Abu Firas al-Hamdani
Al-Harith Ibn Abi'l-'Ala' Sa'id Ibn al-Hamdan Taghlibi (Siria, 932-968), más conocido por su seudónimo de Abu Firas al-Hamdani (árabe: أبو فراس الحمداني), era un príncipe árabe y poeta.
Era primo de Sayf al-Dawla y miembro de la familia noble de la Hamdanids, que eran gobernantes en el norte de Siria y la Alta Mesopotamia durante el siglo X. Sirvió Sayf al-Dawla como gobernador de Manbij, así como poeta de la corte, y participó activamente en las guerras de su primo contra el Imperio Bizantino.
Fue capturado por los bizantinos en el año 962 y pasó cuatro años en su capital, Constantinopla, donde compuso su obra más famosa, la colección de poemas titulada al-Rūmiyyāt (الروميات).
Murió en 968, cuando levantó una revuelta contra el sucesor de Sayf al-Dawla Abu'l-Ma'ali.
Se le considera una de las mayores figuras de la clásica poesía árabe.
La tierra de Aleppo
Riega la tierra de Aleppo mientras la habitas,
Luna llena, una lluvia copiosa e incesante;
de ella soy preso, pero mi corazón allí se queda,
y siento que mi potro, por lo pesado del viaje, remolonea,
pues si el corazón de su jinete no fuera presa
de tanta confusión, no se azoraría la montura.
Es como si la tierra y las ciudades estuvieran yermas
y sus moradas dejadas de sus cálidos habitantes.
Soy como el guijarro, incesantemente lanzado a los cielos:
Me elevo por los aires y vuelvo a desplomarme.
Abu Firas al-Hamdani, incluido en Treinta poemas árabes en su contexto (Ediciones Hiperión, Madrid, 2006, selec. y trad. de Jaime Sánchez Ratia).
El poeta Abu Firas al-Hamdani (932-968), hecho prisionero por los bizantinos
durante varios años escribió sus mejores versos desde la cárcel, recordando a su anciana madre que vivía en un pueblo cerca de Alepo. Los críticos consideran estos poemas de lo más sincero que pronunció el poeta en su vida. Sufre por la separación y la lejanía, deseando que el destino le brinde una nueva oportunidad para reunirse con ella. Dice Abu Firas:
La madre del prisionero
Cúbrate la lluvia, madre del prisionero cuya suerte
aborreces.
Él está turbado, no se pone en pie ni camina.
¿A quien llevar la buena nueva del rescate?
¿A quien cuidar, que cabellos sobre la frente arreglar,
si tu hijo anda por tierra y mar?
¿Quién le protejerá, quién le llamará por su nombre?
Los ojos ya no hallarán la paz de noche;
abyecto sería mostrarse alegre
habiendo tú degustado la muerte y el infortunio sin
hijo ni compañero.
El amado de tu corazón desapareció de aquel lugar
en que presentes estaban los ángeles del cielo.
Lloren por tí aquellos días en que, paciente, ayunabas
al sol abrasador del mediodía.
Lloren por tí aquellas noches que en pie pasaste
hasta despuntar la luz de la aurora.
Lloren por tí aquellos oprimidos, de tantos temidos,
a quienes tú acogiste cuando no hallaban protector.
Lloren por tí aquellos pobres indigentes a los que
socorriste
cuando no se tenían en pie,
Cuantas largas, incomparables penas pasaron por tí.
Cuantos secretos por tu corazón pasaron sin revelarse jamás.
Cuantas veces te daban albricias que acercaban el plazo
de mi llegada.
¿A quien me lamentaré, a quién suplicaré mi liberación
si tengo el pecho encogido de dolor?
¿Qué mujer rezará ahora por mí, a la luz de que rostro
me iluminaré,
quién alejará de mí el destino implacable?
¿Quién me ayudará a sobrepasar tan ardua situación?
Mi único consuelo es que, en breve, al más allá donde te allás
ire yo a parar.
En otros versos evoca el recuerdo de su madre en su cautiverio, deseándole
salud y una vida larga, expresando su dolor por la separación:
¡Oh madre del cautivo, que la lluvia te rocíe, a tu pesar sufre el prisionero!
Si tu hijo viaja por tierra y por mar, ¿quién, acaso, le pedirá misericordia?
Es pecado que duerma apaciblemente y vileza si se alegra.
¿A quién me quejo y a quién evoco, cuando mi pecho se oprime?
Pero según parece aquel encuentro no se hizo realidad por la muerte de la madre, estando él cautivo.
Hardly Had You Shed Tears… - Poem by Abu Firas al-Hamdani
Hardly had you shed tears, you soul were strong and refractory
Didst still you resist the passionate love or follow it voluntary?
Yes, I am passionate and have agony of love and torment
However, one who likes me does not reveal his secret.
I surrender to my emotion when the night outstretches its light
Painfully but haughtily, my eyes shed tears all night.
The fire of love is about to burn my ribs and above,
If it is sparkling by emotions and the passionate love—
For the sake of her reunion, daringly I thrust my soul
If I sleep the night thirsty, I wish the rain did not fall
A long ago you kept the promising but you cheat me lastly
It is better to reveal your betray and not to pretend on loyalty
The life is as papers contain letters variable between black and white
The writer writes them fickly and flowingly between day and night
In this Bedouin section, I love a delicate girl her tribe is busy to decamp
She thinks my passion toward her is a sin, though she shuts off my lamp
She hurries swiftly to the gossipers dodging to knock me down
Although, she knows that I am attracted with each part of her gown
Although my relatives were with me, I felt that I am abandoned
Because of my lover's camps departed, the place seemed deserted
I fight my tribe for the sake of your passion as if a fierce warrior
Without your love, they are to me as a needful wine and water
If the saying of talebearers is trustworthy, but it is not so usually
The faith perhaps destroys what the unbelief builds mainly
I have devoted my soul although some views of love are disdainful.
Moreover, the girl whom I devoted my love to her was untruthful
She is solemn and her youthful age excites her days
Likes a foal she is a stubborn girl sometimes in her ways.
She asks about me although she knows that I am considerable
The man who likes me is not deniable but he is widely knowable
I said to her, you could not bother yourself to ask about me.
While I am knowable and you needs not to reveal further lee
She said; I think the time leaves its prints upon thee apparently.
God forgive! It is not the time; it is the torture of your love undoubtedly.
Unless your love there is not way for the griefs to settle in my heart
The grief always chooses the same bridge that the passions merit
Between the seriousness and joking, the soul may be misleading
If it is saved from the love's agony, it will suffer the separation suffering
I am sure that there is not lover after my approach from sin is savable
I practiced all love's approaches, but I find nothing in love is profitable.
I turn over on my mind many matters, but I find it is inevitable way.
If I am saved from the love's anguish, the separation punches me one day.
I return to the time to ask it to govern on my matter wisely
I disclose the sin is belonged to her and the pretext belongs to me only
Do not deny my rights upon thee my uncle's daughter hastily
I am knowable between Bedouins and the urban people widely
Do not deny me; I am not to your honorable prestige is deniable
Even if the feet were shaken and the horror cannot be surmountable
I am the leader in front of all men in each battalion army
I do not leave the battlefield without a triumphant victory.
I am the champion who thrusts himself in the battles bravely
The bold men fear to thrust in and retreat reluctantly
I quench my thirst until the swords and javelins become bloody
The eagle and wolf satisfy themselves from the torn corpses proudly.
I do not raid on the women and the disable men left behind the army
Even I do not attack the armed men unless I warn them previously.
Many impregnable situations do not fear me even at noon
I entered it by force carrying the death with me at early dawn
A section I defeated their horses back until I overcame totally
Unless seeing veils and yashmaks, I would violate them forcedly
There I met the girl who drags her long splendid gown incidentally
I received her with smiling face opening to her my bosom gladly
I grant her all of the things that my army had seized freely
She was guarded by my men even her homes were safely
The wealth does not delude me to entrap inside the vanity
And the poverty does not lead me to give up my generosity
What is the benefit of the property if the man cannot guard his honour?
Vainly the man lives dishonorable, although has sovereignty power
I was captive although I was encircled by armed helpers
Even my horse is not a foal and its rider is a good warrior
When the act of God is destined and it is about to be—
Nothing can prevent it whether it comes in land or sea
My fellows said; our choice was either fleeing or death
I replied each one of them is bitter, has not any sign of health.
I go ahead toward the glory in order not to be shamed by any blamer.
Not to be said coward, the free honorable man would prefer the capture
They said to me; you bargained the safety by horror
I replied, by God! nothing I have lost, but I saved my honour
Am I protected from the death for a week or for an hour?
Whether I am being saved from capturing or anything else is bitter.
When you are defeated and your fate is closely—
Chose to die honorable and you will live eternally.
It is shameful to save from death and live suffering the dishonor
A man called (O'mro) lived disdainful after choosing the surrender
The blamers wish to see my attires were not spotted
But my dresses by the battle's bloody spots were decorated
I fought until the blade of my sword was broken totally
My javelin also saves no effort into shattering the chests directly
My tribe will mention me when the matter is serious and horrible
In the dark night, the shinning moon is indispensable
If I am survivor from the capture, they will see the same dueler again
Riding on a slender blond horse and girding with sword and javelin
If I die, the death is the end of any man undoubtedly
Although the life may be prolonged but its end is inevitability
If other man claims toward the sublimity, they would be satisfied
The copper would not be expensive if the gold was exhausted
We are the people whom they had not a middle solution
They either sublime over other people or fight until conclusion
Toward the glory, we sacrifice our souls in a cheap manner
Who asks the beauty woman hand, does not ask about her dower.
We are the dearer of the World the most generous and kind
We are the superior on dignity on the Earth without proud.
Translated by: Mohammad Mahmud Ahmad
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