The Luzumiyat - Endnotes

Endnotes

In one of his poems he speaks of three prisons, his body being the third. Here is Professor Nicholson’s translation:

Methink I am thrice-imprisoned⁠—ask not me
Of news that need no telling⁠—
By loss of sight, confinement in my house,
And this vile body for my spirit’s dwelling.

↩
My learned friend, Count E. de Mulinen, called my attention to the work of Von Kremer on Abu al-ʻAlaʼ. And I have seen copies of a certain German Asiatic Review in which were published translations, made by that eminent Orientalist, of many poems from the Luzumiyat. He speaks of Abu al-ʻAlaʼ as one of the greatest moralists of all times, whose profound genius anticipated much that is commonly attributed to the so-called modern spirit of enlightenment.

Professor D. S. Margoliouth has also translated into English the Letters of Abu’l-Ala, which were published with the Arabic text at the Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1898. Also Professor Raynold A. Nicholson, in his work, A Literary History of the Arabs, discusses the poet at length and renders into English some poems from the Luzumiyat. A work was published by Charles Carrington, Paris, 1904, under the title, Un Précurseur d’Omar Khayyam, Le Poéte Aveugle: Extraits de Poémes et de Lettres d’Abu’l-Ala al-Ma’arri. And another, The Diwan of Abu’l-Ala, done into English by Henry Baerlein, who must have helped himself freely to the quatrains of Von Kremer. ↩
For a picturesque description of the squalidness and sordidness of Maʻarra and its people, see Letter XX of The Letters of Abu’l-Ala, Oxford Edition. ↩
When he visited Baghdad he was about thirty-seven years of age. And when he went to attend a lecture there by one of the leading scholars, he was called by the lecturer, istabl, which is Syrian slang for blind. ↩
“He was four years of age when he had the attack of smallpox. The sight of his left eye was entirely lost and the eyeball of his right had turned white. Al-Hafiz us-Silafi relates: ‘Abu Muhammad Abdallah told me that he visited him (Abu al-ʻAlaʼ) once with his uncle and found him sitting on an old hair matting. He was very old, and the disease that attacked him in his boyhood had left its deep traces on his emaciated face. He bade me come near him and blessed me as he placed his hand on my head. I was a boy then, and I can picture him before me now. I looked into his eyes and remarked how the one was horribly protruding, and the other, buried in its socket, could barely be seen.’ ” —⁠Ibn Khillikan ↩
“How long he retained any sort of vision is not certain. His frequent references in his writings to stars, flowers, and the forms of the Arabic letters imply that he could see a little at least some years after this calamity.” —⁠D. S. Margoliouth: The Letters of Abu’l-Ala

“He used to play chess and nard.” —⁠Safadi ↩
For an interesting account of literary society in Baghdad see Renan’s Islam and Science; also the Biography to the Letters of Abu’l-Ala. Prof. Margoliouth, though not unfair in his judgment of the poet, is unnecessarily captious at times. He would seem partial to the suffrage of orthodox Mohammedans with regard to Abu al-ʻAla’s unorthodox religious views. But they have a reason, these ulama, for endeavoring to keep a genius like Abu al-ʻAlaʼ within the pale of belief. Which reason, let us hope, has no claim on Prof. Margoliouth. And in his attempt to depreciate Abu al-ʻAlaʼ as a disinterested and independent scholar and poet, he does not escape the inconsistency which often follows in the wake of cavil. Read this, for instance:

“Like many of those who have failed to secure material prosperity, he found comfort in a system which flatters the vanity of those who have not succeeded by teaching that success is not worth attaining.”

And this, not on the same page perhaps, but close to it:

“For though other roads towards obtaining the means of supporting himself at Baghdad have been open to him, that which he refused to follow (the profession of an encomiast, i.e. a sycophant, a toady) was the most certain.”

↩
Biography of Abu al-ʻAlaʼ by Adh-Dhahabi. ↩
“The Letters, which abound in quotations, enable us to gauge the power of his memory better than these wonder-loving narrators.” —⁠D. S. Margoliouth ↩
In one of his poems he speaks of three prisons, his body being the third. Here is Professor Nicholson’s translation:

Methink I am thrice-imprisoned⁠—ask not me
Of news that need no telling⁠—
By loss of sight, confinement in my house,
And this vile body for my spirit’s dwelling.

↩
Also his Commentary on the works of the poet al-Mutanabbi. ↩
Adh-Dhahabi gives the titles of forty-eight of his works, to which Safadi adds fourteen. A literary baggage of considerable bulk, had not most of it perished when the Crusaders took Maʻarra in 1098. Now, the Luzumiyat, the Letters, Saqt az-Zand and the Epistle of Forgiveness can be obtained in printed form. ↩
“What he says of al-Maghribi in the First Letter became literally true of himself: ‘As Sinai derives its fame from Moses and the Stone from Abraham, so Maʻarra is from this time (after his return from Baghdad) known by him.’ ” —⁠D. S. Margoliouth ↩
Even before he visited Baghdad he had a pension of thirty dinars (about $100), half of which he paid to his servant, and the other half was sufficient to secure for him the necessaries of life. “He lived on lentils and figs,” says Adh-Dhahabi; “he slept on a felt mattress; he wore nothing but cotton garments; and his dwelling was furnished with a straw matting.” ↩
We have the following from Adh-Dhahabi:

“One of these critics came one day to Abu al-ʻAlaʼ and relating the conversation himself said, ‘What is it that is quoted and said about you?’ I asked.

“ ‘It is false; they are jealous of me,’ he replied.

“ ‘And what have you to incite their jealousy? You have left for them both this world and the other.’

“ ‘And the other?’ murmured the poet, questioning, ruminating. ‘And the other, too?’ ” ↩
“His poems, generally known as the Luzumiyat, arrest attention by their boldness and originality as well as by the sombre and earnest tone which pervades them.” —⁠Raynold A. Nicholson: A Literary History of the Arabs ↩
The Governor of Halab, Salih ibn Mirdas, passed once by Maʻarra, when thirty of its distinguished citizens were imprisoned on account of a riot in the town the previous year. Abu al-ʻAlaʼ being asked to intercede for them, was led to Salih, who received him most politely and asked him what he desired. The poet, in eloquent but unflattering speech, asked Salih “to take and give forgiveness.” And the Governor, not displeased, replied: “I grant it you.” Whereupon the prisoners were released. ↩
“His poems leave no aspect of the age (in which he lived) untouched, and present a vivid picture of degeneracy and corruption, in which tyrannous rulers, venal judges, hypocritical and unscrupulous theologians, swindling astrologers, roving swarms of dervishes and godless Qarmatians, occupy a prominent place.” —⁠Raynold A. Nicholson: A Literary History of the Arabs ↩
“The Mohammedan critics who thought he let his opinions be guided by his pen probably came near the truth. And any man who writes in such fetters as the meter (he means the rhyme-ending; for Abu al-ʻAlaʼ made use of every known meter of Arabic prosody) of the Luzumiyat imposes, can exercise but slight control over his thoughts.” —⁠D. S. Margoliouth: Letters of Abu’l-Ala ↩
This work, of which Professor Nicholson says there are but two copies extant, one in Constantinople and the other in his own collection, was published in Cairo, in 1907, edited by Sheikh Ibrahim ul-Yazeji. ↩
“To let go a flea is a more virtuous act than to give a dirham to a beggar.” —⁠Abu al-ʻAlaʼ ↩
The Orthodox, i.e. the Mohammedans. ↩
I do not find these verses in the printed copies of either the Luzumiyat or Saqt az-Zand. But they are quoted, from some MS. copy I suppose, by the historian Abu’l-Fida. ↩
Omar wrote poetry in Arabic too. My learned friend, Isa Iskandar Maluf of Zehleh, Mt. Lebanon, showed me some quatrains of “Omar the Tentmaker and Astronomer,” in an old Arabic MS. which bear a striking resemblance to some of Abu al-ʻAla’s both in thought and style. ↩
To open a poem with a few amatory lines, is a literary tradition among Arab poets. But Abu al-ʻAlaʼ, having had no occasion to evince such tender emotions, whether real or merely academic, succeeded, as in everything else he did, in deviating from the trodden path. I find, however, in his minor Diwan, Saqt az-Zand, a slight manifestation of his youthful ardor, of which this and the succeeding quatrains, descriptive of the charms of Night, are fairly representative. ↩
“Ahmad,” Mohammed the Prophet. ↩
“And hear the others who with cymbals try,” etc., meaning the Christians; in the preceding quatrain he referred to the Mohammedans. ↩
Milton, in “Il Penseroso,” also speaks of night as “the starred Ethiop queen”; and Shakespeare, in Romeo and Juliet, has these lines:

“Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
As a rich jewel in an Ethiop ear.”

The source of inspiration is the same to all world-poets, who only differ sometimes in the jars they bring to the source. ↩
The purple, white, and gray garments, symbolizing Man’s dreams of power, of love, and of bliss. ↩
The same idea is expressed by Omar Khayyam. Here are the first three lines of the 122nd quatrain of Heron-Allen’s literal translation:

“To him who understands the mysteries of the world
The joy and sorrow of the world is all the same,
Since the good and the bad of the world all come to an end.”

“Howdaj,” a sort of palanquin borne by camels; hence, a wedding or a triumphal procession. ↩
“Thamud” and “ ʻAd,” two of the primitive tribes which figure prominently in the legendary history of Arabia. They flouted and stoned the prophets that were sent to them, and are constantly held up in the Koran as terrible examples of the pride that goeth before destruction.

“Hashem’s fearless lad,” Mohammed the Prophet. ↩
I quote again from Omar, Fitzgerald’s translation:

“And this reviving Herb, whose Tender Green
Fledges the River-Lip, on which we lean⁠—
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen.”

In justice to both the Persian and the Arab poet, however, I give the 43rd quatrain of Heron-Allen’s, which I think contains two lines of that of Fitzgerald, together with Abu al-ʻAla’s own poetic-fancy.

“Everywhere that there has been a rose or tulip bed
There has been spilled the crimson blood of a king;
Every violet shoot that grows from the earth
Is a mole that was once upon the cheek of beauty.”

↩
“Zaqqum,” a tree which, in Mohammedan mythology, is said to have its roots in hell, and from which are fed the dwellers of hellfire. In one of the Chapters of the Koran, The Saffat, I find this upon it: “And is that a pure bounty, or the Zaqqum tree? It is a tree which groweth in hell; its fruits are like unto the heads of the devils, who eat from it, and from it fill their stomachs.”

Zaqqum is also one of the bitter-fruited trees of Arabia. And the people there speak of “a mouthful of zaqqum” when they want to describe an unhappy experience. It is also the name of one of the plants of the desert, whose flower is like the jasmine; and of one of the trees of Jericho, whose fruit is like the date, but somewhat bitter. ↩
“Jannat,” Paradise. “Jahannam,” Hell. ↩
And Tennyson also says:

“There is more truth in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in all the creeds.”

↩
“Mutakallim,” disputant. The mutakallimun are the logicians and theologians of Islam. ↩
Hadil is a poetic term for dove. And in Arabic mythology it is the name of a particular dove, which died of thirst in the days of Noah, and is bemoaned until this day.

“Ababil,” a flock of birds, who scourged with flint-stones which they carried in their beaks, one of the ancient Arab tribes, noted for its idolatry and evil practices. ↩
I quote again from Omar, Fitzgerald’s version, quatrain 44:

“Why, if the Soul can fling the dust aside,
And naked on the air of Heaven ride,
Were’t not a shame⁠—were’t not a shame for him
In this clay carcass crippled to abide?”

And from Heron-Allen’s, quatrain 145:

“O Soul, if thou canst purify thyself from the dust of the clay,
Thou, naked spirit, canst soar in the heav’ns,
The Empyrian is thy sphere⁠—let it be thy shame
That thou comest and art a dweller within the confines of earth.”

↩
“The walking dust was once a thing of stone,” is my rendering of the line,

“And he concerning whom the world is puzzled
Is an animal evolved of inorganic matter.”

This line of Abu al-ʻAlaʼ is much quoted by his enthusiastic admirers of the present day to prove that he anticipated Darwin’s theory of evolution. And it is remarkable how the fancy of the poet sometimes coincides with the logical conclusions of the scientist. ↩
“Iblis,” the devil. ↩
“Rabbi,” my lord God. ↩
This quatrain is quoted by many of the biographers of Abu al-ʻAlaʼ to prove that he is a materialist. Which argument is easily refuted, however, with others quatrains taken at random from the Luzumiyat. ↩
Omar was also a confessed cynical-hypocrite. Thus runs the first line of the 114th quatrain of Heron-Allen’s:

“The world being fleeting I practise naught but artifice.”

And he also chafes in the chains of his sins. Following is the 23rd quatrain of the same translation:

“Khayyam, why mourn for thy sins?
From grieving thus what advantage more or less dost thou gain?
Mercy was never for him who sins not,
Mercy is granted for sins; why then grieve?”

Abu al-ʻAlaʼ, in a quatrain which I did not translate, goes even farther in his questioning perplexity. “Why do good since thou art to be forgiven for thy sins?” he asks. ↩
See note 43. ↩
See note 43. ↩
“Kaaba Stone,” the sacred black stone in the Kaaba at Meccah. ↩
The American poet, Lowell, in “The Crisis,” utters the same cry:

“Truth forever on the scaffold,
Wrong forever on the throne.”

↩
“And the poor beetle that we tread upon
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
As when a giant dies.”
—⁠Shakespeare: Measure for Measure.

“To let go a flea is a more virtuous act than to give a dirham to a beggar.” —⁠Abu al-ʻAlaʼ ↩
See note 38. ↩
Omar too, in the 157th quatrain of Heron-Allen’s⁠—

“Had I charge of the matter I would not have come,
And likewise could I control my going, where could I go?”

↩
See note 38. ↩
See note 50. ↩
“Thy two soul-devouring angels,” the angels of death and resurrection. ↩
“Nubakht,” one of the opponents of the Prophet Mohammed. ↩
“Rabbi,” my lord God. ↩
“And like the dead of Ind,” referring to the practice of the Hindus who burn their dead.

“Munkar” and “Nakir,” the two angels who on the Day of Judgment open the graves of the dead and cross-examine them⁠—the process is said to be very cruel⁠—as to their faith. Whosoever is found wanting in this is pushed back into the grave and thence thrown into Jahannam. No wonder Abu al-ʻAlaʼ prefers cremation. ↩
He wrote his own epitaph, which is:

“This wrong to me was by my father done,
But never by me to any one.”

↩
“Azrael,” the angel of death. ↩
These will suggest to the reader Shakespeare’s lines:

“Imperial Caesar, dead and turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away;
O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,
Should stop a wall t’expel the winter’s flaw.”

↩
See note 59. ↩
See note 59. ↩
Compare this with Omar’s:

“Thou hast no power over the morrow,
And anxiety about the morrow is useless to thee:
Waste not thou the moment, if thy heart is not mad,
For the value of the remainder of thy life is not certain.”

↩