Celebrating Iraqi Poetry
Al Mutanabbi is recognized as one of the most prominent poets of the Arabic language. His body of work, more than 326 poems, is so influential that much of it has been translated into over 20 languages worldwide.
The poem “Wa-harra Qalbāh Mimman Qalbuhu Shabim,” in which Al-Mutanabbi praised Sayf al-Dawla al-Hamdani, is among the most celebrated and widely circulated works in Arabic literature. It stands as one of the masterpieces of Arabic poetry and a shining jewel in Al-Mutanabbi’s poetic legacy.
The poem showcases the height of Al-Mutanabbi’s artistic genius, particularly in the realms of vivid description, poignant reproach, and masterful self-glorification. Other celebrated works by this “Poet of Poets”—the bard of glory, ambition, and nobility—have likewise attained enduring fame, including “On the Measure of Men of Resolve Come Great Resolutions” (Alā Qadr Ahl al-Azm Tatī al-Azāim) and (Sleeplessness Upon Sleeplessness).
My Heart Is A Flame
By Al Mutanabbi
Rhymed English Version by Adhid Miri, PhD
My heart burns on for one whose heart is stone, who sees my fading strength yet feels it none.
Why must I hide a love that wore me to the bone, while lesser men parade false devotion to
Sayf alDawla and claim his passion as their own?
If all who praise him kindle the same fire, Do equal flames fulfill the same desire?
I sought him once when battle’s roar was still, and saw red steel obey his sovereign will.
Among creation none stands crowned as he— Time layered virtue on his majesty.
The foe I chased brought triumph to my hand, yet triumph mixed with grief I hadn’t planned.
Fear fought for him where he refused to stand; Awe won the day no mortal could command.
He binds himself to burdens vast and wide, so none may flee from him on earth or tide.
When armies break before his rising might, The world declares he cast them into flight.
His is the charge that makes the boldest yield, theirs is the shame that stains the open field.
What sweeter victory could heaven send Than steel and courage in a single blend?
O fairest one—save only unto me— You are the judge, the foe, and the remedy.
Grant me one honest glance to guard my sight; Do not mistake my swelling grief for light.
What use are eyes to one who sees no name, for whom both dark and shining are the same?
My verses let the blind behold my mind; My words have stirred the deaf and moved the blind.
I sleep in peace while poems roam the land, Debated long by critics’ restless hands.
And many a fool, inflated by disdain, was cut by wit more piercing than his pain.
When lions bare their teeth in gleaming show, think not they will warn of coming woe.
A soul bound close to mine, weighed down with grief, I reached upon a steed of wind and leaf.
Its stride was one swift breath across the plain, A living arrow none could dare restrain.
Through death’s high waves I walked with sharpened aim;
The nights, the steeds, the deserts know my name.
The spear, the sword, the parchment and the pen, Bear witness to the paths I carved through men.
O you whose absence tears our hearts apart— Without you, all is hollow at the heart.
How worthy we of kindness you could show If you held ours as we hold yours below.
If slander pleases you though it wounds me, why should I flinch if you decree it be?
Between us lies a bond you once recall, the wise hold sacred ties that never fall.
You sought my faults yet always sought in vain; For honor shuns such fruitless, petty strain.
Far from me lie disgrace and lowly shame— I am the rising stars that bear my name.
Let clouds whose lightning crowns my distant home, send rain to those who wander far from dome.
Separation drives me mile by mile, Beyond the reach of even tireless style.
If you abandon loyalty’s bright flame, Regret will surely haunt the ones you name.
If you depart from those who cannot bear your absence, they are lost though you are there.
The worst of lands is where no friend is found; The worst of gains is what brings shame around.
The poorest prize my hand has ever won is when the falcon equals carrion.
What words can such a weary poet trust to win your faith, when none you deem as just?
Your blame still holds a hidden love that gleams, like pearls concealed in dreams.