﺻِﺮْﯾَﻤٍﺔ ِإْﺑَﺮاﻣـ َُﮭﺎ‬ ِ ‫َﺣ‬ َ ‫َرَﺟﻌَﺎ ِﺑﺄ َْﻣِﺮِھَﻤﺎ ِإﻟ‬
‫ﻰ ِذي ِﻣﱠﺮٍة‬

Dhī mirra is someone who has a strong opinion. Ḥaṣid is solid, stable. Ṣarīma means

determination. Ibrām are rules.

Polk:

The two of them brought their affairs to a firm resolve,

And, truly, success in any matter lies in gathering in the loose ends!

Sells:

They bring their course

to a binding plan—

strength of intent

is in the twist of the strands.

S. Stetkevych:

The two mates made a resolution,

twisted tight—

For the success of resolve lies in firmness

to head for water.

86
According to Polk’s footnotes, the major theme of the poem is epitomized in this line,

which is the firmness and resolve of man. Polk’s translation is rather literal but also tries to

be idiomatic with the final line “gathering in the loose ends.” The idea is akin to the idiom

“tying up loose ends,” meaning to complete the parts of something that have not been

completed. The two mates — man and steed – are determined now to find water.

Sells again tries to translate concisely. He uses an em dash to separate lines before trying to

translate the idiom, which he does in a way that sounds both familiar, cadenced, and

faithful to the original. He employs cadence rhyming “plan” and “strands.”

S. Stetkevych’s translation is the clearest, rendering the verse in a way that feels modern

and poetic. This is perhaps represented using alliteration in “twisted tight.” She also adds

the phrase “to head for the water,” which clarifies the context, helping us understand the

resolution of the two (steed and poet-rider) is to find water.

Verse 30:

‫ﺳْﻮُﻣَﮭﺎ َوِﺳَﮭﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬
َ ‫ﻒ‬
ِ ِ‫ﺼﺎﯾ‬
َ ‫ِرْﯾُﺢ اﻟَﻤ‬ ْ ‫ﺴﻔَﺎ َوﺗ ََﮭﯿﱠَﺠ‬
‫ﺖ‬ ‫َوَرَﻣﻰ دََواِﺑَﺮَھﺎ اﻟ ﱠ‬

Dawābir are hoof pads. Al-safā is a thorn of nettle. Sawmuhā is the passing. Wasihāmuha is

extreme wind heat. In this verse, the poet evokes another powerful image. This time he

illustrates the horse kicking prickly thorns at fast speed with hot winds blowing in his face

while he is still on his journey searching for water.

87
Polk:

And the nettles thrust themselves into the soft hoof pads, The winds of the summer season,

both the gusts and the burning simoons, blow up clouds of dust and sand.

Sells:

Pasterns tear in the briar grass.

Summer winds

flare into dust squalls

and burning winds of Sumúm.

S. Stetkevych:

Then the dry blades of buhma grass

pricked at her pasterns,

And the summer wind picked up

In passing gusts and fiery blasts.

Polk translates sawm into the Anglicized version of “simoon,” a hot dry, dust-laden wind in

Arabia. The word would probably still be lost on the non-specialist reader. Another

example of Polk trying to connect with readers is the use of nettle, which is a herbaceous

plant that functions as an equivalent for al-safā.

88
Sells is concise and once again uses poetic license. He keeps the word “Sumum,” for

example, which is foreign to the non-specialist reader. At the same time, his use of the term

“briar grass” is more familiar to a certain audience outside the Arab world since this plant

is grown throughout Western Europe. The use of the word “pastern” instead of hoof is

another odd, literary choice since this word is ostensibly lost on most readers. Yet it also

harmonizes with Sells overall pattern of choosing precise diction. Sells again pays attention

to sound with the repetition of winds.

S. Stetkevych’s strategy abides by faithfulness. Whereas Polk and Sells both use somewhat

familiar words to the non-Arab reader of the translation when rendering al-safā into

English, Stetkevych uses the esoteric “buhma grass.” She also shows the most interest in

sound using the traditional technique of alliteration in the second statement, “pricked at her

pasterns.”

Verse 31:

‫ﺿَﺮاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬
ِ ‫ﺐ‬ َ ُ‫َﻛﺪَُﺧﺎِن ُﻣْﺸﻌَﻠٍَﺔ ﯾ‬
‫ﺸ ﱡ‬ ُ‫ﻄﺎ ً ﯾَِﻄْﯿُﺮ ِظﻼﻟُـﮫ‬
َ ‫ﺳِﺒ‬ َ ‫ﻓَﺘ َﻨَﺎَز‬
َ ‫ﻋﺎ‬

Sabiṭ are long dust particles. Musha‘ala is fire. Ḍirām are firewood crumbs. In this

descriptive scene (waṣf), racing animals cause dust to rise higher and higher like smoke of a

fire ascending to the sky.

89
Polk: And they outstrip one another a loose [dust cloud] whose shadows fly, Like the

smoke of a roaring fire where brush and thorn blaze fiercely.

Sells:

They contend in raising dust.

Its shadows soar

like the smoke of a firebrand,

kindling set ablaze

S.S.:

Back and forth the asses tugged a train

of stirred-up dust

Whose shadows rose like smoke

when the tinder is lit,

Polk’s translation is rather literal and appears to pay no attention to sound .Thus, the lack of

rhythm comes as no surprise. The use of brackets again represents the translator’s

hesitation to interject, except in an obvious manner.

Sells’ stanza, on the other hand, is well-organized displaying roughly the same syllables

(four to seven) per line.

90
S. Stetkevych’s stanza is the most specific immediately identifying the subject of the

stanza: the wild asses. It also follows a quatrain form and shows an interest in sound

through the technique of alliteration, as in “tugged a train.”

Verse 32:

‫ﺳﺎِطﻊٍ أ َْﺳﻨَﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬
َ ‫َﻛﺪَُﺧﺎِن ﻧَﺎٍر‬ ٍ‫ﻋْﺮﻓَﺞ‬ ِ ‫ﺖ ِﺑﻨَﺎﺑ‬
َ ‫ﺖ‬ ُ ‫َﻣْﺸُﻤﻮﻟَِﺔ‬
ْ َ ‫ﻏِﻠﺜ‬

Mashmuwla means blown by the north wind. Ghulitha is he mixed. Labīd continues his

metaphor of fire extending it again to the journey of the poet on the mount in this typical

rahīl section. The wind that fans him is mixed with brush weed like a fire that is mixed

with leaping flames.

Polk: Blown by the north wind and mixed with ‘Arfaj branches [that is] like the smoke of a

fire whose tips crackle and blaze.

Sells:

Fanned by the north wind,

stoked with brushweed,

the smoke of a blazing,

high-billowing fire.

S.S.

91
Then fanned by the north wind,

then mixed with the ‘arfaj tree’s green wood,

Like the smoke of a mixed blaze

with leaping flames.

Polk’s translation is literal as usual. Here, he maintains the original name of the ‘arfaj

plant, which is unknown to the non-specialist or the reader outside the cultural milieu. He

also emphasizes onomatopoeia that conjures the original sound: fire tips crackling.

Sells focuses on bringing to life the visuals of this bayt. For example, we see the image of a

smoke blazing. Sound, too, is important. For example, he rhymes the words “stoked” and

“smoke.” Sells culturally translates ‘arfaj as brushweed, which we understand as the small

branches typically used in firewood.

S. Stetkevych’s translation appears to strive for the literary, as evidenced in her use of

personification. For example, she translates nār sāṭ‘ as leaping flames, giving flames the

human or animal characteristic of leaping. Stetkevych maintains the original term of ‘arfaj

trees but adds green wood as to convey an imagistic association, perhaps a reconciliation of

the difficult task of the translator who tries to maintain the distinctive qualities of the

original while also translating the poem in a way that appears not too alien so as not to be

appreciated.

Verse 33:

92
 ‫ت ِإْﻗﺪَاُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬
ْ َ‫ﻋﱠﺮد‬ َ ‫ِﻣْﻨﮫُ ِإذَا ِھ‬
َ ‫ﻲ‬ ً ‫ﻋﺎدَة‬ ْ َ‫ﻀﻰ َوﻗَﺪﱠَﻣَﮭﺎ َوَﻛﺎﻧ‬
َ ‫ﺖ‬ َ ‫ﻓََﻤ‬

‘Arrada is he strayed or was late on the way to something.

Polk:

And the two of them passed along. The stallion pushed her ahead Of him, for it was his

custom, when she strayed from the path, to urge her forward.

Sells:

He pushes on,

keeping her ahead.

She balks.

He drives her forward

S.S.:

Then he kept on and drove her on before him,

for it was his custom,

When she strayed or lagged behind,

to drive her on ahead.

Polk provides a literal rendering and adds in pronouns to elucidate for the reader the role of

the stallion and the rider, as in “the stallion pushed her ahead of him.”

93
Sells’ translation is punchy, short, and to the point. His verse reads like an action scene in a

novel.

S. Stetkevych’s translation practices poetic license to a great extent taking the verb ‘arrada

and leaving room for both its meanings as to balk “as in stray” and to be late, as in “lag

behind.”

Verse 34:

‫َﻣْﺴُﺠـﻮَرة ً ُﻣﺘ ََﺠﺎِوًرا ﻗُﻼﱠُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ َ ‫ﺻﺪ ﱠ‬

‫ﻋﺎ‬ َ ‫ي ِ َو‬
ّ ‫ﺴِﺮ‬
‫ض اﻟ ﱠ‬
َ ‫ﻋْﺮ‬ َ ‫ﺳ‬
ُ ‫ﻄﺎ‬ ‫ﻓَﺘ ََﻮ ﱠ‬

‘Urḍ al-sariyy is the direction of the small river. Ṣadd‘ā is to sadden or grieve. Masjūra is

to be full of water. Qulām are reeds.

Polk:

And then they found themselves in the midst of a flood ditch and crossed /

A water-swollen [pond] whose reeds were rank

Sells:

Until they break

into the midst of a stream,

split the brimming flow

and clustered reeds

S.S:

94
He flung her in the direction

of the stream

And they cut through to a brimming spring

grow thick with reeds

Polk’s rendering employs specific terms. One example is the use of the more jargon-like

word: rank, as in growing too thickly and coarsely. In this example, Polk also employs the

poetic technique of alliteration as “reeds were rank.”

Sells is, as usual, concise, using no additional descriptive words. ‘Urḍ al-sariyy is merely a

stream and mutajāwir is clustered.

S. Stetkevych employs male and female pronouns but does not specify. For example, “he

flung her.” We can assume from following the poem that the implied are the rider and the

mount.

Verse 35:

َ ‫ع‬
‫ﻏﺎﺑَـِﺔ َوِﻗﯿَﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ َ ‫ِﻣْﻨﮫُ ُﻣ‬
ُ ‫ﺼﱠﺮ‬ ‫ﻂ اﻟﯿََﺮاعِ ﯾُِﻈﻠﱡَﮭﺎ‬
َ ‫َﻣْﺤﻔُﻮﻓَﺔً َوْﺳ‬

Al-yarā‘ is the reed.

Polk:

95
[The pond was] hidden by grasses that shade her / From the stallion, both the beaten down

canes and the upright ones.

Sells:

An enclosing stand of rushes,

some trampled,

some standing,

hedging them in the shade.

S.S.

Enclosed on all sides

by stands of canes

That shaded it with fallen stalks

and stalks still standing.

Polk makes this literal rendering able to stand on its own. According to Alan Jones, a

notable feature is the frequency with which liens are linked to one another.113 There are

more than thirty examples of this, involving two-thirds of the poem. This is an example of a

good literal translation that can still be enjoyed read individually without reading what

comes before.

113
Alan Jones, Early Arabic Poetry, vol. 2nd ed (The Netherlands: Brill, 2011), 454.

96
In contrast with the previous line and much that came before, Sells employs more jargon-

like words, as exemplified with the use of “rushes.” The switch from simple to specific,

informal to sophisticated is like Sells’ cadence which rhythmically changes throughout but

always connects to what comes before.

S. Stetkevych’s stanza is a clear play on words with a specific enunciation of the /s/ sound,

as employed by alliteration. For example, in a simple quatrain, she uses: “sides, stands,

shaded, stalks, stalks, still, standing.”

Verse 36:

ّ ِ ‫ﺖ َوَھﺎِدﯾَﺔُ اﻟ‬
‫ﺼَﻮاِر ِﻗَﻮاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ْ َ‫َﺧﺬَﻟ‬ ٌ ‫ﻋﺔ‬
َ ‫َوْﺣِﺸﯿﱠﺔٌ َﻣْﺴﺒُﻮ‬ ‫أ َﻓَِﺘْﻠَﻚ أ َْم‬

Masbū‘a is the lion who mauled the prey’s calf. Hādiya al-ṣiwār is the stallion that leads

the wild ass. In the journey, the oryx is referred to be the epithet al-wahshiyya, “the wild

one,” in a context in which she is being pursued by hunters. Uns “human society” is

viewed with terror and dread.114 One cannot read the oryx tableau of the journey section

without recalling its parallel and inverse image in the nasīb.

Polk:

Is this female then [the one to compare to my camel] or is it a wild cow oryx, wolf -raised,

Abandoned by the herd although its leader had been her sustainer?

ff114 Sells, “The Qasida and the West: Self-Reflective Stereotype and Critical Encounter.”

97
Sells:

Or was it a wild one,

wolf-struck?

She lagged behind the herd.

Its lead animal had been her stay.

S.S.

Theme III: The Poet Compares his Camel-Mare to an Oryx Cow Bereft of her Calf

Is my camel mare like this or is she like the oryx cow,

her calf the wild beasts’ prey,

Who, though the lead cow was her guide,

Had lagged behind the herd,

Polk’s translation implies a very different meaning that appears to erroneously understand

the wild cow oryx. He describes it as being raised by wolf when Sells and Stetkevych

concur in that the wild cow oryx’s calf is in fact the prey of wolf, or wild beast.

Sells employs alliteration with a /w/ sound in the line “wild one, wolf-struck.”

S. Stetkevych again is very descriptive adding in the context of pronouns and therefore

smoothing the comprehension for the reader. For example, she starts her translation with

the first-person pronoun and then frames the question.

98
Verse 37:

َ ‫ﻖ‬
‫طْﻮﻓَُﮭﺎ َوﺑُﻐَﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ض اﻟ ﱠ‬
ِ ‫ﺸﻘَﺎِﺋ‬ َ ‫ﻋْﺮ‬
ُ ‫ﺖ اﻟﻔَِﺮﯾَﺮ ﻓَﻠَْﻢ ﯾَِﺮْم‬
ِ َ‫ﺿﯿﱠﻌ‬ َ ‫َﺧْﻨ‬
َ ‫ﺴﺎُء‬

Khansā’ is flatness at the edge of the nose. Al-farīr is the calf of the wild ass. Lam yarim

means it did not move from its place. ‘Urḍa is the side or surrounding. Al-shaqā’iq is a

hard area covered in stones.

Polk: A snub-nosed one who has lost her calf but will not abandon/ The area of the stony

valleys [or cease] her patrolling and lowing

Sells:

A flat-nosed one who has lost her young,

she does not cease

circling the dune slopes

and lowing,

S.S:

A snub-nosed cow bereft of calf,

who amid the stony tracts

Does not leave off

Her roaming and her lowing

99
This is a classic example of metonymy employed by the pre-Islamic poet, one of his

favorite rhetorical devices. The epithetic cluster “flat-nosed one” refers to the wild ass

(onager).

Polk’s translation uses brackets as a form of a more philologically minded interpretation. In

short, Polk’s translation displays a hesitation to creative translation adhering a literal

approach that translates both meaning and structure. In the following verse, this is true

except for translating lam, which is a jussive and translates roughly as “did not.” Polk,

however, renders it as will not, a negation in the future tense (this translation is different

from Sells and S. Stetkevych who I now turn to).

Sells’ translation again displays traces of modern poetry which both tries to consider the

cadences of the original while playing with the rhythm of the English. In short, Sells

expresses much in a few words. He uses alliteration in this verse in the expression “cease

circling.” The phrase “does not cease” appears dramatic in addition to the verb “circling,”

which paints an evocative image of cattle going in circles desperately searching for her

young.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is akin to Polk in diction and Sells in structure. For example, her

translation resembles Polk’s in her use of “a snub-nosed,” “calf,” “stony,” and “lowing”

(the latter is used by all three) and Sells in the quatrain structure and short lines.

Verse 38:

100
 َ ‫ﺐ ﻻ ﯾَُﻤﱡﻦ‬
‫طﻌَﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ُ ‫ﺲ َﻛَﻮاِﺳ‬ ُ
ٌ ‫ﻏْﺒ‬ ُ‫ع ِﺷْﻠـَﻮه‬
َ ‫ِﻟُﻤﻌَﻔﱠٍﺮ ﻗَْﮭِﺪ ﺗ َﻨَـﺎَز‬

Mu‘affar means in dust. Qahd means white. Tanāza‘ means to contend or dispute. Shilwah

are the remains of a body. La yumann means does not cut off. Ghubs are ashen-colored

wolves. The verse again paints a powerful image of greedy snapping wolves wrestling over

the body of a pitiable white calf.

Polk: For a white calf, borne to the dust, whose body is disputed / By greedy, snapping gray

[wolves] for whom food is no free gift.

Sells:

For a white fawn,

rolled in the dust

and dismembered

by contending wolves, ashen,

not about to give up their portion.

S.S

For a calf half-weaned and white,

its limbs torn back and forth

By ashen wolves,

Impatient, hungry.

101
Polk adheres to a literal technique that describes each word in painstaking detail. In this

case, the Arabic words cannot be easily rendered in a one-word equivalent. In addition, he

utilizes brackets to enclose the word “wolf” which commentary says is already explicit in

the word ghubs.

Sells’ translation is specific. For example, he uses the word “fawn,” which translates as a

young deer in its first year, and “ashen,” a precise adjective for dust-colored.

S. Stetkevych appears to use a rhetorical device not immediately clear in the original. For

example, she renders metaphorically the idea of mu‘affar, which commentators say means

to be born in dust, and translates it as half-weaned. This is a clear example of a non-literal

translation where open interpretation is used.

Verse 39:

ُ ‫ِإﱠن اْﻟَﻤﻨَﺎﯾَﺎ ﻻَ ﺗ َِﻄﯿ‬

‫ﺶ ِﺳَﮭﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ َ َ ‫ﺻﺎدَْﻓَﻦ ﻣﻨَﮭﺎ ِﻏـﱠﺮة ً ﻓَﺄ‬
‫ﺻْﺒﻨََﮭﺎ‬ َ

Polk: They chanced upon the calf while she was heedless and struck her down, / Lo, the

goddess of Fate! Her arrows do not miss.

Sells:

They chanced upon her

while she was unaware

102
and struck. The arrows of fate

do not miss their prey.

S.S:

They chanced upon its unawares

and struck—

Fate’s arrow never

miss their mark.

Polk’s translation employs addition to elucidate the meaning to the reader. For example, he

adds the word “the calf,” which is not in the original. He interprets al-manāyā as the

goddess of fate and capitalizes “Fate” to show its power. He uses the archaic “Lo” as a

literal translation of Inna.

Sells’ translation is also literal. He renders the second part of the bayt as a sort of proverb

with a similar tone to the Arabic.

S. Stetkevych’s translation renders the second part of the bayt also like a proverb but with

alliteration “miss their mark.” She also capitalizes “Fate,” alluding to its magisterial power,

especially in pre-Islamic times.

Verse 40:

103
 ‫ﯾُْﺮِوي اْﻟَﺨَﻤﺎﺋَﻞ دَاِﺋَﻤﺎ ً ﺗ َْﺴَﺠﺎُﻣﮭﺎ‬ ٌ ‫ﺖ َوأ َْﺳﺒََﻞ َواِﻛ‬
‫ﻒ ﻣﻦ ِدﯾـَﻤٍﺔ‬ ْ ‫ﺑَﺎ َﺗ‬

Wākif is rain which drips, or trickles. Dīma is rain that continues for at least a day and a

half. Al-khamā’il is an area with trees.

Polk: [The oryx cow] spent the night [in the valley] while the drops from a steady fine rain

poured down / On the thicket, constantly weeping upon her

Sells:

She passes the night

in continuous curtains of rain

washing around the dune tufts

in a steady stream.

S.S

She spent the night beneath a cloud

that shed an unremitting rain

And let a ceaseless downpour fall

upon the dense-grown dunes.

Polk is more precise in his rendering of rain, describing it as "steady fine rain." Brackets

dominate his translation, once again.

104
Sells heeds to sound, employing alliteration twice. For example, he uses the phrase

“continuous curtains” and “steady steam” to preserve the rhythmical pattern of the original.

S. Stetkevych uses an addition with the word “a cloud” which is not in Labīd’s text

although could be inferred from the context of rain.

Verse 41:

َ ‫ِﻓﻲ ﻟَْﯿﻠٍَﺔ َﻛﻔََﺮ اﻟﻨﱡُﺠـﻮَم‬

‫ﻏَﻤﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ُﻣﺘ ََﻮاِﺗـٌﺮ‬ َ ‫ﯾَْﻌﻠُﻮ‬
‫طِﺮﯾﻘَﺔَ َﻣﺘِْﻨَﮭﺎ‬

Ṭarīqa matnihā is a line from the tail to the neck. Mutawātir is successive. Kafara is he

covered.

Polk: The rain advanced by stages along the path of her back/ During a night whose

ominous clouds concealed the stars

Sells:

Flowing along the line of her back,

runlet on runlet,

on a night the stars

are veiled in cloud.

S.S

All through the night, whose stars

105
were veiled by clouds,

Uninterrupted raindrops fell

on her spine’s track.

Polk’s translation is literal and straightforward. It follows the structure of the original and

produces a smooth, albeit literal translation. Mutawātir is literally rendered as stages.

Sells’ translation is a fine example of free interpretation. This is most clear in his rendering

of “runlet on runlet.” In the Arabic, there is the phrase “ya‘lū ṭarīqa matnihā mutawātir”

which Polk and Stetkevych both render literally as “raindrops falling on the path of back, or

spine.” Sells, on the other hand, paints a metaphoric image likening the rain drops to

runlets, which is his version of mutawātir, or the rain falling successively.

S. Stetkevych’s translation changes the order of the verse and decides to start her

translation with the second hemistich.

Verse 42:

‫ب أ َْﻧﻘَﺎٍء ﯾَِﻤﯿُﻞ ُھﯿَﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬

ِ ‫ﺑﻌُُﺠﻮ‬ ً ‫ﺼﺎ ً ُﻣﺘ َﻨَ ِﺒّـﺬَا‬ ْ َ‫ف أ‬
َ ‫ﺻﻼً ﻗَﺎِﻟ‬ ُ ‫ﺗ ََﺠﺘ َﺎ‬

Tajtāfa is he entered the cavity or hollow area. Qāliṣ is a gnarled tree. Mutanabbidha

means isolated or pushed to the side. Bi-‘ujūb is the tail end or base of something. Anqā’ is

a sand dune. Huyām is inconsistent or liquid sand.

106
Polk:

She sought out a shelter in the root of a gnarled, isolated [tree]/ In the lea of a sandy hillock

whose drift bears down [upon it].

Sells:

She enters a gnarled tangle of roots,

casting about with her horns,

at the base of the dune

as it drifts and falls away

S.S

She took shelter beneath the branches

of a contorted tree

Set apart upon the edges of the dunes

whose drift-sands slope

Polk’s translation employs brackets and most closely resembles Stetkevych’s in meaning.

Yet his translation of Anqā’ as a “sandy hillock” is a strange rendering compared to the

more known and simpler “dune,” used by both Sells and Stetkevych.

Sells’ translation begins literally but then makes an extreme turn towards poetic license. He

renders tajtāf as enters when both Polk and Stetkevych translated it as the more idiomatic

107
“seeking shelter.” In both Polk and Stetkevych, the oryx cow enters a tangle of roots, but in

Sells’ version, the horns are described.

S. Stetkevych’s translation also practices open interpretation. For example, in The Mute

Immortals Speak: Pre-Islamic Poetry and the Poetics of Ritual, she translated tajtāfu as

“she took shelter in the hollow,” with a literal rendering of the source text.115 The root of

tajtāfu is ja-wa-f which implies hollow, cavity, interior. Yet in the newer version she

translated it as she “took shelter beneath the branches,” relaying the insinuated meaning of

the verse.

Verse 43:

َ ‫ﺳﱠﻞ ِﻧ‬
‫ﻈﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ّ ‫َﻛُﺠَﻤﺎﻧَِﺔ اْﻟﺒَْﺤِﺮ‬
ُ ‫ي‬ ‫ﻀﻲُء ﻓﻲ َوْﺟِﮫ اﻟ ﱠ‬
ً ‫ﻈﻼِم ُﻣِﻨﯿَﺮة‬ ِ ُ ‫َوﺗ‬

Jumāna is a pearl. Al-baḥriyy is the seaman, or fisherman. The verse once again draws on

the beloved. Here, the poet likens the radiance of Nawār to that of a seaman’s pearl whose

string has been pulled.

Polk:

Yet she shines into the face of the gloom, gleaming/

Like the seaman’s pearls whose string has been pulled

115
A worthy and interesting case study would be to also analyze the difference in S. Stetkevych’s translations
between The Mute Immortals Speak and the translations in The Muʿallaqāt for Millennials project.

108
Sells:

Glowing in the face

of the dark, luminous,

like a seaman’s pearl

come unstrung.

S.S

And in the first watch of the night

her lustrous face

Gleamed like the diver’s

its strings drawn forth

Polk’s translation is quite literal. He translates, for instance, fī wajh al-ẓalām as “into the

face of the gloom.”

Sells is also quite literal in this verse but pays attention to the stress of words in a typical

quatrain form.

S. Stetkevych’s translation applies a free interpretation technique and translates translating

fi wajh al-ẓalām as “the first watch of night,” inferring that the poet means that the face of

gloom is, in fact, a metaphor for night.

Verse 44:

109
 ‫ﻋِﻦ اﻟﺜ ﱠَﺮى أ َْزﻻَُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ْ ‫ﺑََﻜَﺮ‬
َ ‫ت ﺗ َِﺰﱡل‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ﺴَﺮ اﻟ ﱠ‬
ْ ‫ﻈﻼُم َوأ َْﺳﻔََﺮ‬ َ ‫َﺣﺘ ﱠﻰ ِإذَا اْﻧَﺤ‬

Asfara in this context is he illuminated. Bakara is he emerged at dawn. Azlām are people.

Polk: Until, when the gloom wears thin and dawn shines through / She rises into the

morning with her arrow-like legs slipping over the rain-hardened sands

Sells: As night parts from dawn

she appears in the early light,

leg shafts slipping

on the hard, wet sand.

S.S.

Until, when the dark dispelled

and dawn shone forth,

Her hoofs slipped on the early morning’s

rain-soaked earth.

Polk’s translation is literal but focuses on transferring the powerful images with some

additions. For example, he renders the word tazillu as “her arrow-like legs slipping.”

Sells’ translation, as usual, is concise and employs the quatrain verse. His lines are short

and punchy. He uses alliteration in the example of “shafts slipping.”

110
S. Stetkevych’s translation is also concise. She uses the expression “rain-soaked” which

paints an evocative image of the rain permeating the ground in its entirety.

Verse 45:

‫ﺳْﺒﻌَﺎ ً ﺗ َُﺆاَﻣﺎ ً َﻛﺎِﻣـﻼً أ َﯾﱠﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬

َ ‫ﺻﻌَﺎِﺋٍﺪ‬
َ ْ ‫ﻋِﻠَﮭ‬
‫ﺖ ﺗ ََﺮدﱠدُ ﻓﻲ ِﻧَﮭﺎِء‬ َ

‘Aliha is he became anxious. Ṣa‘ā’id is a placename which is rendered in Stetkevych’s

edition is ‘Ālij, a powerful desert.116 Sab‘an tu’āman are seven nights and days.

Polk:

She ran to and fro, echoing [her own calls] in the ponds of Su‘aid, Sevenly [for a week],

both the nights and the days were completely spent.

Sells:

Splashing, confused,

through the polls of Su‘á’id,

back and forth,

seven pairs of nights and days

S.S:

116
In Iḥsān ‘Abbās’ edition on page 310, ‘Ālij is also mentioned as a more precise rendering of Ṣa‘ā’id.

111
Bewildered, she wandered to and fro

Among the sandy tracts of ‘Ālij

For seven full nights coupled

with their days

Polk’s translation opts for archaic use and misses a key idea. This is manifest in the fact

that he does not translate ‘alihat as she was confused or anxious but leaves it untranslated.

His usage of “to and fro” is antiquated.

Sells’ translation is short and straightforward. He uses “back and forth” rather than “two

and fro.” He also uses parallelism, creating a sense of linguistic balance and repetition with

“and” in “back and forth” followed by “nights and days.” This reflects a greater interest in

the musicality of the translation.

S. Stetkevych also opts for an archaic use in her translation but adheres to her general

quatrain form with short lines. The archaic use is the expression “to and fro.” She considers

sound using assonance as in the /a/ sound in “sandy tracts of ‘Alij.” It should be noted that

the use of ‘Alij rather than Ṣu‘ā’id is left unexplained. Stetkevych’s translation

simultaneously maintains a scholarly register with a proper transliteration that universally

pleases scholars in general and Arabists in particular.

Verse 46:

112
 َ ‫ﻋَﮭﺎ َوِﻓ‬
‫ﻄﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ َ ‫ﻟَْﻢ ﯾُْﺒِﻠـِﮫ ِإْر‬
ُ ‫ﺿﺎ‬ ‫ﺖ َوأ َْﺳَﺤَﻖ ﺣﺎِﻟٌﻖ‬ َ ‫َﺣﺘ ﱠﻰ ِإذَا ﯾَِﺌ‬
ْ ‫ﺴ‬

Ḥāliq is an udder full of milk.

Polk:

Until when she despaired and her udder rang dry–

Neither the sucking nor the weaning had spoiled it—

Sells:

Until, hope gone,

her once-full udder dries,

though suckling and weaning

are not what withered it down

S.S:

Until, hope’s stores exhausted,

and udder, once milk-swollen,

Neither from suckling nor weaning

now gone dry,

Polk’s translation is literal and therefore pays little attention to structure, making it

perplexing to the reader. In addition, he inserts an em dash for the first time. This dash

makes the thoughts seem interconnected when the original lam between lines serves as a

113
sort of continuation. It could be interpreted or rendered as “she grew hopeless because her

udder grew dry but it did not grow dry from suckling or weaning.” Polk has no footnotes

here, as though he grew tired of footnotes as he went along!

Sells’ translation attempts to maintain both meaning and cadence, taking the form of short

main clauses, as in “hope gone, her once-full udder dries,” and a subordinate clause,

“though suckling and weaning are not what withered it down.” This breakup shows a clear

understanding of the original while also following the used technique of brevity.

S. Stetkevych’s translation reads like a literary rendering because of diction. For example,

she uses “hope’s stores exhausted,” to say that there is no more hope. “Milk swollen,” is

another example.

Verse 47:

‫ﺳﻘَﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ُ ‫ﺐ َواﻷ َِﻧﯿ‬

َ ‫ﺲ‬ َ ‫ﻋْﻦ‬
َ ‫ظْﮭِﺮ‬
ٍ ‫ﻏْﯿ‬ َ َ ‫ﺖ ِرﱠز اﻷ َِﻧﯿِﺲ ﻓََﺮا‬
‫ﻋَﮭﺎ‬ ْ ‫ﺴ‬
َ ‫َوﺗ ََﻮﱠﺟ‬

Rizz is a subtle noise. Al-anīs is a human.

Polk:

She heard with dread the sounds of humans from afar, and they startled her / From behind a

hidden [rock], for Man is her bane.

Sells:

114
She makes out the sound of men,

muffled, striking fear

from the hidden side,

human presence, her affliction.

S.S

She heard the buzz of human voices

She could not tell from where—

That filled her with alarm—

for men to her meant death.

Polk’s translation is straightforward and literal. The result is an altogether clunky

translation with numerous additions that are not intuitive even to the Arabist. Where, for

example, is the idea of men hiding behind a hidden rock in the original? Polk does not

adhere to the structure literally but tries to extrapolate the meaning. For instance, he renders

the line wa-tawajjasit rizz Al-Anīs as “she heard with dread the sounds of humans from afar

and they startled here.” However, we do not get the idea of the humans being from away

until the second line in the original, which starts ‘an ẓahir ghayib. Therefore, Polk changes

the structure of the original to produce a meaning that he believes will make the most

sense. There is no attention to rhythm.

Sells’s technique is more abstract and concise. He uses alliteration as in “men muffled.”

115
S. Stetkevych’s translation appears to follow a rhythmic pattern. For example, she uses

repetition as in “she/she” and “her/her.” Additionally, she uses a range of six to nine

syllables for line, making for a short verse with simple wording and straightforward

understanding.

Verse 48:

‫َﻣْﻮﻟَﻰ اْﻟَﻤَﺨﺎﻓَِﺔ َﺧْﻠﻔَُﮭﺎ َوأ ََﻣﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ُ ‫ت ِﻛﻼَ اْﻟﻔَْﺮَﺟْﯿِﻦ ﺗ َْﺤِﺴ‬

ُ‫ﺐ أ َﻧﱠﮫ‬ ْ َ‫ﻓَﻐَﺪ‬

Kilā al-farjayn is the part of the body between the hands and the feet. Mawlā al-makhāfa is

a place of fear and the source of danger.

Polk: And both of the two openings [in rocks around her] became such that she imagined

that/ Both before and behind were places of dread.

Sells:

Dawn finds her turning,

front and rear,

placing behind her

and ahead the source of fear.

S.S:

So she rushed forth,

116
fearing for head and tail

Dangers from in front

and from behind

Polk’s translation is archaic and does not read like poetry but like clunky verse. This is best

epitomized in the line that reads “became such that.”

Sells’ translation utilizes rhythm par excellence, rhyming “rear” and “fear.”

S. Stetkevych’s translation is smooth. Her lines are short, with less than six syllables per

line. She also uses repetition, repeating the word “from” twice, which makes for a sort of

parallelism.

Verse 49:

َ ‫ﻀﻔَﺎ ً دََواِﺟَﻦ ﻗَﺎﻓِﻼً أ َْﻋ‬

‫ﺼﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ُ
ْ ‫ﻏ‬ َ ‫ﺲ اﻟﱡﺮَﻣﺎة ُ َوأ َْر‬
‫ﺳﻠُﻮا‬ َ ‫َﺣﺘ ﱠﻰ ِإذَا ﯾَِﺌ‬

Ghuḍf means lop-eared. Dawājin is a well-trained hunting dog deriving from the root d-j-n

from which the word domesticated or tame stems. Qāfilan A‘ṣāmuhā is a dry collar of the

dog.

Polk:

117
Until, when the archers despaired, they loosed / Lop-eared hunting hounds whose collars

were yet dry.

Sells:

Until the archers give up

and send in their well-trained,

lop-eared hunting hounds

whose collars were yet dry.

S.S:

Until, when the hunters, despairing

of their bow and arrow,

Set on her their rawhide-collared,

flop-eared hounds.

Polk’s translation is stilted. This is most perceptible because it lacks a transition and so the

lines read as two separate ideas when they are connected. The archers give up and so they

send their hunting dogs.

Sells’ translation employs parallelism. This is evidenced in the use of a hyphen, joining

together words such as “well-trained,” and “lop-earned.” The rendering of ya’is as “give

up,” rather than the typical despaired is more casual.

118
S. Stetkevych’s translation plays with the structure of the original. She does this to provide

a coherent, smooth translation. For instance, she renders the last line as “flop-eared

hounds.” She also includes the very precise jocular word “rawhide” as a translation of qāfil

which could have been rendered more straightforwardly as “dry,” as Polk and Sells did.

Verse 50:

‫َﻛﺎﻟ ﱠ‬
‫ﺴْﻤَﮭِﺮﯾﱠِﺔ َﺣﺪﱡَھﺎ َوﺗ ََﻤﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ ٌ‫ت ﻟََﮭﺎ َﻣْﺪِرﯾﱠـﺔ‬
ْ ‫ﻓَﻠَِﺤْﻘَﻦ َواْﻋﺘ ََﻜَﺮ‬

A‘takara is he bent or turned. Madriyya is a side of a horn. Al-samhariyya is a lancer that

traces back to a man called Samhar who lived in what is now contemporary Bahrain. The

cow’s horn is compared to this spear which was also well known in Arabic battle poetry.117

Polk:

And they overtook her, but she wheeled at bay, with her pointed horns, like a samhari spear

in their sharpness and length.

Sells:

They run her down.

She wheels upon them

with a horn, point and shaft,

like a Samhariyya spear.

117
Stetkevych, The Mute Immortals Speak, 32.

119
S.S:

The hounds overtook her

and she returned their charge

With a horn like a Samharī spear

in point and shaft

Polk’s translation is in the past tense. For example, he uses phrases such as “overtook her,”

and “wheeled.” Furthermore, Polk italicizes the word “samhari” making it protrude. All

three translators use alliteration in the expression “Samhariyya spear.”

Sells’ translation is in the present tense, making it feel more immediate. It is interesting to

note his use of the verb wheel, like Polk, which appears quite literary and formal.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is contextual, academic, straightforward, and rhythmic. She

often provides context for the reader For example, she adds “the hounds” at the beginning

rather than the mere pronoun “they.” This allows the reader to follow along more easily, or

even to enjoy the poetry line by line without having read earlier lines to situate the verse.

Secondly, the translation is academic in that it transliterates “Samharī.” It is straightforward

because she uses a simpler lexicon with few syllables in each line. Instead of the verb

“wheels,” she translates “returned their charge.”

Verse 51:

120
 ِ ‫أ َْن ﻗَْﺪ أ ُِﺣﱠﻢ ِﻣَﻦ اﻟُﺤﺘ ُﻮ‬
‫ف ِﺣَﻤﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ْ َ‫ِﻟﺘ َﺬُودَُھﱠﻦ َوأ َْﯾﻘَﻨ‬
‫ﺖ ِإْن ﻟَْﻢ ﺗ َﺬُْد‬

Aḥamma is he approached. Ḥimām is death.

Polk: In order to drive them away–and she knew full well that if she did not drive them

away / Her fate would be completed with a speedy death.

Sells: Driving them off, sensing death upon her, if she fails, certain, fated, near.

S.S:

To ward them off—

for she knew

If she did not repel them

she would die.

Polk’s translation employs an em dash to connect different ideas. The effect, however,

creates an awkward, incoherent translation. It is difficult to connect the two lines.

Sells’ translation is abstract and poetic. He uses strong single adjectives that create a

dramatic effect, as in “certain, fated, near.” All three translations use pronouns rather than

reminding readers of the verse’s subject, the oryx cow, who is running from death from the

hounds and hunters.

121
S. Stetkevych’s translation is straightforward. This is most visible in the lines, “If she did

not repel them she would die.”

Verse 52:

ُ ‫ﻏﻮِدَر ﻓﻲ اْﻟَﻤَﻜّﺮ‬
‫ﺳَﺨﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ُ ‫ِﺑﺪٍَم َو‬ ُ َ‫ب ﻓ‬
ْ ‫ﻀّﺮَﺟ‬
‫ﺖ‬ َ ‫ت ِﻣْﻨَﮭﺎ َﻛ‬
ِ ‫ﺴﺎ‬ ‫ﻓَﺘ َﻘ ﱠ‬
ْ َ ‫ﺼﺪ‬

Taqaṣṣada means he killed. Kasāb is the name of a hound. Al-makarr is the position of

stars. Sukhām is the name of another hound.

Polk:

And she singled out from the pack the hound Kasab and she was splattered / With blood

while the hound Sukham was also left to molder on the battleground.

Sells:

Kasábi bears down on her.

He is smeared in blood,

and Sukhám, in his place of attack,

is left to die.

S.S:

‘Fetch’ was first to fall,

smeared all in blood,

Then ‘Blackie’ was left for dead

122
where he had charged.

Polk’s translation is again rigid and difficult to follow. This is clear in the break between

verses. Rather than provide a clear line that reads on its own, Polk interrupts the verse

making it only comprehensive if read in its entirety.

Sells’ translation maintains the place names of the hounds “Kasabi and Sukham.” His lines

are short.

S. Stetkevych’s translation adheres to simplicity and rhyme. This is manifest in the word’s

“blood” and “charged.” She also translates in a way accessible to the target culture,

transforming the names of the pre-Islamic hounds Kasāb and Sukhām to two common

contemporary dog names “Fetch” and “Blackie.”

Verse 53 (start of fakhr, the final section, the time for praise and boast of the tribe):

‫ب ِإَﻛﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ب أ َْرِدﯾَﺔَ اﻟ ﱠ‬
ِ ‫ﺴَﺮا‬ َ ‫َواْﺟﺘ َﺎ‬ ‫ﻀَﺤﻰ‬ َ َ‫ﻓَِﺒِﺘْﻠَﻚ ِإْذ َرﻗ‬
‫ﺺ اﻟﻠﱠَﻮاِﻣُﻊ ِﺑﺎﻟ ﱡ‬

Al-llawāmi‘ is a mirage. Ājtāb are clothing.

Polk:

Then is it with such a [camel] when the flickering mirages dance at high noon / And the

hills deck themselves in the gown of enveloping heat waves?

123
Sells:

On one like that,

when shimmering dance

in the forenoon

and hills are gowned in mirage

Part III: The Poet’s Boast (fakhr)

Theme 1: The Poet Buys Wine for the Drinking Party

S.S:

On such a she-camel when the sun’s shimmerings

dance in full forenoon light,

And the hillocks don the cloaks

of the mirage

Polk offers a long translation with brackets and poetic language. For example, he adds the

word “camel” in brackets. His uses of “flickering mirages” and “hills deck themselves in

the gown of enveloping heat waves” are very poetic, like the source text.

Sells’ translation is more condensed but also a bit archaic. This is evident in his use of

“forenoon” instead of morning.

124
S. Stetkevych’s translation also conveys the poetic imagery of the original text. She

employs alliteration in the expression “sun’s shimmerings.”

Verse 54:

‫أ َْو أ َْن ﯾَﻠُﻮَم ِﺑَﺤﺎَﺟٍﺔ ﻟَﱠﻮاُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ ُ ‫ﻀﻲ اﻟﻠﱡﺒَﺎﻧَﺔَ ﻻ أ ُﻓَـِّﺮ‬

ً‫ط ِرﯾﺒَـﺔ‬ ِ ‫أ َْﻗ‬

Al-lubāna is a desire. La Ufarriṭ is to not get lost.

Polk:

[It is in these circumstances that] I achieve my desire, not thrown off my course by any

inner doubt/ Lest backbiters find some reason to cast blame

Sells:

I bring the issue to a close,

not held back by doubt

or by some critic’s rummaging around

for something there to blame.

S.S:

I attend my own heart’s needs,

not neglecting them for fear

That others will think ill of me

or rebukers blame me.

125
Polk’s translation is formal and literal. This is clear in several ways. First, he begins with

brackets that add a stiffness to the poet’s voice. The second example of formality is his use

of the conjunction “lest,” which requires the subjunctive mood. The overall diction is

turgid, exemplified in “backbiters” and the phrase “cast blame.” This contrasts with Sells’

and Stetkevych’s translation who use “critics” and “rebukers” respectively and then merely

“blame.”

Sells’ translation carries a slightly different meaning in its interpretation than the others. In

the first line, he renders the verse as “I bring the issue to a close.” This seems to indicate

drawing the end of the issue, which is slightly vaguer and less specified than Polk and

Stetkevych who both translate it as the poet attending to his desires or needs. Sells employs

repetition as a poetic technique that smoothens the sound.

S. Stetkevych’s translation employs assonance. This is clear in the use of “heart” and then

“fear,” which both have an /ear/ sound. She also adds the word “heart” in her translation, as

in “I attend my heart’s needs” which is not explicitly present in the original (Aqḍī al-

lubāna).

Verse 55:

‫ﻋْﻘِﺪ َﺣﺒَﺎِﺋٍﻞ َﺟﺬﱠاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬

َ ‫ﺻﺎُل‬
‫َو ﱠ‬ ‫أ ََو ﻟَْﻢ ﺗ َُﻜْﻦ ﺗ َْﺪِري ﻧََﻮاُر ِﺑﺄْﻧِﻨﻲ‬

126
Jadhdhām is to cut. The change of tense, a return to the first person and of self-affirmation

coinciding with the fakhr section, is noteworthy.

Polk:

Or did not Nawar [his beloved of yesteryear] know that I, yes I, The Strongest binder of the

knots of affection, am good at breaking them too?

Sells:

Or didn’t you know, Nawár,

that I

am one who ties a love knot

and cuts it free?

S.S:

For did Nawār not know

that I am both

He who ties the knits in ropes

and he who cuts them?

Polk’s translation is a clear interjection; he reminds us who Nawār was, although in

parenthesis. His verse is long and clunky. This is best demonstrated in his literary and

archaic use of “yesteryear.”

127
Sells’ translation, on the other hand, is short and sweet. He changes the tense from third

person to first person, as if the poet himself is directly addressing Nawār, manifested in the

pronoun “you.” Sells makes use of alliteration in his rendering of “love knot.”

S. Stetkevych’s translation uses addition as a technique, manifest in the sentence, “that I am

both.” The addition makes the verse sound more fluent in the target language.

Verse 56:

َ ‫أ َْو ﯾَْﻌﺘ َِﻠْﻖ ﺑَْﻌ‬

‫ﺾ اﻟﻨﱡﻔُﻮ ِس ِﺣَﻤﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ َ ‫ﺗ َﱠﺮاُك أ َْﻣِﻜﻨٍَﺔ ِإذَا ﻟَْﻢ أ َْر‬
‫ﺿـَﮭﺎ‬

‘Alaqa is he linked, attached or to bonded. Ḥimām is demise or death.

Polk:

One ever-ready to quit places that do not please me/ Unless fate chooses to attach a certain

soul there.

Sells:

Who abandons a place

that no longer pleases,

unless ill fate cleave

to that some certain self of mine.

S.S:

128
He who leaves a place

that does not please him,

Unless his own soul’s fate

overtakes him there?

Polk’s translation switches from third to first person in the same line, from “one ever-

ready” to “do not please me.” This change does not appear to be based on the source

language and may puzzle the reader. There is no focus on musicality.

Sells’ translation pays attention to the Arabic verse’s sound. He rhymes “please” and

“cleave.” Sells decides to render al-nufūs as “self of mine” rather than the more

conventional translation of soul, which usually takes on a spiritual element, perhaps

remaining consciousness of the largely paganistic environment of the Jāhiliyya.

S. Stetkevych’s translation maintains the tense: third person. Her lines are short and

roughly the same number of syllables, five to six. She is interested in sound, employing

assonance in her use of “own, soul and overtake.”

Verse 57:

ٍ ‫طْﻠ‬
‫ﻖ ﻟَِﺬﯾٍﺬ ﻟَْﮭُﻮَھﺎ َوِﻧﺪَاُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ َ ِ ‫ﺑَْﻞ أ َْﻧ‬
‫ﺖ ﻻ ﺗ َْﺪِرﯾَﻦ َﻛْﻢ ِﻣﻦ ﻟَْﯿﻠٍَﺔ‬

Ṭalq is mild.

129
Polk:

Nay! You [silly woman] do not know how many a night, Whose diversions and

companionship were bountiful and delightful

Sells:

You don’t know, no,

how many nights,

bright-faced with drinking company

and delicious entertainment

S.S:

And don’t you know how many a night

mild in its weather,

Delightful in its sport

and in its revelry,

The Arabic word ṭalq divides all three translators under review. Polk translates it as

"bountiful," Sells as "bright-faced," and Stetkevych "as mild in its weather."

Polk’s translation employs archaic in the first word, rendering the Arabic bal to the Middle

English “Nay.” He places the phrase “silly woman” in brackets, taking a free interpretation

at the tone of the original, which he assumes is condescending, or at least belittles the

intelligence of Nawār.

130
Sells’ translation is a play on words, notably “know” and “no,” so perhaps more aptly put, a

sound play. His quatrain verse is typically terse.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is the most confusing to follow, or perhaps more aptly, the

freest in its interpretation. It is difficult to imagine for the non-Arabist how a word such as

ṭalq can mean the entire phrase “mild in its weather.” Yet the fact that one word can convey

an entire sentence comes as no surprise.

Verse 58:

‫ﻋﱠﺰ ُﻣﺪَاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ْ َ‫ﺖ ِإْذ ُرِﻓﻌ‬

َ ‫ﺖ َو‬ ُ ‫َواﻓَْﯿ‬ ‫ﻏﺎﯾَﺔَ ﺗ َﺎِﺟٍﺮ‬
َ ‫ﺳﺎِﻣَﺮَھﺎ َو‬ ‫ﻗَْﺪ ِﺑ ﱡ‬
َ ‫ﺖ‬

Sāmir is the one who spends a night talking to drinking companions. Ghāya is a banner.

Mudām is wine.

Polk: Have I spent in night-long conversation at the sign of the merchant / [Yea] I have

visited when the wine was proclaimed to be rare and dear,

Sells:

I have spent in talk! Showing up

at the innkeeper’s banner

at the moment it is raised

when the wine is choice

131
S.S:

I spent as its convivial, and rushed

to many a merchant’s banner

When it was raised

and the price of wine was high?

Polk’s translation is framed as a question but does not include the correction punctuation: a

question mark! Qad can be translated as a question, in that I may have or could have, but

the verb following it would have to be in the present tense, the muḍār‘a. When qad is

followed by a past tense verb, as in this instance where it is followed by bitt, then it acts as

an equivalent to the perfect “have/has.” As in, “I have spent.” The translation is a literal

rendering of the original with a focus on wordplay and sound, as in the English “rare and

dear.”

In Sells’ translation, he emphasizes the completed action with the use of an exclamation

point. His use of “innkeeper” is both literary and archaic, as opposed to Polk and

Stetkevych’s typical translation of tājir as “merchant.” The line “when the wine is choice,”

also reads unconventionally, awkwardly even. A smoother translation would simply have

been “When the wine is selected or chosen,” but Sells opts for a rendering that tries to

maintain the idiosyncrasies of the original and the language of the time.

132
S. Stetkevych’s translation also employs a question mark, this time in the last verse, as in

“the price of wine was high?” Why she asks a question that is not immediately clear in the

source language is perplexing. But her translation strives to reflect the original language,

opting for an unconventional usage of convivial as a noun, when it is more often used as an

adjective in contemporary language to describe an atmosphere, event, or person. Her

interpretation of merchant is one that suggests the poet Labīd visited many merchants, even

if the use in the original is just in the singular tājir and not the plural, tujjār.

Verse 59:

ْ ‫أ َْو َﺟْﻮﻧٍَﺔ ﻗُِﺪَﺣ‬

‫ﺖ َوﻓُ ﱠ‬
‫ﺾ ِﺧﺘ َﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ﻖ‬
ٍ ‫ﻋﺎِﺗ‬ ّ ِ ‫أ ُْﻏِﻠﻲ اﻟ‬
َ ‫ﺴﺒَﺎَء ﺑُﻜِّﻞ أ َْدَﻛَﻦ‬

Al-sibā’ are the wine buyers. Adkan is sand-colored, dusty, ashen. ‘Ātiq is pure. Jawna is a

blackened jar with tar-stains. Qudiḥa is he scooped out of. Fuḍḍa is he broke. Khitām is

clay that stays closed.

Polk:

I bid up the price of the wine in every blackened aging skin / Or tar-smeared pot whose seal

had been roached and deflowered

Sells:

Paying any price for every vintage

aged in blackened skins

and tar-smeared jugs,

133
seals broken.

S.S:

I paid a dear price for a well-aged wine,

in a darkened wineskin

Or in a pitch-lined jug, ladled into cups,

its seal broken.

Polk’s translation is so foreign that it is nearly incomprehensible to the non-specialist who

cannot help but ask, even after following along the entire poem, what is now happening?

The most jarring pairing of words comes in the line “whose seal has been roached and

deflowered.” The word “deflowering” evokes the dated literary usage of a woman who has

been deprived of her virginity. Perhaps Polk is using personification for rhetorical impact,

but the intention is unclear since he has seldom done so above.

Sells’ translation takes the form of a verbal noun, the gerund, in his use of “paying.” The

original Arabic verb ughli is a passive, as indicated by the domma, the short vowel u sound.

S. Stetkevych’s translation, on the other hand, is in the past tense. It reads similarly to Sells

but slightly more literal and direct translating, for example, rendering “‘Ātiq” as well-aged

wine and not just as vintage.

Verse 60:

134
 ‫ﺗ َﺄ ْﺗ َﺎﻟُـﮫُ ِإْﺑَﮭﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ِﺑُﻤَﻮﺗ ﱠـٍﺮ‬ ِ ‫ﺻﺎِﻓﯿَِﺔ َوَﺟْﺬ‬
‫ب َﻛِﺮﯾﻨٍَﺔ‬ َ ِ‫ﺼﺒُﻮح‬
َ ‫ِﺑ‬

Ṣabuḥ is wine drank in the morning. Karīna is a lute-playing slave girl. Tā’tā’la is to he

treated or adjusted.

Polk:

With many a morning, limpid [draught] and the plucking of the singing girl/ On a lute as

her thumb adjusts the string.

Sells:

For a pure morning draught

and the play of a singing girl

upon her lute, fingers slipping

softly across the strings.

S.S:

And many a morning draught of a pure wine

and a slave girl with a lute,

Plucking with her thumb

On its taut strings

Polk’s translation is literal while also making room for some interpretation. He also

employs some British vocabulary with the noun “draught,” albeit in parenthesis. This

means the amount swallowed in a single act of drinking. He does not translate karīnat as its

135
literal definition of the “slave-girl playing a lute” but merely as a singing girl. He also

changes the order from the original verse, placing plucking [of the singing girl] which

corresponds to the verb tā’tā’lu, or to treat, before the noun singing girl. Sells also follows

this order.

However, Sells’ translation employs typical poetic techniques such as alliteration. This is

clear in the line “fingers slipping softly across the string.”

S. Stetkevych’s translation uses sophisticated vocabulary in her translation of muwattar,

which she renders as “taut.”

Verse 61:

‫ﺐ ِﻧﯿَﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ُ َ‫ﻷ‬
‫ﻋﱠﻞ ِﻣْﻨَﮭﺎ ِﺣﯿَﻦ َھ ﱠ‬ ُ ‫ت َﺣﺎَﺟﺘ َﮭﺎ اﻟﺪﱠَﺟﺎَج ِﺑ‬
‫ﺴْﺤَﺮٍة‬ ُ ‫ﺑَﺎدَْر‬

Bādara is he took the initiative before the sun rose. Al-‘ilal is drinking one after another.

Polk:

I hasten to satisfy the need of her while the cock crows at first light, / In order that I might

drink a second round while the night’s sleepers rouse themselves.

Sells:

Rising early to outstrip

the rooster’s morning call

136
for a second round that quenches

when sleepers just begin to stir.

S.S:

Theme II: The Poet’s Battle-Mare

My first cup I downed before the cock

could crow in daybreak,

To take a second when

its sleepers woke.

Polk’s translation is, at times, literal but also strives for a contemporary rendering. He uses

the typical poetic technique of alliteration in the line, “cock crows.” Polk also employs

assonance in the phrasing “second round.” Yet he is literal in that he even mimics the

pronouns of the original instead of striving for an interpretation that would make more

sense to modern readers. For example, he translates bādartu ḥājatahā as “I hasten to satisfy

the need of her.” The clearer interpretation—which Sells and Stetkevych both account for

in their respective translations—is that the poet, speaking in the first person, wakes up early

to drink before the crowing of the rooster. I might have translated it as “I arose before dawn

to drink before the cock’s crow.”

137
Sells uses a poetic technique that pays attention to sound: assonance. This is clear in

“rooster’s morning,” and “second round.” The use of “sleepers,” as a noun rather than the

more common “people sleeping,” is an interesting choice reflecting a desire to adhere to the

original and to render the translation both foreign and literary.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is akin to Sells in its contemporary language, alliteration, and

the brevity of lines. Stetkevych employs colloquial language in the use of “downing,”

referring to swallowing a drink. She also employs alliteration creatively in the line “cock

could crow,” by using cock instead of a rooster.

Verse 62:

‫ﺖ ِﺑﯿَِﺪ اﻟ ﱠ‬
‫ﺸَﻤﺎِل ِزَﻣﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ْ َ ‫ﻗَْﺪ أ‬
ْ ‫ﺻﺒََﺤ‬ ‫ﺖ َوﻗَﱠﺮٍة‬
ُ ‫ﻏﺪَاة َ ِرﯾﺢٍ ﻗَْﺪ َوَزْﻋ‬
َ ‫َو‬

Ghadāa is what is between dawn and the rising of the sun. Waza’a means he restrained,

curbed, kept in check. Al-shamāl is the coldest wind but literally the north wind.

Poem:

And how many a morning of wind and cold have I withstood

As I entered upon the dawn with its reins in the hand of

The Norther!

Sells:

On how many a cold and windy morning

138
have I held steady

as the reins fall

into the hands of the north wind

Stetkevych:

And many a bitter morn of wind and cold

I curbed,

When its reins were in the hand

of the north wind

Polk mysteriously reverses the translation of lines 61 and 63, perhaps erroneously. In any

case, in the above, we read his rendering of the line (which is line 61 in the original

qaṣīda).

Regarding Polk’s translation, he employs a free interpretation. For example, in English,

there appears no easy equivalent of ghadāa, the period between dawn and the rising of the

sun. Instead of writing out this lengthy expression, Polk, just as Sells, opts for the simpler

“morning.” Surely, some of the nuance in the original text is lost, but the meaning is

smoothly conveyed.

S. Stetkevych’s translation tries to follow the same structure as the original poem. This is

evident in the line “And many a bitter morn of wind and cold” where cold, or waqarra, is

139
the last word in the line. She opts for some colloquialism in the rendering of the morning as

“morn.”

Verse 63:

َ ‫ﺷﺎِﺣﻲ ِإْذ‬
ُ ‫ﻏﺪَْو‬
‫ت ِﻟَﺠﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ٌ ‫ﻓُُﺮ‬
َ ‫ط ِو‬ ‫ﻲ ﺗ َْﺤِﻤُﻞ ِﺷﱠﻜِﺘﻲ‬ ُ ‫َوﻟَﻘَْﺪ َﺣَﻤْﯿ‬
‫ﺖ اﻟَﺤ ﱠ‬

Al-shikka is a weapon. Furuṭ is a fast mare.

Polk:

[But, while I thus enjoyed myself, know you that] I had already

protected the clan, my weapons being carried by

A fleet mare whose bridle was my girdle as I entered upon the

morning.

Sells:

Tribe-defender,

sword on a fiery steed,

my cross-sash her bridle,

riding out at dawn

S.S:

I defended the tribe, my battle gear borne

by a winning courser,

140
Her reins my sash when I

went forth at down.

Polk’s translation is verbose, introduced by brackets that make up more than ten syllables.

Polk’s diction is also literary. This is evident in the rendering of “fleet” as in fast and

nimble. This verb was used prior by Sells but not for the same word (see line 24). Polk opts

for bridle instead of sash.

Sells’ translation strives for simplicity. We see this in his choice to render the verbal

structure of the Arabic wa-laqad ḥamayt al-ḥayy into the noun “tribe-defender” instead of

the more literal “I defended the tribe.”

S. Stetkevych’s translation strives for the formal or literal. This is most obvious in her use

of “borne,” the past participle of bore, as in displaying a mark or feature. She could simply

have opted for “wore” which seems to correspond to the Arabic word ḥamīt most simply.

This specific choice reflects a conscious attitude of the author.

Verse 64:

‫أ َْﻋﻼَِﻣِﮭﱠﻦ ﻗَﺘ َﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ‫َﺣِﺮجٍ ِإﻟَﻰ‬ َ ً ‫ت ُﻣْﺮﺗ َﻘَﺒَﺎ‬

‫ﻋﻠَﻰ ِذي َھْﺒَﻮٍة‬ ُ ‫ﻓَﻌَﻠَْﻮ‬

Murtaqab is a high place, a vantage point. Ḥarij means narrow. A‘lām are way marks.

Qatām is dust.

141
Polk:

Then I went up to a vantage point [where I could look out over]

the scene of the sandstorm

Whose dust lay thick over the waymarkers.

Sells:

To climb to a vantage point

over a close-walled gorge

hidden in dust,

dust covering the way-marks.

Stetkevych:

Then I mounted a lookout post

on a narrow, wind-blown peak

Whose dust rose to the banners

of the foe.

This is an example where the three translators render three entirely different images of the

original Arabic.

Polk’s translation is simple to follow. He uses brackets to interpolate his understanding that

the poet has climbed up to the vantage point to look out. There he sees a scene of a

sandstorm, which he translates from dhi habwa into “where the dust covers the posts.”

142
Sells’ translation is more specific. Instead of rendering dhi habwa as sandstorm, he renders

it as “a close-walled gorge.”

S. Stetkevych’s translation is just as specific to Sells, but she translates dhi habwa as a

“narrow, wind-blown peak.” It seems clear from these translations that the cultural

equivalent cannot be found in one word, hence the translators’ attempts with descriptions.

What sticks out in this translation is the use of “foe,” as in enemy, employed in literary

language tracing back to Shakespeare. From where in the original does Stetkevych find

foe? This is not clear, not even in the Muʿallaqāt for Millennials’ commentary.

Verse 65:

َ ‫ت اﻟﺜ ﱡﻐُﻮِر‬
‫ظﻼُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ َ ‫َوأ ََﺟﱠﻦ‬
ِ ‫ﻋْﻮَرا‬ ْ َ‫َﺣﺘ ﱠﻰ ِإذَا أ َْﻟﻘ‬
‫ﺖ ﯾَﺪَا ً ﻓﻲ َﻛﺎﻓٍِﺮ‬

Kāfir is night. Ājann is to cover.

Polk:

Until, when [the sun] casts her hand into the dimness,

And the dark shadows conceal the gaps in the surrounding hills,

Sells:

The sun’s hand dropped

into thickening darkness,

143
the mouths of the ridge passage

concealed in veils of shadow.

S.S:

Until when daylight dipped its hand into

the all-concealing night

And darkness veiled the crotches of

each mountain pass,

Polk’s translation is literal with his usual hesitance to interpret without brackets. Thus, Polk

inserts “sun” in brackets which is not explicit in the original.

Sells’ translation employs free interpretation that is highly evocative. As such, he translates

kāfir as “thickening darkness,” when it could simply be translated as night.

S. Stetkevych employs poetic language through alliteration in the example “daylight

dipped.”

Verse 66:

‫ﺼُﺮ دُوﻧََﮭﺎ ُﺟﱠﺮاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬

َ ‫َﺟْﺮدَاَء ﯾَْﺤ‬ ‫ﺼﺒَﺖ َﻛِﺠْﺬعِ ُﻣِﻨﯿﻔٍَﺔ‬ ُ ‫أ َْﺳَﮭْﻠ‬
َ َ ‫ﺖ َواْﻧﺘ‬

Munīfa is high. Jardā’ are a scarcity of fronds. Ḥaṣara means he grew tired, short of

breath. Jurrām are date-pickers.

144
Polk:

I come down onto the plain [where my mare] stood as erect as the trunk of a high-soaring

[palm tree]

Stripped smooth of its fronds, daunting the would-be climbers

Sells:

I descended to the plain,

mare standing like a palm ,

smooth, towering trunk

thwarting the date cutters

S.S

To the plain I descended and my mare

held erect her neck

Like the date palm’s stripped

the picker’s courage fails.

Polk’s translation, this time, is not literal but a form of free interpretation. This clearly

manifests in the word yaḥṣaru which can translate literally as he becomes short of breath.

The real meaning, however, is that the pickers of dates, the climbers, are unwilling to climb

a tree with few fronds. This is how Polk interprets the text, which makes sense in the

context.

145
Sells’ translation is like Polk’s but makes more use of the poetic device of alliteration, such

as in “plain palm” and “trunk thwarting.”

S. Stetkevych’s translation interpolates but arrives at a similar meaning to Polk and Sells.

For example, the verb antṣabat is translated as “held erect her neck.” The verb traditionally

means to hold erect, but Stetkevych goes a step further providing an additional

interpretation, albeit a logical one. There is one more point worthy of discussion. Does

yaḥṣaru reflect the date-pickers state or rather the state of the trees which hold the dates? In

other words, are the date-pickers daunted, fearful, lacking courage because of the few

fruits, or are these emotional terms not attached to the verb, and can be rendered with the

more neutral thwarted (as Sells interprets)?

Verse 67:

َ ‫ﻒ ِﻋ‬
‫ﻈﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ َ ‫َﺣﺘ ﱠﻰ ِإذَا‬
ْ َ‫ﺳِﺨﻨ‬
‫ﺖ َوَﺧ ﱠ‬ ُ‫ﺷﻠﱠـﮫ‬ َ ‫َرﻓﱠْﻌﺘ َُﮭﺎ‬
َ ‫طَﺮدَ اﻟﻨّﻌَـﺎِم َو‬

Raff‘a is he charged, ordered. Shallhu is [hunting] game or catch.

Polk:

I drove [my mare] into a run like the dash of the ostrich

and [the race] made [the sweat] pour forth

Until, when she was screaming hot, and her very bones were light

and nimble,

146
Sells:

I drove her on to the pace of an ostrich

and faster,

until she grew hot

and her bones softened

S.S:

I spurred her to a speed

fit for the ostrich chase,

Until when she was heated through

and her bones were nimble,

Polk’s translation is verbose because of the many uses of brackets. It appears that he also

repeats an idea that is only found once in the original Arabic text. For example, the word

sakhinat means she grew hot but Polk renders it as she “made [the sweat] pour forth” and

then again, in the next line, as “until, when she was screaming hot.”

Sells’ translation is marked by its brevity and the repetition of prepositions that mark each

line. Notably, he starts lines two, three and four with “and, until, and.” This is akin to Polk

(and to the original Arabic) but Sells’ translation reads smoother as a result of the few

147
amount of syllables used per line. He also has a free interpretation adding, “and faster,”

which is how he likely interpreted the word shallhu.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is also marked by brevity and the use of the poetic technique of

alliteration. This manifests in the use of “spurred and speed.” She translates shallhu as

chase, as in the ostrich’s chase.

Verse 68:

‫َواْﺑﺘ َﱠﻞ ِﻣﻦ َزﺑَِﺪ اﻟَﺤِﻤﯿِﻢ ِﺣَﺰاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ﺖ ِرَﺣﺎﻟَﺘ ُﮭﺎ َوأ َْﺳﺒََﻞ ﻧَْﺤُﺮَھﺎ‬
ْ َ‫ﻗَِﻠﻘ‬

Qaliqa means he moved, stirred. Riḥāla is a light saddle composed of sheep’s skin. Asbala

naḥruhā means is it rained or poured on her chest area. Al-ḥamīm is sweat.

Polk:

Her light riding pad slipped to and fro and her throat foamed

and her girth was drenched from the froth of her sweat

Sells:

Saddle sliding

as her neck poured sweat,

girth strap drenched

in hot foam.

148
S.S:

Her light leathern saddle slipped

sweat flowed from her neck

And her saddle girth

Was soaked with froth

Polk’s translation is literal, descriptive, and lengthy with nuanced differences from other

translations. He translates naḥr, which Sells and Stetkevych translate as neck, as “throat”

and al-ḥamīm as “foam,” which is a strange rendering, as opposed to sweat, which is how

Sells and Stetkevych translate the word.

Sells’ concise translation employs a musical cadence through alliteration and assonance.

For example, he translates “saddle slipping,” and “hot foam,” with the /o/ sound resonating.

He translates rather literally. For example, instead of describing the saddle, riḥāla, by its

physical qualities as a light riding saddle or light leathern as Polk and Stetkevych do he

merely translates it as a saddle which coincides with his previous ethos of brevity, but

which lacks the descriptive features that sometimes characterize his treatment.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is also concise albeit more descriptive than Sells. In the first

line, she heavily employs alliteration as in “light leathern” and “saddle slipped.” Her

translation has a heavy /s/ sound throughout with words such as “sweat,” “saddle” and

149
“soaked" in each line. She translates asbala as flowed which adds poetic imagery of sweat

flowing almost like a river.

Verse 69:

‫ِوْردَ اْﻟَﺤَﻤﺎَﻣِﺔ ِإْذ أ ََﺟﺪﱠ َﺣَﻤﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ْ َ ‫ﺗ َْﺮﻗَﻰ َوﺗ‬

‫ﻄﻌَُﻦ ﻓﻲ اْﻟِﻌﻨَﺎِن َوﺗ َْﻨﺘ َِﺤﻲ‬

Tarqā means she raised her head. Taṭ‘ana fī al-‘inān means to stretched in the reins

attached to a horse. Antaḥā means he leaned on.

Polk:

[Then] she roused herself [still further] and lanced forth,

throwing herself against the reins,

Like the flying to water of a [stray] dove when the flock

doubles its pace

Sells:

Head raised, she stretched

in the bridle, and veered

like a water-bound pigeon

when the flock surges

S.S:

She coursed, head held high and thrusting

150
in the bridle, racing headlong

Like a thirsting dove to water when

her flock beats urgent wings.

Polk’s translation abounds with brackets and literalism. He translates tarqā as “roused”

which corresponds to a literal translation as opposed to a free interpretation that might

interpret the poet is describing the horse’s head movement as Sells and Stetkevych interpret

below. It is interesting to note how Polk prefers reins for al-‘inān rather than the more

common bridle.

Sells’ translation has a similar number of syllables per line (5-7). He also employs some

alliteration as in “she stretched” and assonance with the /ed/ sound as in “stretched” and

“veered.”

S. Stetkevych’s translation employs literary archaic words, as well as alliteration, and is

slightly longer than Sells. For example, she uses “thirsting” for wirida which is also literal.

In addition, she employs significant alliteration with “head held high” and the play on

words with “thrusting” and later “thirsting.”

Verse 70:

َ ‫ﺗ ُْﺮَﺟﻰ ﻧََﻮاِﻓﻠَُﮭﺎ َوﯾُْﺨ‬

‫ﺸﻰ ذَاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ﻏَﺮﺑَﺎُؤَھـﺎ َﻣْﺠُﮭﻮﻟَـٍﺔ‬
ُ ٍ‫َوَﻛِﺜﯿَﺮة‬

Nawāfil are gifts. Dhām are defects, faults.

151
Polk:

And in many an [assembly at the court of a prince], the foreigners of which are unknown,

Whose bountiful gifts are coveted and whose blame is feared

Sells:

How many strangers

In how many an unruly mob

where gains are sought,

blame feared

S.S: Theme III: The Poet’s Authority and Generosity among the Tribes

And in many a chief’s domed tent,

where unknown strangers sojourn

In hope of favor

and of displeasure fear,

Polk’s translation interjects to the point of providing commentary within the translation.

For example, in the first line, brackets are used to add the following idea of an assembly at

the court of a prince. Of note is also how Polk translates ghurbā’ as “foreigners” and not

strangers. His translation is literal. For example, he translates nawāfil as “gifts” when it

152
could be rendered more as favors and not as literal gifts. His use of the word “coveted” is

also quite literary since it is not a prevalent word.

Sells’ translation makes use of repetition for poetic effect. For example, his short stanza

repeats twice “how many.” This seems to play with the sound of the original Arabic which

twice employs a tanwín or nunation of a double kasra as in kathiratin and majhūlatin.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is descriptive and literary in its use of alliteration. She also

provides a sort of additional commentary (without the use of brackets) in her first line

which reads “in many a chief’s domed tent,” painting an evocative image. It is noteworthy

how all translators interpret the last line yukhshā dhāmuhā as “fear blamed.”

Verse 71:

ّ ‫ِﺟﱡﻦ اْﻟﺒَِﺪ‬
‫ي َرَواِﺳﯿَﺎ ً أ َْﻗﺪَاُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ﺸﺬﱠُر ِﺑﺎﻟﺬﱡُﺧﻮِل َﻛﺄ َﻧﱠَﮭﺎ‬ ٌ ‫ﻏْﻠ‬
َ َ‫ﺐ ﺗ‬ ُ

Ghulb is rough necked. Tashadhhara means he threatened. Dhukhuwil are resentments,

grudges. Al-badiyy is a valley near the land of the poets.

Polk:

A rough and rowdy crowd, as quick to spring in anger to

Vengeance as though they were

Jinn of the desert, whose feet stride forth proudly.

153
Sells:

Lion-necked, threat-spewing,

Demanding blood,

as if they were desert jinn,

feet anchored in stone

S.S:

There were men, burly-necked, lionlike,

braced for revenge,

Planting their feet in the ground

Like the Jinn of Badi.

Polk’s translation employs additions and alliterations. The addition is evident in the first

line where he renders ghulb as rough and rowdy (both an addition since the commentary

says this word is to describe a burly neck and an alliteration). Polk’s translation renders al-

badiyy as a “desert” when it is described in the commentary as a wadi, two quite different

topographical settings. He also translates rawāsī as to “stride forth” whereas the two other

translators rendered it as “planted” or “anchored,” a quite different interpretation as well.

Here, we once again see how the slightest nuance in interpretation makes all the difference.

154
Sells’ translation is punchy, with four to seven syllables for each line. He makes heavy use

of the hyphen to link words that have a combined meaning. Take, for example, “lion-

necked,” and “threat-spewing” in the first line. The second line, “demanding blood,” also

follows a sort of punchy ring. The translation is a bit redundant but perhaps so is the

original Arabic, with the words tashadhhar and dhukhuwil both conveying feelings of

anger, grudge, threat, resentment. It is in this context that Sells’ rendering “threat-spewing,

demanding blood,” makes sense, evoking blood vengeance tradition118 that is part of the

pre-Islam Sitz em Leben (literally: seat in life, location in life). Sells’ also translates al-

badiyy as desert.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is concise and punchy but also aimed at the specialist. She uses

alliteration with the word “lionlike.” She changes the order from the original Arabic,

switching the English order of lines three and four that would correspond to Labīd’s poem.

For example, jinn al-badiyy comes before rawāsīan aqdāmuhā in the original, but not in

Stetkevych’s rendering. Here she does not bother to culturally translate the text into the

target language of the reader but merely leaves it as “Jinn of Badi.” The Arabic

commentary explains, but the non-Arabic reader does not access this.

Verse 72:

118
Many scholars have written about the topic of blood vengeance in pre-Islam including on the most famous
poem on the topic the semi-anonymous Rithā’ of Ta’bbaṭa Sharran. See Chapter 2, Eating the Dead/ The
Dead Eating: Blood Vengeance as Sacrifice and Chapter 5, The Obligations and Poetics of Gender: Women’s
Elegy and Blood Vengeance in Stetkevych, The Mute Immortals Speak; Suzanne Pinckney Stetkevych,
“Ritual and Sacrificial Elements in the Poetry of Blood-Vengeance: Two Poems by Durayd Ibn al-Simmah
and Muhalhil Ibn Rabīʿah,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies, 1986;William Robertson Smith, Kinship and
Marriage in Early Arabia (A. & C. Black, 1903).

155
 َ ‫ِﻋْﻨِﺪي َوﻟَْﻢ ﯾَْﻔَﺨْﺮ‬
‫ﻋﻠ َ ﱠ‬
‫ﻲ ِﻛَﺮاُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ت ِﺑَﺤﻘَّﮭﺎ‬ ُ ‫أ َْﻧَﻜْﺮ‬
ُ ‫ت ﺑَﺎِطﻠََﮭﺎ َوﺑُْﺆ‬

Bu’a means he turned towards.

Polk:

I, Labid, denied their boastful vanity and affirmed the right,

According to my opinions. Nor did their nobles best me in

artistic boasting.

Sells:

Have I given the lie

in what they claimed,

affirming my share of right,

lorded over by no prince of theirs.

S.S:

Their false claims I denied,

their due rights recognized

And no nobleman among them could vaunt

his glory over me.

Polk’s literal translation carries a stilted tone and injects Labīd literally in the verse. The

line begins “I, Labid.” Nor, a conjunction, typically cannot be used to start a sentence as it

156
does in Polk’s rendering, e.g. “Nor did…” If it does begin a sentence, it is usually more

conversational in nature, as in responding to a statement. It also sounds more formal. The

use is meant to express the wa lam of the Arabic, a sort of connection to what came before.

“Best me” strikes me as uncommon but is an informal usage. Sound does not appear to be

considered.

Sells’ quatrain translation reads as archaic. This is evidenced by the first line “Have I given

the line.” We are left befuddled about the punctuation. Is the tone not in the interrogative?

In any case, the translation consists of relatively short syllables until the last line, which is

nine syllables. He takes three lines to translate the hemistich (shaṭar) instead of evenly

dividing the bayt two lines by two lines as typically did. The verb “lorded over” is a

rendering of wa-lam yafkhar 'alayya and is a rather literary rendering since “lorded over” is

not common.

S. Stetkevych’s translation employs repetition and is perhaps the most literal but also the

most readable. She follows the original Arabic almost word for word with some slight

additions that all translators use, such as “nobleman,” which Polk renders as nobles, and

Sells as prince. She repeats “their” twice and uses alliteration as in “rights recognized.”

This is an interpretation of the Arabic bu’t, which does not mean literally to turn but

accompanies the noun of bi-ḥaqqahā or their rights. Sells turns this into the first person,

“my share of right,” and Stetkevych keeps it in the original third person and pluralizes it.

Verse 73:

157
 َ ‫ﺸﺎِﺑـٍﮫ أ َْﺟ‬
‫ﺴﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ َ َ ‫ﻖ ُﻣﺘ‬
ٍ ‫ِﺑَﻤﻐَﺎِﻟ‬ ‫ت ِﻟَﺤﺘِْﻔَﮭﺎ‬
ُ ‫ﻋْﻮ‬ َ ‫َوَﺟُﺰوِر أ َْﯾ‬
َ َ‫ﺴﺎٍر د‬

Jazuwir are the parts of the camel that are considered proper for slaughter. Āysār are the

gamblers. Liḥataf is destruction or damnation. Maghāliq are the arrows for gambling.

Polk:

And how many a she-camel, the prize of the arrow-gamblers,

have I called to her death

By means of arrows, the shafts of which are indistinguishable

Sells:

How many times have I called

for a máysir slaughter

and the gaming lots

of notched arrow shafts.

S.S:

And many a gambling-camel,

its death I called for

By the fate-sealing arrows whose shafts

Look all alike,

158
Polk’s translation is verbose, literal, and precise. For example, he translates jazuwiri as

“she-camel,” instead of merely a camel. Āysār is rendered as arrow-gamblers. The use of

the six-syllable word “indistinguishable” for mutashābihin ajsāmuhā is a concise way of

conveying the meaning.

Sells’ translation is an expression of cultural rigidity in that he confronts the reader with the

difference of maysirin, a very common and much written about term in pre-Islamic Arabic

poetry.119 He is the only translator not to translate this word, which reflects a conscious

decision.

S. Stetkevych’s translator is formal and archaic. She starts with the fixed expression “many

a” which is used to indicate a large number of something. It is more formal than the single

word many, and much less common. The translation reflects the nuances of its original

milieu with words such as “fate-sealing arrows” and “shafts” that accurately describe

Labīd’s diction. Indeed, the game of maysir has been likened to a game of fate, another

major topos of pre-Islam, and Stetkevych manages to squeeze this in, rendered as “fate-

sealing.” She also uses alliteration, with her usual attention to sound, in the phrase “all

alike.”

Verse 74:

119
Many articles have been written on maysir. See, for example, Nadia Jamil, “Playing for Time: Maysir-
Gambling in Early Arabic Poetry,” in Islamic Reflections, Arabic Musings: Studies in Honour of Alan Jones,
Gibb Memorial Trust, 2004, 48-90.

159
 ْ َ‫ﺑُِﺬﻟ‬
‫ﺖ ِﻟِﺠﯿَﺮاِن اﻟَﺠِﻤﯿﻊِ ِﻟَﺤﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ْ ‫ﻋﻮ ِﺑِﮭﱠﻦ ِﻟﻌَﺎِﻗٍﺮ أ َْو ُﻣ‬
‫ﻄِﻔـٍﻞ‬ ُ ‫أ َْد‬

‘Āqir is a sterile she-camel. Muṭfil is a she-camel with children.

Polk:

I call them forth [without caring whether they be] barren or

pregnant.

Their meat is given freely to the clients of the group,

Sells:

Calling the throw

For a calfless or nursing mate

The portions parceled out

To all the client clans

S.S:

Summoning the arrows to gamble for a she-camel,

barren or with foal,

Whose meat we will bestow on all whom we

have granted refuge.

160
Polk’s translation is direct and straightforward. It sounds almost colloquial in the line “I

call them forth [without caring whether they be] barren or pregnant.” Barren is a translation

of ‘āqir, which Stetkevych mirrors. Of course, brackets are used to show a clear difference

in his interpretation versus the literalness of the verse.

Sells’ translation is a boastful display of alliteration. Alliteration marks the entire

translation with displays in each line, e.g., “calling calfless,” “portions parceled,” “client

clans.” The choice is not arbitrary (nothing is arbitrary for the translator) but exhibits

careful attention to the sound of the original, which is marked in this bayt by its vowel

(kasra) sounds, in addition to its nunation of a double kasra as in ‘āqir and muṭfil. The

word calf less is typically two words but Sells, in his typical jocular style, brings them

together.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is characterized by its precision and the symmetric breakup of

poetic units. By employing her typical quatrain form, she first renders a long line, followed

by a short line, followed by a long line, concluding with a short line. She uses the

extremely precise word foal, which refers to a young horse or related animal, in this case,

the young she-camel. The verb budhilat is rendered as “bestow,” which is another precise

rendering, since bestow is used typically for honors or gifts, and that is precisely what the

camel meat serves as in this context. There is a sort of assonance in the third line with the

/e/ sound as in “meat we will bestow” and alliteration with “whom we.”

Verse 75:

161
 َ ‫ﺼﺒَﺎ ً أ َْھ‬
‫ﻀﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ِ ‫ﻄﺎ ﺗ َﺒَﺎﻟَﺔَ ُﻣْﺨ‬
َ َ‫َھﺒ‬ ‫ﺐ َﻛﺄ َﻧﱠَﻤﺎ‬
ُ ‫ﻒ َواﻟَﺠﺎُر اﻟََﺠِﻨﯿ‬ ‫ﻓَﺎﻟ ﱠ‬
ُ ‫ﻀْﯿ‬

Tabāla is a wadi known for its lusciousness. Ahḍām is what came down from the earth.

Polk:

And the guest and the neighbor from afar [are treated] as though

Descending to the lush meadows of Tabalah

Sells:

Distant clients and guests

as if they’d come down

to Tabála

where valleys are green

S.S:

Then for the guest and for the foreign refugee

it is as if

They had descended to the Tablāh Valley

Polk’s translation is short and straightforward like the Arabic verse. He is literal and uses

brackets to add his own interpretation as in “treated.” For Tabāla, he adds the adjective

“lush” and the noun meadows to describe Tabāla just as described in the source text, as

mukhṣiba, or fertile.

162
Sells’ translation is an act of open translation while still adhering to the source’s meaning.

He renders jār as clients rather than the literal neighbors (such as Polk) and ḍayif as the

literal guest.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is a twist on contemporary times, a not-so-subtle demonstration

of the poem’s resonance today. This is expressed in her use of “foreign refugee,” a modern

term birthed out of the 1951 Refugee Convention. It is interesting as well how Stetkevych

displays a rarer playfulness, leaving “it is as if” as a sort of one line suspender—it is a

simple translation of the metaphoric conjunction ka-annahā. At the same time, we see a

return to the academic convention with the proper transliteration of Tablāh, as in Tablāh

Valley. It is interesting how this term is also rendered as a proper noun (which it obviously

is) but with the correct English grammar in its capitalization, which surely grabs the

reader’s eye. In addition, she does not add that this valley is fertile, mukhṣiba, which is

included in the original text! Instead, Stetkevych keeps it as is, as though it should already

be assumed to the reader, or gained from reading the Arabic commentary, that this is

luscious. Therefore, we see a free interpretation, the omission of an original word in the

source text, which is the opposite of Polk’s literal approach.

Verse 76:

ٌ ‫ِﻣﺜُْﻞ اْﻟﺒَِﻠﯿﱠِﺔ ﻗَﺎِﻟـ‬

‫ﺺ أ َْھﺪَاُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ب ُﻛﱡﻞ َرِذﯾﱠـٍﺔ‬ ْ َ ‫ﺗﺄِوي ِإﻟﻰ اﻷ‬
ِ ‫طﻨَﺎ‬

163
Aṭnāb are tent ropes. Radhiyya is an emaciated she-camel with a default used by the poor

and widows. Al-baliyya is the she-camel who drags the grave of its owner until it also dies.

Qāliṣ is short. Ahdām are shabby clothes.

Polk:

Every diseased, exhausted, and famished woman came seeking

asylum at the tent ropes,

Like the camel, tethered to starve over the grave of her

master, shrunken inside the folds of its skin

Sells:

Seeking refuge among the tent ropes,

weary as a stumbling camel,

weary as a ghost mare,

white-humped, left to die

S.S:

Every indigent woman, emaciated, rag-clad

like a starved she-camel hobbled at her

Seeks the refuge

of my tents.

164
Polk’s translation is verbose corresponding to the source text which abounds with

meanings. It follows the structure of the source text and uses sophisticated, sometimes

literary words to render the meaning. For example, Polk uses “tethered to starve” for the

inferred meaning al-baliyya. However, he interprets radhiyya as an adjective describing the

women seeking asylum.

Sells’ translation makes use of repetition for poetic effect. For example, he repeats “weary”

twice, and uses alliteration with the choice “white.” It is also an extremely rich rendering of

a text already so abundant with meaning. He interprets qāliṣ presumably as “white-

humped,” very differently from Stetkevych and Polk who both render it as a sort of

shortness. Sells’ translation is a very free interpretation. For example, he uses “mare” to

describe the she-camel and describes it as a ghost, along the lines of whiteness. This goes

back to the idea of radhiyya and al-baliyya, adjectives that describe different she-camels.

S. Stetkevych’s translation plays with the order of the source text flipping the first three

words of the first line to the end of her translation. Thus, tāwīyy al-aṭnāb is rendered in the

end as “seeks the refuge of my tents.” It is interesting how Stetkevych personalizes the

tents and returns the voice to the first-person (as if the poet is speaking).

Verse 77:

‫ﻋﺎ ً أ َْﯾﺘ َﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ َ ‫ُﺧﻠَُﺠﺎ ً ﺗ َُﻤﺪﱡ‬

َ ‫ﺷَﻮاِر‬ ْ ‫َوﯾَُﻜ ِﻠّﻠُﻮَن ِإذَا اﻟِّﺮﯾَﺎ ُح ﺗ َﻨَﺎَوَﺣ‬
‫ﺖ‬

165
Tanāwaḥa means he faced or met someone. Khuluja means he collapsed, sunk.

Polk:

And they fill to overflowing, when the winds howl from all sides,

[Bowls like] ditches to which the orphans descend to drink.

Sells:

They show up when the winds wail,

The weak of kin,

the broken kin, the orphaned,

to be given an equal’s share

S.S:

When winter’s winds wail back and forth

her orphans plunge

Into streams of flowing gravy which

my clan crowns with meat.

It is hard to analyze each translator’s fidelity of this line because of the divergence of

interpretations. Since we relied on Stetkevych’s commentary for interpretation, it would be

impartial to assume a priori that her translation is most correct. This is perhaps the starkest

example of this challenge in the entire poem.

166
Polk’s translation is literal. For example, he interprets aytām literally as orphans. He also

interprets the bayt as an Arab feast so rich in gravy that it resembles a “ditch to which the

orphans descend to drink.”

Sells’ translation employs alliteration and repetition. For example, he repeats “kin” (a

reference to his fellow tribesman and an addition from the Arabic). He uses alliteration in

the sentence “winds wail,” just like Stetkevych.

S. Stetkevych’s translation relies heavily on alliteration. We see this in the line “winter’s

winds wail” and “clan crowns.” The expression tumaddu shawāri’an is obscure and

Stetkevych fails to provide commentary. We can infer that it has been translated as the long

two lines “into streams of flowing gravy which my clan crowns with meat.” This

translation is very different from Sells in meaning and more closely resembles Polk in its

description of the gravy as very rich.

Verse 78:

َ ‫ِﻣﻨﱠﺎ ِﻟَﺰاُز‬
‫ﻋِﻈﯿَﻤـٍﺔ َﺟ ﱠ‬
‫ﺸﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ﺖ اْﻟَﻤَﺠﺎِﻣُﻊ ﻟَْﻢ ﯾََﺰْل‬
ِ َ‫ِإﻧﱠﺎ ِإذَا اْﻟﺘ َﻘ‬

Al-majāmi’ are gatherings of a tribe. Lizāz ‘aẓīma is the person who gets involved in grave

matters to conquer them. Jashām is the one who takes on a burden.120

120
In this verse, the poet speaks of us and one of us in the objectivizing rhetoric of the third person plural,
e.g., innā and minnā (indeed we … one of us). See: Stetkevych, The Mute Immortals Speak, 40.

167
Polk:

Ah! We, when the tribal hosts gather, there is never lacking

Among us a champion, contentious in great affairs, one ever

ready to follow through in painful matters,

Sells:

There is yet among us

When the council meets,

one who seizes the moment,

who takes on the burden.

Stetkevych: Theme IV: The Poet’s Tribe: Its Authority, Might, Generosity, and Loyalty

When tribal councils gather

There is always one of us

Who contends in grave affairs

and shoulders them,

Polk’s translation is verbose. In terms of meaning, it says something equivalent to Sells but

with more words. Here Polk tries to be creative by employing both an exclamation mark

168
and italics. His translation of lam yazal as “never lacking” is literal. We clearly understand

the tribal virtues subject to Labīd’s boasts.

Sells’ translation is brief, literal and employs repetition. For example, he repeats “who”

twice, which seems to reflect the Arabic lam yazal. There is a consistency of syllables in

each line (between five and seven).

S. Stetkevych’s translation is also concise and playful. She changes the order of the original

verse, switching the structure of the first hemistich (shaṭar) which, if rendered with strict

adherence to the literal would read: “There is always one of us when tribal councils

gather.”

Verse 79:

‫َوُﻣﻐَْﺬِﻣٌﺮ ِﻟُﺤﻘُﻮِﻗـَﮭﺎ َھ ﱠ‬
‫ﻀﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ ‫ﺴٌﻢ ﯾُْﻌِﻄﻲ اْﻟﻌَِﺸﯿَﺮة َ َﺣﻘﱠَﮭﺎ‬
ّ ِ َ‫َوُﻣﻘ‬

Mughadhmir is to bump into one another. Haḍḍām is unjust.

Polk:

And an arbitrator who gives each clan its due,

And one who jungles up the [contending] rights and scales

them down [so that all can be satisfied].

Sells:

169
Who divides and assigns,

Who raises high the rights of some,

others,

driving into the ground,

Stetkevych

A divider of spoils who gives

each clan its due,

Demanding their rights for the worthy,

the rights of the worthless refusing

Polk’s translation is characteristically literal and full of brackets. For example, he translates

muqasim as an arbitrator. The most literal example is his translation of mughadhmir as

“who jungles up the [contending] rights and scales them down.” Yet this idea misses

haḍḍām as the unjust. Therefore, the arbitrator of the tribe is not only “satisfying all” as

Polk claims but demanding rights for the worthy and refusing the rights of the unjust, or the

haḍḍām.

Sells’ translation brings in sound, continuing the repetition of the previous bayt with “who”

twice. It is short and punchy. Instead of rendering muqasim as a noun as it is in Arabic, he

describes it as a verb, the one “who divides and assigns.”

170
S. Stetkevych’s verse is contemporary and employs repetition for poetic effect. The

contemporary aspect is evident in the first line, “divider of spoils.” The word “spoils” is

often used in a war context as the goods stolen or taken from a person or place.

Verse 80:

‫ﻏﻨﱠﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬
َ ‫ﺐ‬ َ ‫ب َر‬
ٍ ‫ﻏﺎِﺋ‬ ُ ‫ﺳْﻤٌﺢ َﻛ‬
ُ ‫ﺴﻮ‬ َ َ ‫ﻀﻼً َوذُو َﻛَﺮٍم ﯾُِﻌﯿُﻦ‬
‫ﻋﻠَﻰ اﻟﻨﱠﺪَى‬ ْ َ‫ﻓ‬

Al-nadā is generosity. Raghā’ib are the natural traits of honor that one desires.

Polk:

Superior, noble, one who aids others to be generous,

Munificent, a seeker of petitions, taking the claims of

others as another might seek the spoils of battle

Sells:

As he deems fit, magnanimous,

munificent,

gracious,

seeking plunder and gaining it.

S.S:

Out of superior virtue, he is munificent

and with his bounty succors;

171
Openhanded, and yet, a winner and plunderer of all,

that he desires

Polk’s translation is, as usual, verbose and follows a literal structure. The line begins by

describing the adjectives, which Polk translates: faḍlan, wad dhu karamin, etc. This is

rendered literally as “superior, noble.”

Sells’ translation employs alliteration as a poetic strategy. This is manifested here with

“magnanimous, munificent.” He also employs a sort of stylistic repetition of adjectives.

The fact that he places words on one line adds another poetic effect. For example, gracious

is a line by itself.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is concise like Sells, yet more precise with its diction. For

example, she combines the first two adjectives into one “faḍlan, wad dhu karamin” which

is translated as “out of superior virtue.” She uses the word “succor,” meaning helping

someone in times of hardship, which is only one word to render the three words of Arabic

yu‘aynu ‘alā al-nadā.

Verse 81:

‫ﺳﻨﱠـﺔٌ َوِإَﻣﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬
ُ ‫َوِﻟُﻜِّﻞ ﻗَْﻮٍم‬ ‫ﺖ ﻟَُﮭْﻢ آﺑَﺎُؤُھْﻢ‬
ْ ‫ﺳﻨ ﱠ‬ َ ‫ِﻣْﻦ َﻣْﻌ‬
َ ‫ﺸٍﺮ‬

Polk:

[We are] of a clan whose forefathers have laid down for them a way.

172
And, of course, each folk has its way and its leaders.

Sells:

From a clan whose fathers

have shown the way.

For every warrior band

there is a guide and a way.

S.S:

From a clan whose fathers set for them

their law —

For each tribe has its leader

and its law.

Polk’s translation strives to mimic the tone of the original. This is clear in the interjection

“And, of course,” which corresponds to the Arabic line “wa-li-kull.” The use of forefathers

instead of fathers, rendered from the word ābāwuhum, reflects more poignantly the idea of

past generations of one’s family.

Sells’ translation uses rhyme. For example, he rhymes “clan” with “band.”

173
S. Stetkevych’s translation employs the em dash to show the break in lines or separation of

ideas. It also uses repetition, repeating the word law twice and follows a sort of parallelism

with a long line, followed by a short line, followed by a long line, and then a short line.

Verse 82:

‫ِإْذ ﻻ ﯾَِﻤﯿُﻞ َﻣَﻊ اْﻟَﮭَﻮى أ َْﺣﻼُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ْ َ‫ﻻ َ ﯾ‬

‫ﻄﺒَﻌُﻮَن َوﻻَ ﯾَﺒُﻮُر ِﻓﻌَﺎﻟُُﮭْﻢ‬

La yaṭab‘ūn means “their honor is not desecrated.” La yabuwar is “they are not corrupt.”

Polk:

They do not follow [the lead of lesser men], nor will their deeds prove sterile.

Their guarded reserve does not incline with mere caprice.

Sells:

Their honor untarnished,

their action never fallow,

their judgement does not lean

With the winds of desire

S.S:

Their honor is not sullied, their deeds

not without issue,

For their judgement is not swayed

174
by passion’s flights.

Polk’s translation employs brackets and is literal to an extent where meaning is

jeopardized. For example, he translates la yaṭab‘ūn as “they do not follow [the lead of

lesser men.]” What this means, according to Sells and Stetkevych, is that their honor is not

tarnished. Polk decided to translate aḥlām, the plural of ḥilm, as “guarded reserve,”

whereas Sells and Stetkevych translate it in a more straightforward matter as judgement.

Polk translates hawah literally as mere caprice.

Sells’ translation is short and maintains six to seven syllables per line. He uses the word

fallow to translate “la yabuwaru,” an English word more described for farmlands but also

can meaning that their action is never untended. This is similar but slightly different than

Stetkevych who translates it as a double negative “not without issue.” Here, she uses

“issue” in the less known sense, where it means that they have a result or outcome. Sells’

“Winds of desire” is a poetic way of translating hawa; Stetkevych’s “passion’s flights,” is

also another poetic, metaphoric way.

Verse 83:

ُ ‫َو‬
‫ﻏﻼُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ‫َﻛْﮭﻠَُﮭﺎ‬ ‫ﺴَﻤﺎ ِإﻟَْﯿِﮫ‬
َ َ‫ﻓ‬ َ ً ‫ﻓَﺒَﻨَﻰ ﻟَﻨَﺎ ﺑَْﯿﺘ َﺎ ً َرِﻓﯿﻌَﺎ‬
ُ‫ﺳْﻤُﻜـﮫ‬

Polk:

And they built for us a house with a lofty roof,

and both the aged and the young have aspired to it.

175
Sells (this verse is verse 84 for Sells):

He built for us a house

with lofty roof.

Boys and full-aged men

ascend to it.

S.S:

He built for us a high-roofed

edifice,

To which the tribesmen mount,

both youths and full-grown men.

Polk’s translation is the most literal. He translates almost word for word and in the same

order. For example, he translates bayt literally as a house vis-à-vis Stetkevych who

translates it as edifice. Of note is also how he translates samā as aspire to.

Sells’ translation preserves a syllabic scheme that follows 4-6-4-6. Therefore, he

purposefully jettisons the “a” that is supposed to come after “with,” e.g. “with a lofty roof”

at the expense of the sound.

176
S. Stetkevych’s translation employs addition and is free interpretation. For example, she

adds “to which the tribesmen mount.” This idea is taken from one word in the original

verse: samā, which Polk translates as aspire and Sells as ascend.

Verse 84:

َ ‫ﺴَﻢ اْﻟَﺨﻼﺋَِﻖ ﺑَْﯿﻨَﻨَﺎ‬

‫ﻋﻼﱠُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ َ َ‫ﻗ‬ ‫ﺴَﻢ اْﻟَﻤِﻠﯿُﻚ ﻓَﺈِﻧﱠَﻤﺎ‬
َ َ‫ﻓَﺎْﻗﻨَْﻊ ِﺑَﻤﺎ ﻗ‬

Polk:

So be content with that which the Sovereign has divided.

A most Wise One it is who has divided the things of Creation among us.

Sells:

Be content with what the sire

has given.

He who portioned merit out among us

is most knowing.

S.S:

Be then content, O enemy, with what the sovereign

allotted you,

For virtues were allotted us

by him who knows them.

177
Polk capitalizes “the Sovereign” as well as “Wise One” and “Creation” suggesting a god-

like status, which came to accompany the Judeo-Christian-Muslim god, the monotheistic

god, the “one God.” He translates al-khalā’iq vaguely as “the things of Creation.” This

proto-monotheistic or Islamic language differs from Sells and Stetkevych’s more neutral

language, although the same message is implied of Labīd apostrophizing his rival tribes and

admonishing them to be satisfied with their subordinate status because the power and

dominance of his clan have been divinely ordained.

Sells’ translation uses archaic literary language and the superlative. For example, Sells

translates al-malīk with the very precise, archaic term “sire,” a respectful form of address

for a king. He translates al-khalā’iq as “merits.” He also renders ‘alām as “most knowing.”

S. Stetkevych’s translation is addressed also in the imperative as a command, except she

adds the recipient of the address, a supposed “enemy.” She adds” Be then content, O

enemy…” because commentators have said that the poem was addressed to enemies.121 She

translates al-khalā’iq similarly to Sells as “virtues.”

Verse 85:

‫ﺴﺎُﻣـَﮭﺎ‬ ّ ِ ‫أ َْوﻓَﻰ ِﺑﺄ َْوﻓَِﺮ َﺣ‬

‫ﻈﻨَﺎ ﻗَ ﱠ‬ ‫ﺸٍﺮ‬ ّ ُ‫َوِإذَا اﻷ ََﻣﺎﻧَﺔُ ﻗ‬
ْ ‫ﺴَﻤ‬
َ ‫ﺖ ﻓﻲ َﻣْﻌ‬

Awfā is to complete and provide.

121
King Abdulaziz Center for World Culture and King Fahad National Library, The Mu'allaqāat for
Millennials: Pre-Islamic Arabic Golden Odes, 2020. On page 250, the following commentary is attributed to
this line: ‫ﯾﺬﻛﺮ اﻟﺸّﺮاح أّن ﺧﻄﺎﺑﮫ ﻣﻮﺟﮫٌ ﻟﻌﺪو‬.

178
Polk:

And when security was apportioned among a certain folk,

Its divider fulfilled [for us] more than our rightful portion.

Sells:

When trust was portioned out

Among the tribe,

The divider bestowed on us

The greater share

S.S:

When trusts were apportioned

to the tribes,

The apportioner allotted us

the greatest share

Polk’s translation is literal. It is interesting to note how he translates fī ma‘ashar as “among

a certain folk,” and not as among the tribe, which seems to follow the logical flow of the

poem’s earlier discussion on tribe’s folk and matches the translations of Sells and

Stetkevych. The biggest translation difference perhaps comes with his translation of al-

amāna as security vis-à-vis trust employed by the other translations under study.

179
Sells’ translation is also literal and straightforward. Sells’ uses portion, to divide into

amounts for a specific purpose, instead of apportioning, which is to divide and distribute

portions of a whole.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is also like Sells with the rhetorical device of alliteration used in

“apportioner/allotted.” In addition, she pluralizes tribes whereas the source text Arabic

verse ma‘ashar is single.

Verse 86:

‫ﺳَﮭﺎ َوُھْﻢ ُﺣﱠﻜﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬

ُ ‫َوُھُﻢ ﻓََﻮاِر‬ ْ َ‫ﺴﻌَﺎة ُ إذَا اْﻟﻌَِﺸﯿَﺮة ُ أ ُْﻓِﻈﻌ‬
‫ﺖ‬ ‫َوُھُﻢ اﻟ ﱡ‬

Ufẓi‘a means he was struck by a terrible event (passive).

Polk:

And they are the swift when the clan finds itself in tight straights,

And they are its knights and its arbitrators.

Sells:

They are the protectors

when the tribe is pressed,

they are the riders,

they are the rulers.

180
S.S:

They are first to act

when the tribe is stricken;

In war, its horsemen;

In disputes, its arbiters.

Polk’s translation again sticks out for its literalness. He translates al-su‘āt as “swift” and

fawāris as “knights.” The only arguably non-literal translation is that āfẓi‘at is rendered as

“tight straights”, e.g. a tough situation. Thus, the meaning is the same, but Polk uses a

playful literary wording, Later, al-‘ashīra is rendered to clan and not tribe, although even

here the meaning is indistinguishable.

Sells’ translation is very flexible, playing with structure and meaning. For example, the first

part of the verse could be translated literally as “They are swift to act when the tribe finds

itself struck by a tough event.” He reverses the order and wording of the first phrase as

“They are the protectors when the tribe is pressed.” He also deliberately translates fawāris

as riders for the musical affect, as he uses alliteration with rulers below (another free

interpretation).

S. Stetkevych’s translation is quite literal in that it mimics the structure and repetition of the

poem while still displaying free interpretation of specific words. In Labīd’s verse, we read

“wa hum…wa hum” which she renders as “in…its; in…its.” Stetkevych translates al-su‘āt,

181
which could mean to act swiftly, as the first to act, a free interpretation. Fawāris is not

rendered as the traditional knights but as horsemen.

Verse 87:

‫ﻋﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ِ ‫َواْﻟُﻤْﺮِﻣﻼ‬
َ َ ‫ت ِإذَا ﺗ‬
َ ‫ﻄﺎَوَل‬ ‫َوُھُﻢ َرِﺑﯿٌﻊ ِﻟْﻠُﻤَﺠـﺎِوِر ِﻓﯿِﮭُﻢ‬

Al-murimlāt are women whose provisions are depleted.

Polk:

And they are a spring meadow to those who seek protection among them,

And to the widows when their year [of mourning] grows long.

Sells:

They are to life-spring

to dependents among them,

to those without provider,

when the year grows long.

S.S

They are a springtime

to those that seek refuge

And to indigent women, their food stores exhausted

When the year stretches long.

182
Polk’s translation characteristically uses brackets and is literal while also relying heavily on

commentary, for the verse alone is not enough to understand meaning. For example, the

second part of the verse idha taṭāwal means literally when or if their year grows long. Polk

uses brackets to interpret this as “their year of mourning.” He translates al-murimlāt

literally as “widows” whereas the other translators play with this word differently. This

idea of widow’s mourning is obvious, but Polk feels the need to add it. However, he

translates rabi‘ poetically as “spring meadow.”

Sells’ translation employs repetition and parallelism for poetic effect. For example, he uses

“to” three times. He renders rabi‘ as “life-spring,” which encapsulates the spirit of this

poetic unit, the fakhr, or boastful part of the poem, whereas the poet sings the praises of his

tribe. He renders al-murimlāt also creatively as “to those without provider,” which we

understand as widows but in a more subtle way.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is straightforward and uses fixed expressions. For example, she

translates lil-mujāwir fīhim as “seek refuge.” She adds the precise word indigent to describe

the widows without directly describing them, writing “indigent women, their food stores

exhausted.” This latter phrase is also a subtle poetic way that could be interpreted as she is

no longer able to breastfeed and/or that she is physically depleted. The last line “when the

year stretches long” is an example of personification, for the human act of stretching is

being attributed to a year, the inanimate object.

183
Verse 88:

‫أ َْو أ َْن ﯾَِﻤﯿَﻞ َﻣَﻊ اْﻟﻌَﺪُّو ِﻟﺌ َﺎُﻣَﮭﺎ‬ ّ ِ َ‫َوُھُﻢ اْﻟﻌَِﺸﯿَﺮة ُ أ َْن ﯾُﺒ‬
ٌ‫ﻄﻰْء َﺣﺎِﺳﺪ‬

Polk:

And they are such a folk as no envious rival can hold back,

Nor have they base members who sway with the enemy, traitorously.

Sells:

They are the tribe

when the envier drags his foot

and the vile one

leans to the enemy

S.S:

They form a band so tight that none of them

Impedes it out of envy,

Nor, out of treachery,

Leans toward the foe.

Polk’s translation is literal and follows the same structure. This is most clear in the second

part of the stanza which renders in English word-for-word the source text.

184
Sells creatively maintains ḥāsid in its noun form rendering it into English as envier. He also

plays with the meaning of the phrase an yubṭa’ rendering it as “drags his foot,” which is an

idiom in English that means someone is being deliberately slow or reluctant to act. The

meaning is a bit nebulous, for it is not understood literally from Sells in this line, if read

isolated, that this tribe who does not cause envy and diverts vile character that may cause

internal dissent and create enemies.

S. Stetkevych’s translation is less literal and more open to interpretation while adhering to

the meaning. For example, instead of translating the first part as the literal “they are the

tribe,” she renders it as the more colloquial “they form a band so tight.”

2. Statistical Table:

This section includes a statistical table showing the number of times that each

respective translator used alliteration, assonance, rhyme, and repetition. One point was

counted for every rhymed pair; one point for every repetition of a vowel sound or

diphthong in nonrhyming stressed syllables where the echo is discernible; and lastly, one

point was counted for every word or phrase that repeats in the stanza, no matter how many

times. However, we cannot assume that rhyme or repetition is a positive trait in the

absolute and assign merit to translators for merely using them just as we cannot assume a

text is rendered as poetry because it rhymes, or contains alliteration or repetition. The

existence of devices, in and of itself, means nothing. We have many example in all

languages, including Arabic, of highly rhetorical verse that is not poetry. The way they are

185
 used and the way in which the contribute to “poetic meaning” is the criterion by which they

will be judged.

Translator Alliteration Assonance Rhyme Repetition

Polk 18 6 2 8

Sells 36 19 9 26

S. Stetkevych 36 18 1 20

186
 CHAPTER V

CONCLUSION

In my conclusion, I shall outline what I regard to be the essential results of this

study. In taking each bayt of Labīd’s Mu‘allaqa individually and examining side-by-side

how three translators rendered them we can understand the different styles governing each

translation. The chart categorizing the use of rhetorical devices provided us with some

empirical findings which must be taken into consideration with each entire translation. To a

large extent, this thesis is about inspiration, the power of poems to inspire poetic moments

or spaces across languages, the power of great poetry to inspire poets to react creatively and

generatively to poems by their dead forefathers. Thus, as already stated, the three

translations were selected because of their stated goals in their preludes and introductions

to render the poetry as poetry, that is to try and bring the vibrant poetry to inspire a wide-

reaching Anglophone audience while holding onto its aesthetic value, a challenge initially

posed by Jaroslav Stetkevych to a room of Arabists at Oxford in the 1960s. The challenges

at hand are innumerable, as they always are in translating, and especially translating Arabic

into English,122 but these texts were moved, directly or indirectly, by J. Stetkevych’s call to

122
Alan Jones discusses the challenges of pre-modern Arabic translation in his introduction to his book on
early Arabic poetry. See: Alan Jones, Early Arabic Poetry: Select Odes (Ithaca Press Reading, 1996). In
addition, Huda Fakhreddine and Jason Iwen discuss the challenges of translating Arabic poetry in the
introduction to their translation of Jawdat Fakhreddine’s collection of translated poems. They discuss the fact
that there is no direct correspondence in meaning between any two words, the challenge of translating culture,
and more. See: Jayson Iwen and Huda Fakhreddine, Lighthouse for the Drowning by Jawdat Fakhreddine
(BOA Editions Ltd, 2017). James Montgomery also discusses the challenges of translating the Mu‘allaqāt in
an article written in homage to Pierre Larcher, see: James E. Montgomery, “LISTENING FOR THE POEM:
HOMAGE TO PIERRE LARCHER,” Quaderni Di Studi Arabi 8 (2013): 11–40.

187
produce inspiring verse.123 Considering the success of their poetic potential begs our

attention.

Upon recalling Antoine Berman’s point that the “critic must read the translation based on

its project” we shall examine if each author was faithful to their project as stated in their

introductions or preludes.124 Polk’s translation, as he correctly states, offers a “fairly literal

translation of the Arabic verse,” and sound is not a real consideration. For this reason, we

find so few uses of assonance and rhyme, with a total of 24. Alliteration is perhaps the

simplest poetic device, which is why he has a high number of alliterations (especially

compared to his lack of other rhetorical devices). One oddity that ought to be mentioned

again is the brackets. There are 56 uses in the eighty-eight lines of the poem, reflecting a

reticence to interpolate directly. As if to justify their usage, he writes in the introduction

that he has not “attempted, however, to interpose my words between the reader and the

poet.” However, Polk’s translation is the most verbose. Therefore, he interposes a lot more

words in his rendering than any other translation, a seeming contradiction to his claims. Yet

the most visible part of Polk’s entire text is the paratextual details, which are much louder

than the translation themselves. Although my study has been primarily concerned with

textual analysis, I must discuss the paratextual details just because of how important they

123
It is likely to assume that all three translations I selected were all familiar with J. Stetkevych’s
intervention. Polk thanks him directly in the prelude for his help on his translation and they were part of the
same institution, University of Chicago. Sells was also a colleague and references a study of his in his
introduction. J. Stetkevych, in turn, wrote a review that appears on the back cover of Desert Tracings calling
the translation “strikingly contemporary in form.” Stetkevych is the wife of the late scholar, and they were
influenced and nourished by each other’s love and research for pre and early Islamic poetry.
124
Massardier-Kennedy, Toward a Translation Criticism: John Donne / Antoine Berman, Translated and
Edited by Francoise Massardier-Kenney.

188
are to judge the project’s success. Indeed, it could be argued that the footnotes and

photographs are the core of Polk’s book, which is anomalous compared to the other two

translations under study.

To set the context, in 1971, William Polk embarked on a month-long arduous 1,300-mile

excursion trekking across the Arabian desert by camel to better understand the context of

Labīd’s poem. The expedition resulted in his travelogue Passing Brave (1971) and his

translation and commentary of Labīd’s poem The Golden Ode (1974) under discussion.

Both works feature photographs by William J. Mares, who had accompanied him. We

cannot help but wonder why the author undertook a risky and expensive desert safari to

translate a pre-Islamic poem and we can only guess at the motivations that prompted Dr.

Polk to do so.

When opening the massive, coffee-house-style book we find an introductory note in Arabic

followed by a prelude and a longer introduction, also in Arabic, before strangely arriving at

the last page of the book, Lābid’s final verse. In short, the layout is utterly confusing. It is

as if the Arabic introductory text is relegated to the back, of minor importance, but at the

same time, the book’s cover begins with it, adding to the reader’s perplexity. Immediately

after flipping over the book, we are drawn to the “fairly literal” Arabic verses which are

handsomely etched in gold letters by Arabic calligrapher Shaikh Mohammad Ali

Mekkawic. Contrasted on the left side of each page of verse is a black and white

photograph, meant to convey the mood of each verse. Often, the choice for such

photographs is logical, setting the passages in the context of the desert milieu. For example,

189
verses referring to visuals as diverse as dung, traces, campsites, a gnarled tree, a camel

mare, a house with a lofty roof, and more are accompanied, as if in conversation, by a

corresponding photograph. On page 32, a Bedouin woman enveloped in a black veil

appears in a small frame, her hand covered to her mouth, as the twentieth-century version

of Nawār, Labīd’s beloved, alongside verses that mention his inamorata for the first time.125

This choice, though easily subject to gendered criticism, makes sense. But some choices

demand better justification. On page 73, an African gazelle is shown accompanying verses

of a wild cow oryx. One could applaud the attempt of trying to show fauna of the same

environment. But for the specialist, where nuance matters, this is a tremendous error. This

example is not the only place where the image’s choice is puzzling,126 to say the least.

On Page 29, the verse reads:

Calling out as though they were the oryxes of Tudih hovering over [their young]
Or the gazelles of Wajrah with their fawns clinging close.

The verse is juxtaposed with a photo of a camel driver on top of a howdah covered in black

cloth. The photograph ostensibly has nothing to do with the image conjured in the text of the

frantic lowing of the “wild cow,” the oryx. According to the footnote, the line refers to the

“Howdah-borne woman” from earlier who is now the subject of comparison to that

125
Irfan, Shahid, “Labid Ibn Rabiah, The Golden Ode. Translated with an Introduction and Commentary by
William R. Polk. Photographs by William J. Mares.”
126
Orientalism, the role of arts and literature in creating and perpetuating an epistemic and ontological racist
myth of an Orient in opposition to the West, is a central force influencing the translation. Marilyn Booth has
coined the term “Orientalist Ethnographicsm” to describe a notion of experience as transparently rendered
through a text that is fiction, akin to Guareschi’s book the Little World of Don Camillo. To present this “truth
effect” of what that society in the Orient is really like, the avowedly fiction in the piece is displayed as
memoir and the author’s creative work is displayed as ethnography. See: Marilyn Booth, “‘The Muslim
Woman’ as Celebrity Author and the Politics of Translating Arabic: Girls of Riyadh Go on the Road,”
Journal of Middle East Women’s Studies 6, no. 3 (2010): 149. And: Lawrence Venuti, The Scandals of
Translation: Towards an Ethics of Difference (Routledge, 2002), 160.

190
“quintessential mark of Oriental feminine beauty, large and liquid eyes.”127 Only through the

footnote, we can now begin to piece together the abstract photo of the howdah, but even then,

why is a photograph of a howdah used in a scene where the author compares the beauty of

women to animals? We are led to the obvious conclusion: the abstract photographs selected

by the author are sometimes not intuitive and are even puzzling.

The overall reason why photographs accompany the translation in the book can be found in

the prelude. There, Polk states that photographs are one of four avenues he used for his

readers to appreciate the poems, an attempt to “capture the mood presented in each verse.”128

Implicit in this statement is the belief that the poems alone will not suffice on their own, that

the translator must try to convince the reader of their worthiness through all means possible,

such as through a visual aid, i.e., photography. The inclination amongst some translators and

publishing houses to convince readers of the text’s relevance and worth is a common trend

in Arabic literature in English translation 129 but speaks to the ethos of Polk’s project, which

is perhaps most aptly understood by his use of footnotes, or commentary.

As mentioned above, Polk’s text is interrupted by curious footnotes. As is usually the case,

footnotes are meant to provide more explication of the verse to the reader’s presumed lack

of knowledge. This method has been criticized in Arabic literature in translation for many

127
Ibid.
128
William R. Polk, Labid Ibn Rabiah, The Golden Ode (The University of Chicago Press, 1974).
129
In an interview with Huda Fakreddine, Fakhreddine said: “The very little that gets translated from Arabic
to English always needs prefacing; it needs somebody to convince the English readers that this is worth their
time; that there is something to learn from it.” See: “Huda Fakhreddine: A Translator Must Have Something
To Say About the Text – ARABLIT & ARABLIT QUARTERLY.”

191
reasons .130 Besides their apparent distracting effect (interrupting a reader’s flow), footnotes

can make a translation appear as a foreign, exotic, and distant place, undermining the very

notion that a translated text can be enjoyed for its artistry.131 In Polk’s notes, there is a real

attempt to connect the Western reader with the verses, usually by describing anthropological

details or sometimes even using Western literature. In one verse, the author evokes

Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet to connect the tribal feuds to family hostilities between

Capulet and Montague familiar to readers or viewers of the play.132 The risks become more

apparent in Polk’s very anthropological leaning, drawing heavily on the travel writings of

Wilfred Thesiger (Arabian Sands), Charles Doughty (Arabia Deserta) as well as Czech

explorer and traveler Alois Musil (Manners and Customs of the Rwalla Bedouin) to

understand the distinctiveness of the poetry. For example, in describing the line “the

renewing of a tattoo by the sprinkling and rubbing of soot in circles above which the tattoo

appears,” Polk, as usual, refers to footnotes. Here, he quotes from Musil’s account The

Manners and Customs of the Rwalla Bedouins again to show that the custom of tattooing

among Bedouin women is still present today. It is as if he is also providing the readers with

a sociological study teaching the audience something about the foreign Other. The

implication is that these poems are relevant today not because of the glowing poetic, artistic

130
In a 2017 lecture at the American University of Beirut, Roger Allen says “I think footnotes are not a good
idea. My policy is to have a glossary in the back and put an asterisk, if you want to find out the details you
can go to the back.” See: “CAMES Lecture - Arabic and Translation - YouTube,”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GFo_Ss2eRSw.
131
Michelle Hartman, Teaching modern Arabic literature in translation, vol. 42., Book, Whole (New York:
The Modern Language Association of America, 2018).
132
Polk, Labid Ibn Rabiah, The Golden Ode.

192
core of the poem, but because the subjects, such as Bedouin women, are still present, albeit

a dying species.133

Besides the footnote’s implicit harm, Polk’s footnotes contain an explicit stereotypical

example of a way by confirming fantasies of prospective European or American readers of

the oppressed Muslim women. This is epitomized in the following verse and accompanying

footnote.

With many a morning, limpid [draught] and the plucking of the singing girl/ On a lute
as her thumb adjusts the string.

In Polk’s footnote, he clarifies an innuendo, writing, “Hinting at sex and reeking of liquor,

this verse was anathema to Islam. Among the later Arabian Wahhabis, even song was

anathema. Men were flogged for singing too loudly in their own houses in Riyadh. No, the

old free ways of Arabia were gradually choked. But this spirit of pagan Arabia—where

women were freer than in the settled lands—has left its marks in the paintings on the walls

of the hunting lodges of Jordan in the century after Islam.” The footnote is an example of a

grotesque, sweeping judgment that all pagan Arabian women were freer than in the settled

lands. What settled lands? Freerer in what sense? We can only imagine what a non-specialist

may infer about the coming of Islam upon hearing such a claim. In the above, we have

explained how some photographic decisions are unjustified and how the footnotes leans to

133
With a tone of unmitigated certitude, Polk claims in the Prelude (or Intro): “Soon, certainly within a
generation, the Arabian Bedouin will have vanished from the face of the earth. Their sons will resemble them
as little as do contemporary American Indians their grandfathers on the Great Plains. We shall probably never
be able to recapture the poetry of the American Indian, but here we have the essence of one of the great
civilizations of the antique world, The Golden Ode of the sixth-century poet, Labid.” See: Polk.

193
the anthropological, working against J. Stetkevych’s creative call for an inspiring

translation.134

Polk’s project is emblematic of the many Arabic translators who have taken a foreignizing

approach arguing that paratextual devices—the use of footnotes, introductions, afterwords,

glossaries, and other locations adjacent to the text itself—can be a way to challenge the

translator’s invisibility.135 Lawrence Venuti, the well-known scholar of translation, points

out that a less than desirable aspect of current trends in economic “globalization” is that,

within the world of language usage, there is an increasing tendency towards monolingualism

in a number of social and cultural sectors and that, in the world of translation, leads to what

he terms a “domesticating” approach, most especially in the anglophone publication world.

One of the boldest criticisms of English-language hegemony, Venuti exposed how the global

translation paradigm at the end of the century created hostility towards the foreign. The best

way to fight this, he writes, is to “resist through foreignization.” Yet translators working with

non-Western texts should be wary that employing a foreignizing translation strategy like Polk

can be akin to Othering. The paratextual details analyzed briefly in addition to the in-depth

textual study reveal that even though Polk’s translation is interesting and might be used in

certain situations, such as in the classroom, as a case study, it ultimately does not inspire, can

be problematic, and leads to a dead end for the contemporary reader since the book appears

more akin to a sociological document than a work of art.

134
Strangely J. Stetkevych appears to have supported the project since he is thanked in the introduction. It
reads: “Thanks, as well, counsel of colleagues who insisted in this translation including Sir Hamilton Gibb
and Professor Jaroslav Stetkevych.”
135
Hartman, Teaching modern Arabic literature in translation.

194
Moving onto the concluding remarks of our second text—Michael Sells’ Desert Tracing—

we find that this translation marks an important shift in English translations of the

Mu‘allaqāt, a first that outwardly strived for “a natural, idiomatic, and contemporary

American verse.”136 Operating out of the school of James Monroe and Michael Zwettler

who believe that the poet composed his ode during the act of performance, Sells introduces

each translated ode with a brief biography of the poet in addition to a short essay to help

situate it and acquaint readers with its themes and literariness. In addition to its creative

spirit, Desert Tracings is characterized by its attention to detail and accuracy, resulting

from ten years of scholarly and creative labor. In a praiseworthy review, Adel Gamal

writes “The translation is remarkably contemporary, the poetic discourse is fluid; yet the

rhythm structure, the complexity of imagery and epithets, the nicety of ideas, the intricate

denotation and connotation of the words are preserved.”137 Although the poems do not

adhere to the “complex meter and rhyme of the original,138” Sells employs cadence, as

modulated through the line breaks, to re-create the original rhythmic texture formed by the

play of syntax across the meter. In this light, he is the first since Lyall to pay much

attention to prosody. The result is occasionally stilted words but the “parataxis is generally

left intact,” 139 creating, in Gamal’s words, an important contribution to a range of fields in

the profession. This explains why there are more usages of assonance and rhyme in Labīd’s

translation than the other two translators and the most combined points. The ample use of

136
Michael Anthony Sells and ʻAlqamah ibn ʻAbadah, eds., Desert Tracings: Six Classic Arabian Odes, 1st
ed, Wesleyan Poetry in Translation (Middletown, Conn: Wesleyan University Press, 1989).
137
Adel S. Gamal, review of Review of Desert Tracings: Six Classic Arabian Odes by ’Alqama, Shánfara,
Labíd, ’Antara, Al-A’sha and Dhu al-Rúmma, by Michael A. Sells, Middle East Studies Association Bulletin
29, no. 1 (1995): 123.
138
Sells and ʻAlqamah ibn ʻAbadah, Desert Tracings.
139
Gamal, “Review of Desert Tracings.”

195
rhyme (nine times) and repetition (26 times) stand out, perhaps to carry the power of the

monorhyme from the source text. Sells, in addition, was truthful to the project’s ethos,

paying special attention to language and sound —an important element in the poetry's

inception which was oral after all140 —as well as syntax across meter to “re-create the

original rhythmic texture.”141 Gamal concludes her review with a line that may appear

contradictory: “it is fascinating to read and deserves a wide audience.”142 Is the translation

meant for a scholarly audience of those working in a “range of fields in the profession” or

aimed at “a wide audience?” Is this what it looks like to target both? Indeed, on the back

page of the book, Jaroslav Stetkevych writes that this translation “enters the [poems into

the] world of modern English poetry,” with a direct reference to his call two decades

earlier. Unfortunately, it appears that a wide audience encompassing Western litterateurs

never embraced these early Arabic odes.143

The third text, S. Stetkevych’s rendering in The Mu‘allaqat for Millennials project, also is

unique because it is part of a book that marks the first effort to include all ten of the

140
In Adūnīs’ An Introduction to Arab Poetics, he writes: “Pre-Islamic poetry was born as a song, it
developed as something heard and not read, sung and not written.” And: “Poetry was judged according to
how far it could arouse Ṭarab, a state of musical delight or ecstasy, and the poetics was founded on what
could be called an aesthetics of listening and delight.” See: Catherine Cobham, An Introduction to Arab
Poetics, Adūnīs (London: Saqi Books, 2003), 13–27.
141
Michael Anthony Sells, ed., Desert Tracings: Six Classic Arabian Odes, 1st ed, Wesleyan Poetry in
Translation (Middletown, Conn: Wesleyan University Press, 1989), 8.
142
Ibid.
143
Perhaps it is naïve to think that a work of literature has ever emerged on the world stage in a pure and
uncontaminated way, that literature can and should be separated from economic factors is not only
unpragmatic, but somehow debases it. Kareem James Abu Zeid is among the most vocal to state his economic
aims in translation: he wants to make money; he wants his translations to reach wide audiences.143 The way
for a translation to reach large audiences is not to treat it as a rarified art object and publish it in a largely
unknown academic press as epitomized in Desert Tracings, but rather to send it to a prominent, non-
specialized press and/or engage in the circuits of bookfairs. If a translation does well, it should not
automatically detract from its aesthetic value.

196
Mu‘allaqāt in English. As we noted, tracing back to Sir. William Jones through to

Desmond O’Grady, no translator ever dealt exclusively with all ten odes. Therefore, this is

the most comprehensive translation, a landmark in the field. Moreover, S. Stetkevych’s

self-stated project goals are the most ambitious. The project aims to produce a translation

of pre-modern Arabic poetry that appeals and is accessible to both academics and a general

readership. The tautological title, The Muʿallaqāt for Millennials, epitomizes this goal.144

As such, we see many instances in her translation where both foreignization and

domestication styles are used, an approach that reflects a desire to target or please multiple

audiences. Much of the translation was taken from her prior 1993 publication The Mute

Immortals Speak: Pre-Islamic Poetry and the Poetics of Ritual, which had already been

lauded for its balance of both scholarly and poetic renderings.145 We can assume this

version focused more on a broad audience in the sole fact that she relied on her millennial

son, Khaled, a non-Arabist long-time heavy metal musician, who read over and edited the

translations for the Mu‘allaqat for Millennials Project, something that was not used in the

previous more scholarly rendering of the qaṣīda.146 In our analysis, we noted she regularly

employs some rhetorical devices such as alliteration, assonance and repetition but seldom

uses rhyme, demonstrating that sound was important, but rhyme is not a real consideration.

The one example of rhyme leads us to wonder if it was not fortuitous. On a positive note,

there is the most attention to structure, what holds the qaṣīda together and gives it the

movement or trajectory that makes it whole. In her translation, she is the only translator to

144
I want to thank my colleague Anna Galietti for sharing me her unpublished paper on The Muʿallaqāt for
Millennials where she makes a similar point on the title’s multifaceted reach.
145
van Gelder, “An Experiment with Beeston, Labīd, and Baššār.”
146
Interview with S. Stetkevych conducted on August 17, 2022.

197
mark important transitions in the poem, which should certainly be applauded and can also

inspire.

Returning to the point of judging translations, it might seem absurd to claim which

translation is better because of the varying usages and purposes but also because of the

varying tastes of a reader. For instance, a reader with an inclination for Modernist English

poetry may appreciate Michael Sell’s rendering of Labīd’s Mu‘allaqa in Desert Selling the

most, as we find the paratactic nature of the translation mimics that of Modernist poetry.

Yet S. Stetkevych’s renderings of Labīd may be best for understanding the structure of the

original and may be helpful for a student of Arabic who may come to appreciate the

wholeness and coherency of the poem. In sum, taste is certainly not monolithic and a

reader’s aesthetic sensibilities as well affect judgement.

On the other hand, it is safe to say that judging translations and commenting on them is not

so absurd when “best” is qualified. As amply stated, we have looked at translations to

examine which ones were interested in translating the poems as poetry. While we have

been acutely aware of our limitations and have worked within them in this project by

focusing on a textual comparison of translations, we have used the space of this conclusion

to intervene. We conclude our discussion with the unsurprising assessment that Michael

Sell’s rendering of Labīd’s Mu‘allaqa in Desert Tracing is the most inspiring in terms of

passing the poetry as poetry in English, followed by S. Stetkevych, with William Polk

coming in last place. Preserving the soul of any of the Mu‘allaqāt while rendering it not

only legible but moving to English readers is a serious undertaking and Michael Sell’s

198
translation, for all the reasons stated, deserves the most applause. Now in response to J.

Stetkevych’s initial queries, more translations are not the only solution for helping these

masterpieces reach the world stage, if translations are likes of the project led by William

Polk. Rather, what we need are more thoughtful, careful, creative, and honest

translations.147 As daunting as the road ahead may appear, some scholar-translators have

already begun the heavy work and we will all be the better for it.

147
Umbreto Eco writes that “so many translation theories stress that the impact a translation has upon its own
cultural milieu is more important than an impossible equivalence with the original. But the concept of
faithfulness depends on the belief that translation is a form of interpretation and that translators must aim at
rendering not necessarily the intention of the author but the intention of the text.” See: Umberto Eco, Mouse
Or Rat?: Translation as Negotiation (Phoenix, 2004).

199
 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Abdulla, Adnan K. Translation in the Arab World: The Abbasid Golden Age. London:

Routledge, 2020.

Al-Mallah, Majd. “Classical Arabic Poetry in Contemporary Studies: A Review Essay.”

Edited by Margaret Larkin, Samer M. Ali, and Raymond Farrin. Journal of Arabic

Literature 44, no. 2 (2013): 240–47.

Alzahrani, Hatem. The Mu’allaqāt for Millennial 2021 ,‫اﻟﻤﻌﻠﻘﺎت ﻟﺠﯿﻞ اﻷﻟﻔﯿﺔ‬.

Antoon, Sinan. “Mahmud Darwish’s Allegorical Critique of Oslo.” Journal of Palestine

Studies 31, no. 2 (2002): 66–77.

Arberry, A. J. The Koran Interpreted: A Translation. Simon and Schuster, 1996.

———. The Seven Odes: The First Chapter in Arabic Literature. 1st ed. Vol. 2. Book,

Whole. Routledge, 1957.

Badawi, M. M. “From Primary to Secondary Qaṣīdas: Thoughts on the Development of

Classical Arabic Poetry.” Journal of Arabic Literature 11 (1980): 1–31.

Beeston, A. F. L. “An Experiment with Labīd.” Journal of Arabic Literature 7 (1976): 1–6.

———. “William R. Polk (Tr.): The Golden Ode, by Labid Ibn Rabiah. Xxxii, 177 Pp.

Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1974. $15, £7.50. | Bulletin of

the School of Oriental and African Studies | Cambridge Core.” Accessed April 29,

2022.

Berdom, Abduladim. “A Comparative Study of Some English Translations of Parts of

Three Mu’allaqat,” n.d., 381.

Blankinship, Kevin. The Mu’allaqāt for Millennial 2021 ,‫اﻟﻤﻌﻠﻘﺎت ﻟﺠﯿﻞ اﻷﻟﻔﯿﺔ‬.

200
———. “The Seven Hanging Odes of Mecca.” New Lines Magazine (blog), May 28, 2021.

https://newlinesmag.com/essays/the-seven-hanging-odes-of-mecca/.

Bleaney, Heather. “The Mu’allaqāt in the West: A Biref Bibliographical Survey.” In

Islamic Reflections, Arabic Musings: Studies in Honour of Professor Alan Jones.

Cambridge: Gibb Memorial Trust, 2004.

Bleaney, Heather, Alan Jones, and Philip F. Kennedy. Islamic Reflections, Arabic Musings:

Studies in Honour of Professor Alan Jones. Book, Whole. Cambridge: Gibb

Memorial Trust, 2004.

Bloom, Harold. Amazon.Com: The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry. Oxford

University Press;2nd edition, 1997.

Blunt, Anne, Lady, and Wilfrid Scawen Blunt. The Seven Golden Odes of Pagan Arabia:

Known Also as the Moallakat. Book, Whole. London: Published by the translators,

printed & sold by the Chiswick Press, 1903.

Booth, Marilyn. “‘The Muslim Woman’ as Celebrity Author and the Politics of Translating

Arabic: Girls of Riyadh Go on the Road.” Journal of Middle East Women’s Studies

6, no. 3 (2010): 149–82.

Brown, Jonathan A.C. “THE SOCIAL CONTEXT OF PRE-ISLAMIC POETRY: POETIC

IMAGERY AND SOCIAL REALITY IN THE MU c ALLAQAT.” Arab Studies

Quarterly 25, no. 3 (2003): 29–50.

Cannon, Garland. “Sir William Jones and the Association between East and West.”

Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 121, no. 2 (1977): 183–87.

Cobham, Catherine. An Introduction to Arab Poetics, Adūnīs. London: Saqi Books, 2003.

Creswell, Robyn. “Playing a Part: Imru’ al-Qays in English.” Ginko Press, January 1, 2019.

201
Damrosch, David. What Is World Literature? | Princeton University Press. Princeton

University Press, 2003.

Davis, Nathaniel. Review of Review of Toward a Translation Criticism: John Donne, by

Antoine Berman and Françoise Massardier-Kennedy. French Forum 38, no. 3

(2013): 170–73.

Drory, Rina. “The Abbasid Construction of the Jahiliyya: Cultural Authority in the

Making.” Studia Islamica, no. 83 (1996): 33–49.

Eco, Umberto. Mouse Or Rat?: Translation as Negotiation. Phoenix, 2004.

Fakhreddine, Huda, Charis Olszok, Nora Parr, and Adam Talib. “Co-Editors’

Introduction.” Middle Eastern Literatures 24, no. 1 (January 2, 2021): 1–2.

https://doi.org/10.1080/1475262X.2021.2038411.

Farrin, Raymond. Abundance from the Desert: Classical Arabic Poetry. Syracuse:

Syracuse University Press, 2011.

Gamal, Adel S. Review of Review of Desert Tracings: Six Classic Arabian Odes by

’Alqama, Shánfara, Labíd, ’Antara, Al-A’sha and Dhu al-Rúmma, by Michael A.

Sells. Middle East Studies Association Bulletin 29, no. 1 (1995): 122–24.

Gelder, G. J. H. van. Beyond the Line: Classical Arabic Literary Critics on the Coherence

and Unity of the Poem. Brill, 1982.

Gelder, Geert Jan van. “An Experiment with Beeston, Labīd, and Baššār: On Translating

Classical Arabic Verse.” Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies 36 (2006):

7–15.

———. “An Experiment with Beeston, Labīd, and Baššār: On Translating Classical Arabic

Verse.” Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies 36 (2006): 7–15.

202
———. Review of Review of Abundance from the Desert: Classical Arabic Poetry.

(Middle East Literature in Translation.), by Raymond Farrin. Speculum 87, no. 4

(2012): 1190–91.

Gibbon, Edward. The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon. Strahan

& Cadell, London, 1777.

Ḥaddād, Qāsim. Ṭarafah Ibn Al-Wardah. Bayrūt: al-Mu’assasah al-ʻArabīyah lil-Dirāsāt

wa-al-Nashr, 2011.

Hanna, Suhail ibn-Salim. Review of Review of The Golden Ode, by Labid Ibn Rabiah and

William R. Polk. Books Abroad 49, no. 1 (1975): 178–178.

Hartman, Michelle. Teaching modern Arabic literature in translation. Vol. 42. Book,

Whole. New York: The Modern Language Association of America, 2018.

Heinrichs, W.P., Th Bianquis, P. Bearman, E van Donzel, and C.E Bosworth.

“Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition — Brill,” 1986.

Houtsma, M. Th, Thomas Walker Arnold, René Basset, Richard Hartmann, A. J.

Wensinck, Willi Heffening, Evariste Lévi-Provençal, H. A. R. Gibb, and

International Association of Academies. The Encyclopaedia of Islām: A Dictionary

of the Geography, Ethnography and Biography of the Muhammadan Peoples.

Leyden: E.J. Brill Ltd., 1913.

Irwin, Robert. Night and Horses and the Desert: An Anthology of Classical Arabic

Literature. New York: Anchor books, 2001.

Iwen, Jayson, and Huda Fakhreddine. Lighthouse for the Drowning by Jawdat

Fakhreddine. BOA Editions Ltd, 2017.

203
Jackson, Sherman, and ‫ﺷﯿﺮﻣﺎن ﺟﺎﻛﺴﻮن‬. “Al-Jahiz on Translation / ‫اﻟﺠﺎﺣﻆ وﻓﻦ اﻟﺗﺮﺟﻤﺔ‬.” Alif:

Journal of Comparative Poetics, no. 4 (1984): 99–107.

Jacobi, Renate. “The Camel-Section of the Panegyrical Ode1.” Journal of Arabic

Literature 13, no. 1 (January 1, 1982): 1–22.

Jamil, Nadia. “Playing for Time: Maysir-Gambling in Early Arabic Poetry.” In Islamic

Reflections, Arabic Musings: Studies in Honour of Alan Jones, 48-90. Gibb

Memorial Trust, 2004.

Jayyusi, Salma Khadra. Modern Arabic Poetry: An Anthology. New York: Columbia

University Press, 1991.

Jones, Alan. Early Arabic Poetry,. Vol. 2nd ed. The Netherlands: Brill, 2011.

———. Early Arabic Poetry: Select Odes. Ithaca Press Reading, 1996.

Jones, Sir William. Poems Consisting Chiefly of Translations from the Asiatick Languages.

The Second Edition. London: W. Bowyer and J. Nichols, n.d.

Kennedy, P. “Labid, al-Nabigha, al-Akhal and the Oryx.” Arabicus Felix (Essays in

Honour of A.F.L. Beeston on the Occasion of His 80th Birthday), 1991, 74–89.

Khalidi, Tarif. Arabic Historical Thought in the Classical Period. Reprinted. Cambridge

Studies in Islamic Civilization. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1996.

———. The Qur’an: A New Translation. Penguin Books, 2008.

King Abdulaziz Center for World Culture and King Fahad National Library. The

Mu’allaqat for Millennials: Pre-Islamic Arabic Golden Odes, 2020. s

Larcher, Pierre. “TRADUIRE LES MU’ALLAQĀT: HISTOIRE D’UNE TRADITION.”

Quaderni Di Studi Arabi 5/6 (2010): 49–74.

204
Luffin, Xavier. “6. Le Musicien et Le Calife de Bagdad : Traduire Les Niveaux de Langue

d’un Roman Historique Arabe.” In Rachid El-Daïf : Le Roman Arabe Dans La

Tourmente de La Modernisation, edited by Katia Ghosn, 99–110. Quaero. Paris:

Demopolis, 2020.

Lynx Qualey, Marcia. “Najwan Darwish and the Politics/Poetics of Translating

Exhaustion.” ARABLIT & ARABLIT QUARTERLY, January 13, 2022.

https://arablit.org/2022/01/13/najwan-darwish-and-the-politics-poetics-of-

translating-exhaustion/.

———. “On Bringing the Mu‘Allaqāt into English: ‘There’s Such a Divide That Needs To

Be Crossed by the Translator’ – ARABLIT & ARABLIT QUARTERLY.”

Accessed March 27, 2022.

Massardier-Kennedy, Françoise. Toward a Translation Criticism: John Donne / Antoine

Berman, Translated and Edited by Francoise MAssardier-Kenney. Kent, Ohio: The

Kent State University Press, 2009.

Miquel, Andre. “Le Desert Dans La Poesie Pre-Islamique: La Mu’allaqa de Labid.”

Cahiers de Tunisie 23 (1975).

Montgomery, James. Philosophy: From the Many to the One: Essays in Celebration of

Richard M. Frank. Peeters Publishers, 2006.

Montgomery, James E. “Dichotomy in Jahili Poetry.” Journal of Arabic Literature 17, no.

1 (January 1, 1986): 1–20.

———. “LISTENING FOR THE POEM: HOMAGE TO PIERRE LARCHER.” Quaderni

Di Studi Arabi 8 (2013): 11–40.

205
———. The Vagaries of the Qaṣīdah: The Tradition and Practice of Early Arabic Poetry.

Gibb Literary Studies 1. Cambridge: E. J. W. Gibb Memorial Trust, 1997.

Mufti, Majida. “A Critical Appreciation of the English Translations of Three Mu’al-Laqat

by Jones, Blunt and Arberry.” 1971.

Nicholson, Reynold Alleyne. Literary History of the Arabs. Cambridge University Press,

1930.

O’Grady, Desmond. Golden Odes of Love-- Al-Mu’allaqat. 0 edition. Cairo, Egypt:

American University in Cairo Press, 1997.

Panel Discussion on the Celebration of the Book Publication of “The Muʿallaqāt for

Millennials,” 2021.

Paterson, Don. The Eyes: A Version of Antonio Machado. Faber & Faber, 1999.

Polk, William. Crusade and Jihad. Yale University Press, 2018.

https://yalebooks.yale.edu/9780300222906/crusade-and-jihad.

Polk, William R. Labid Ibn Rabiah, The Golden Ode. The University of Chicago Press,

1974.

Ricks, Christopher. “‘LOCKSLEY HALL’ AND THE ‘MOÂLLAKAT.’” Notes and

Queries 12, no. 8 (1965): 300–301.

Scheindlin, Raymond P. Review of Review of Desert Tracings: Six Classical Arabian Odes

by Alqama, Shánfara, Labíd, ʿAntara, al-Aʿsha and Dhu al-Rúmma, Al-Aʿsha, by

Michael A. Sells, Dhu al-Rúmma, Alqama, Shánfara, Labíd, ʿAntara, and Al-Aʿsha.

Journal of the American Oriental Society 111, no. 1 (1991): 158–60.

Sells, Michael. “The ‘Muʿallaqa’ of Ṭarafa.” Journal of Arabic Literature 17 (1986): 21–

33.

206
———. “THE QAṢĪDA AND THE WEST: Self-Reflective Stereotype and Critical

Encounter.” Al-’Arabiyya 20, no. 1/2 (1987): 307–57.

———. “The Qasida and the West: Self-Reflective Stereotype and Critical Encounter.” Al-

’Arabiyya, 1987, 307–57.

Sells, Michael A. “Toward a Multidimensional Understanding of Islam: The Poetic Key.”

Edited by Mustansir Mir, Jarl Fossum, Suzanne P. Stetkevych, Jaroslav Stetkevych,

Th. Emil Homerin, Suzanne Stetkevych, Naguib Mahfuz, and Denys Johnson-

Davies. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 64, no. 1 (1996): 145–66.

Sells, Michael Anthony, ed. Desert Tracings: Six Classic Arabian Odes. 1st ed. Wesleyan

Poetry in Translation. Middletown, Conn: Wesleyan University Press, 1989.

Shahid, Irfan. “Labid Ibn Rabiah, The Golden Ode. Translated with an Introduction and

Commentary by William R. Polk. Photographs by William J. Mares.” International

Journal of Middle East Studies 7, no. 2 (1976): 299–302.

———. “Labid Ibn Rabiah, The Golden Ode. Translated with an Introduction and

Commentary by William R. Polk. Photographs by William J. Mares (Chicago: The

University of Chicago Press, 1974). Pp. Xxxi + 177. | International Journal of

Middle East Studies | Cambridge Core.” Accessed May 6, 2022.

Sharlet, Jocelyn. Review of Review of Abundance from the Desert: Classical Arabic

Poetry, by Raymond Farrin. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 74, no. 1 (2015): 184–

87.

Smith, William Robertson. Kinship and Marriage in Early Arabia. A. & C. Black, 1903.

Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. “The Politics of Translation.” In The Translation Studies

Reader, 4th Edition., 560. Routledge, 2021.

207
Stetkevych, Jaroslav. Arabic Poetry & Orientalism. Arabic Poetry and Comparative Poetics

2. Oxford: St. John’s College Research Centre, 2004.

———. “Arabism and Arabic Literature. Self-View of a Profession.” Journal of Near

Eastern Studies 28, no. 3 (July 1, 1969): 145–56.

———. The Hunt in Arabic Poetry: From Heroic to Lyric to Metapoetic. Notre Dame,

Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 2016.

———. The Zephyrs of Najd: The Poetics of Nostalgia in the Classical Arabic Nasīb.

Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993.

Stetkevych, Suzanne Pinckney. Abū Tammām and the Poetics of the ʻAbbāsid Age. Studies

in Arabic Literature, v. 13. Leiden ; New York: Brill, 1991.

———. “Ritual and Sacrificial Elements in the Poetry of Blood-Vengeance: Two Poems

by Durayd Ibn al-Simmah and Muhalhil Ibn Rabīʿah.” Journal of Near Eastern

Studies 45, no. 1 (1986): 31–43.

———. The Mute Immortals Speak: Pre-Islamic Poetry and the Poetics of Ritual. Myth

and Poetics. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1993.

———. The Poetics of Islamic Legitimacy: Myth, Gender, and Ceremony in the Classical

Arabic Ode. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2002.

Teipen, Alfons. “Jāhilite and Muslim Women: Questions of Continuity and Communal

Identity.” The Muslim World 92 (April 30, 2007): 437–59.

Toorawa, Shawkat M. Review of Review of The Golden Odes of Love: Al-Muʾallaqat. A

Verse Rendering from the Arabic, by Desmond O’Grady. Al-’Arabiyya 36 (2003):

167–80.

208
Venuti, Lawrence. The Scandals of Translation: Towards an Ethics of Difference.

Routledge, 2002.

Webb, Peter. “Al-Jāhiliyya: Uncertain Times of Uncertain Meanings,” 2014.

———. Imagining the Arabs: Arab Identity and the Rise of Islam. Edinburgh, UK:

Edinburgh University Press, 2016.

———. “Pre-Islamic al-Shām in Classical Arabic Literature: Spatial Narratives and

History-Telling.” Studia Islamica 110, no. 2 (2015): 135–64.

Zadeh, Travis. “On Reading the Library of Arabic Literature.” Journal of Arabic Literature

47, no. 3.

Zohra, BENNEGHROUZI Fatima. “Arberry’s Rendition of Imru’al Qays’Mu’allaqa:

Translation and Gender Issues,” 2016, 12.

Zwettler, Michael. The Oral Tradition of Classical Arabic Poetry: Its Character and

Implications. Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1978.

:‫ﻣﺼﺎدر ﻋﺮﺑﯿﺔ‬

(.1969 ،‫ دار اﻟﻔﺘﺢ ﻟﻠﺪراﺳﺎت واﻟﻨﺸﺮ‬:‫)اﻟﻘﺎھﺮة‬.‫ ﻣﺼﺎدر اﻟﺸﻌﺮ اﻟﺠﺎھﻠﻲ وﻗﯿﻤﺘﮭﺎ اﻟﺘﺎرﯾﺨﯿﺔ‬.‫اﻷﺳﺪ ﻧﺎﺻﺮ اﻟﺪﯾﻦ‬

‫ دار‬:‫ ﻟﺒﻨﺎن‬،‫ ) ﺑﯿﺮوت‬.‫ ﺷﺮح اﻟﻤﻌﻠﻘﺎت اﻟﺴﺒﻊ اﻟﻤﺴﻤﻰ رﯾﺎض اﻟﻔﯿﺾ‬.‫ ﻋﺒﺪ اﻟﻘﺪﯾﺮ اﻟﺤﺎﻓﻆ‬and ‫اﻟﺴﮭﺎرﻧﻔﻮري ﻓﯿﺾ اﻟﺤﺴﻦ‬

(.1440 ،‫اﻟﻜﺘﺐ اﻟﻌﻠﻤﯿﺔ‬

(.1997،‫ دار اﻟﺠﺪﯾﺪ‬:‫)اﻟﻘﺎھﺮة‬.‫ ﻓﻲ اﻟﺸﻌﺮ اﻟﺠﺎھﻠﻲ‬.‫ﺣﺴﯿﻦ طﮫ‬

(.1960 ,‫ دار اﻟﻤﻌﺎرف‬:‫اﻟﻘﺎھﺮة‬. )‫ ﺗﺎرﯾﺦ اﻻدب اﻟﻌﺮﺑﻲ‬.،‫ﺷﻮﻗﻲ ﺿﯿﻒ‬

(.2002 ,‫ دار اﻟﻄﻠﯿﻌﺔ‬:‫ )ﺑﯿﺮوت‬.‫ ﻟﻦ ﺗﺘﻜﻠﻢ ﻟﻐﺘﻲ‬.‫ﻛﻠﯿﻄﻮ ﻋﺒﺪ اﻟﻔﺘﺢ‬

(.1984 ,‫ ﻣﻄﺒﻌﺔ ﺣﻜﻮﻣﺔ اﻟﻜﻮﯾﺖ‬:‫ ﺷﺮح دﯾﻮان ﻟﺒﯿﺪ ﺑﻦ رﺑﯿﻌﺔ اﻟﻌﺎﻣﺮي)اﻟﻜﻮﯾﺖ‬.‫ اﺣﺴﺎن واﻟﻤﻨﺠﺪ ﺻﻼح اﻟﺪﯾﻦ‬،‫ﻋﺒﺎس‬

(.2003 ,‫ دار وﻣﻜﺘﺒﺔ اﻟﮭﻼل‬:‫ ﺷﺮح اﻟﻤﻌﻠﻘﺎت اﻟﺴﺒﻊ )ﺑﯿﺮوت‬.‫ ﻣﻔﯿﺪ‬،‫ﻣﺤﻤﺪ ﻗﻤﯿﺤﺔ‬

209