(AD 1181–1235; AH 576–632)
The Egyptian poet Umar Ibn al-Farid is the undisputed master of Islamic mystical verse in Arabic. Born in Cairo, he lived in Mecca for a while. Ibn al-Farid spent most of his youth in retirement and meditation and, after briefly working in government service, retired to the seclusion of Al-Azhar in Cairo.
He was an inspired poet and often composed his verses while in a state of ecstasy. His poetry, though not voluminous, is considered of the very highest order. His most celebrated works are the Qasida al-Khamriyya (The Wine Ode) and the longer poem Nazm al-Suluk (Poem of the Sufi Way), also known as al-Ta’iyya al-Kubra (Ode Rhyming in T-Major), comprising more than 760 verses. He was buried in Cairo and is regarded as a saint.
In memory of the Beloved
We drank a wine;
Intoxicated we were
With this wine before
It was created.
The full Moon is its cup
And it is the brightest Sun.
Crescent Moon passes it around
And stars appear
As it is diluted for the drinkers.
I could never reach the tavern
Without its fragrance;
I could not have imagined it
Without its sparkle and radiance.
Age has purified it to its essence
Like a secret to be kept
In the hearts of the wise.
Were it mentioned to
The others of the tribe,
They would be drunk
And incur no sin
Or shame if they imbibe.
And if it were to come
Into the mind of anyone,
Joy would be his, and sorrow
Would depart and be gone.
And in the shade of its vineyard,
If they were to lie,
The sick who were cureless
Would rise cured.
Were someone lame brought
Near to its dwelling place,
He would walk
And the mute talk
By its flavour’s grace.
And were it poured
Onto a grave,
The dead would rise
Full of spirit, revived.
Were its perfume to spread
Eastward, and the deprived
Were in the West,
They too would feel its
Fragrance in their midst.
And were the revellers
To gaze at its seal,
They would be drunk,
Entranced by its appeal.
And should your hand,
By touching its cup, be stained
You will find your way at night
As a star would shine from your hand.
Put before a blind man secretly,
Its allure would make him see;
And the sound of its pouring
Would make the deaf hear again.
Were travellers to pass
Through its land, and of the wine partake,
They would be immune
If bitten by the deadliest snake.
And were a doctor to inscribe
Its name on the forehead
Of the madman, for sure,
He would his reason restore.
Its name inscribed on the banner
Of an army inspires those under it
And does indeed their hearts
Intoxicate and makes them brave.
With its intoxication,
Those who follow it are exalted
And by its inspiration,
The cowardly find strength.
And he whose hand knows not
Generosity, generous he becomes;
And he who has no forgiveness
Learns to forgive at once.
Were the ignorant one to kiss
Its stopper once,
The kissing would make him wise,
Even if he were a dunce.
They say to me,
‘Describe this wine
For you know its qualities divine.’
And I say yes
I do have knowledge of this wine!
It’s clear, but not of water.
It’s weightless, soft, but not of air.
It’s luminous, but not of fire.
It’s a spirit without body!
Older than all that was created,
Pre-eternal, before time it was,
In the long past,
When there was no shape or form.
Then from it all things were born;
And for some wise reckoning
It veiled itself from all
Who had no understanding.
And my soul loved it
And became One with it,
But did not mix or merge
As one substance with another.
Remaining separate, we converged.
There was naught before it,
Nor will an after
After it be,
And all afters
It does precede.
Beauties are all these
That teach the admirers of this wine
The art of praising it.
And so they do
In prose and verse define.
When it’s mentioned,
One who knows it not
Will be full of joy on hearing
Its name,
Like a lover when he hears
The Beloved’s name.
They say to me,
‘You have drunk the sin.’
I say, ‘Never! I have drunk
That which it would be a sin
Not to drink!’
Happy are the convent dwellers
Intoxicated by it so often, yet
They drank it not!
But they aspired to the heights!
I felt its intoxication
When still a child,
And it will remain with me
Though my bones may decay.
Hurry up and drink it pure!
But if you wish to dilute it
Be just, and what’s more,
Take it from the Beloved’s mouth,
For sure!
Drink it in the tavern
And pass the cup around
To the sound of music
Which adds to its charm.
For where it is, worry cannot be;
As sadness can never be
Where there is music
And revelry.
Were you drunk with it
For an hour and no more
You would feel the world your slave
To rule and command, and you its king.
There is no happiness in this world
To him who lives sober,
And one who does not die drunk with it
Will miss the benefit of fulfilment.
Let him mourn his fate
If he has spent his life
And has not in it
A stake or share!
I
The point of its teaching
is clear
as noonday light:
‘I am his ear…’
I worked hard for oneness
till I found it,
and the agent of causes
was one of my guides,
And I joined my causes together
till I lost them,
for the bond of oneness
was my best connection.
Then I freed my soul
from the two of them
and it was one,
alone as always.
I dove into the seas of union,
dove deeper still for solitude
and so recovered
the pearl without equal,
That I could hear my acts
with a seeing ear
and witness my words
with a hearing eye.
So when the nightingale mourns
in the tangled brush,
and birds in the trees
warble in reply,
Or when the flautist’s notes
quiver in accord
with the strings plucked
by a singing girl’s hand
Then I delight in my works of art
declaring my union
and company free
of the idolatry of difference.
By me the chanters’ assembly
is the ear of one who reads with care;
for my sake, the open tavern
is the eye of soldiers on patrol.
No hand but mine
bound the non-Muslim’s sash,
but if it is loosed to acknowledge me
my hand untied it.
So if the prayer-niche in a mosque
shines by the Qur’an within,
then a temple’s altar is not disgraced
by the gospel,
And the Torah’s sacred books
came from Moses to his people,
so each night through scripture
rabbis confide with God.
When a devotee falls down
before an idol temple’s stones,
do not transgress
and censure from bigotry.
For many of those free
from the idol’s shame
are bound secretly within
to worship cash and coin!
My warning has reached
those who heed,
and by me absolution has arisen
for all who broke away:
The eyes of every faith
have never strayed,
nor did the thoughts of any creed
ever swerve aside.
One dazed in desire for the Sun
is not deranged,
for it shines from the light
of my blazing splendour, unveiled.
And when the Magi worship the fire
that, tradition tells,
has been burning bright
for a thousand years,
They aim only for me,
though they do not show
a firm resolve
as they seek another.
They saw the flash of my light once
and supposed it to be a fire,
so they went astray, misled
by shining rays.
If not for the veil of being
I would speak out,
yet respect for the laws of sense
keeps me silent.
II
… From his light,
the niche of my essence enlightened me;
by means of me,
my nights blazed morning bright.
I made me witness my being there,
for I was he;
I witnessed him as me,
the light, my splendour.
By me the valley was made holy
and I flung my robe of honour –
my ‘taking off of sandals’ –
on those summoned there.
I embraced my lights
and so was their guide;
how wondrous a soul
illuminating lights!
I set firm my many Sinais
and there prayed to myself;
I attained every goal,
as my being spoke with me.
My full Moon never waned;
my Sun, it never set,
and all the blazing stars
followed my lead.
By my leave, in my realm
planets moved,
and angels bowed
to my dominion.
In the world of remembrance
the soul has her ancient lore;
my young disciples
seek it from me,
So hurry to my union old
where I have found
the elders of the tribe
as newborn babes,
For my friends drink
what I left behind,
while those before me,
their fine qualities fall short of mine.
Emil Homerin
With my Beloved I alone have been,
When secrets tenderer than evening airs
Passed, and the Vision blest
Was granted to my prayers,
That crowned me, else obscure, with endless fame,
The while amazed between
His Beauty and His Majesty
I stood in silent ecstasy,
Revealing that which o’er my spirit went and came.
Lo, in His face commingled
Is every charm and grace;
The whole of Beauty singled
Into a perfect face
Beholding Him would cry,
‘There is no God but He, and He is the most High.’
R. A. Nicholson
Give me excess of love and so increase me
In marvelling at Thee; and mercy have
Upon a heart for Thee by passion seared.
And when I ask of Thee that I may see Thee
Even as Thou art, in Thy reality,
Say not, ‘Thou shalt not see,’ but let me see.
Heart, thou didst promise patience in love of them.
Take heed and be not troubled, be not anguished.
Verily love is life, so die in love,
And claim thy right to die, all sins forgiven.
Tell those before me and those after me,
And whoso witness of my sorrow was:
Learn from me, my example take, and hear me,
And tell mankind the story of my love.
Alone with the Beloved I have been:
A secret subtler than wind’s lightest breath,
When on the night it steals, between us passed;
He granted to my gaze a longed for sight,
Whence I, till then unknown, illustrious am.
Between His Beauty and His Majesty
I marvelled, and my state of marvelling
Was like an eloquent tongue that spake of me.
Turn then thy looks unto His Countenance,
To find the whole of beauty lineate there.
All beauty, if it gathered were and made
One perfect form, beholding Him, would say,
‘There is no god but God; God is most great.’
Martin Lings