Ode to the Prison Shadows

Dedication: To obsessively needing to translate a song that remained with me after curtain call

[Originally posted on the blog Arabic Literature (in English)]

Image from the film 3000 Nights

On Monday, 25 April 2016, I heard a hauntingly beautiful rendition of verses from Najib al-Rayyes in Mai Masri's new feature film 3000 Nights. I quickly jotted down the verses during the screening on the paperback cover of the Song of Solomon in my purse.  That Wednesday, I googled the verses and not only found various musical renditions, including the one by Macadi Nahhas used in the film, but also the larger poem to which they belonged.  I proceeded to translate the entire poem text after midnight.  

I found the final verses confusing, so before going to bed, around 3:30 a.m., I impulsively sent my translation to a mentor.  He suggested what I have kept in a footnote.  The poem text differs slightly from the verses sung in the audio clip in the movie, so I have also included the variation mentioned in the movie in a footnote.

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يا ظلام السجن خيّم
كلمات: نجيب الريس (1922)

يا ظلام السجن خيّم إننا نهوى الظلاما
ليس بعد الليل إلا فجرَ مجدٍ يتسامى

إيه يا أرضَ الفخارِ يا مقّر المخلصينا
قد هبطناكِ شبابًا لا يهابون المنونا

وتعاهدنا جميعًا يومَ اقسمنا اليمينا
لن نخون العهدَ يومًا واتخذنا الصدقَ دينًا

ايّها الحُراس عفوًا واسمعوا منّا الكلاما
متعونا بهواءٍ منعه كانَ حرا مًا

لستُ والله نسّيًا ما تقاسيه بلادي
فاشهد يا نجم أنّي ذو وفاءٍ وودادِ

يا رنينَ القيدِ زدني  نغمةً تُشجي فؤادي
إن في صوتك معنىً للأسى والاضطهادِ

لم أكن يومًا اثيمًا لم أخن يومًا نظاما
انما حب بلادي في فؤادي قد اقاما​

Ode to the Prison Shadows

by Najib al-Rayyes (1898-1952)

This poem was written in 1922 by the Syrian journalist Najib al-Rayyes when he was exiled by the French and imprisoned on Arwad Island, a small island off the Syrian coast, for resisting French colonial occupation during the Mandate period. 

Oh, Prison Shadows, stay a while 

Indeed, we yearn for darkness[1]

It won't be long before the night

Is overcome by glorious dawn

Oh, Land of Pride

Oh, Abode of the Steadfast

We descended upon you while in our prime

Unafraid of death

We made a promise

The day we took the oath:

We would never betray the promise

And have taken integrity[2] as our religion

Oh, Prison Guards, we beg your pardon

Listen to our words

Grant us some air

Forbidding it was (always) forbidden

 

By God, I will not forget

The long-suffering of my country

Bear witness, Heavenly Star

That I am of the loyal and loving

Oh, Rattling Chains, grant me

A melody that grieves my heart

For in your voice[3] are meanings

Of sorrow and persecution

I was never a sinner

I never betrayed the order[4]

Rather the love of my country

Has taken residence in my heart.

---

[1] In Mai Masri’s film, the verse sung translates as “We are not afraid of the darkness,” rather than “Indeed, we yearn for the darkness.” 

[2] In Macadi Nahhas’s rendition, she sings “And we have taken love as our religion,” replacing the word "integrity."

[3] That is, the noise of the chains.

[4] This verse confused me at first.  One explanation I received is that the poet is saying he was not a criminal, a rabble-rouser, or a provocateur.

Nanu's Poetry

Dedication: In memory of our matriarchs, their lovers, and their poetry

Written Friday, 9 May 2014 // 9 Rajab 1435

Seven summers had passed when I returned to Bangladesh with my family as a new bride of one winter and spring.

The Nanu we encountered during that Dhaka visit was entirely different from the one I had known previously. Over long phone conversations, during the years I was away studying in Egypt, I learned a terrible trauma had silenced her for months -- but this Nanu, the matriarch of my maternal line, had much to say.  

This Nanu -- who had awakened from her long comatose silence -- awakened a poet.

Hundreds of verses she memorized as a child poured out. At times, she composed her own free verse. Other times, she gave the verses of her childhood schoolbooks her own personal touch. When she was in a good mood, she had couplets, longer poems, and rhymed stories ready in response to everyone and every thing. Although on the surface her selected poetic choices appeared deceptively flippant, I like to believe they were precise. She could be playfully mischievous; and at any moment -- when Nanu was filled with sadness by a memory or thought -- she would simply recite,

Things one sees on long spring walks

ভেঙ্গে গেল আমার স্বপ্নের ফুল 

ছিড়ে গেল আমার বিনার তার 

মর্ম উঠিয়া আমার হাহাকার

The flower of my dream is broken

My instrument's string is torn

Such is the depth of my sorrow

So when I returned six months newly-wed to Nanu the poet, she shared with me for the first time of the great love between her and Nur Miah--the grandfather I never met--who had passed almost twenty-five years before in Dharmapur on the bed he had made for them.

She dreamt of him often, and her dreams would leave her in a particular mood for the entire day.

One morning, in a bout of anger, she stubbornly refused to eat breakfast.  When my aunt gently coaxed her to eat, she said Nur Miah would not share his bowl of rice with her AGAIN and had THE NERVE to wink and smile the entire time. I realized she had awakened from a vision of him--and we all began to imagine that we knew him.

Drawn into her world, we missed him more than ever before. We imagined this man whom she first saw approaching her parent's home in Baraipur on a white horse must have been incredibly charming.

"What did you think when you first saw him, Nanu?" I'd ask her.

She'd smile, "I liked the horse very much."

"Was he handsome?" I'd ask her. 

"Oh, I was stunning."

Once, when I was lying down beside her, she recounted a conversation she had with him.  They considered where they would like to be buried after they had passed on.  When she cried that she didn't want to be alone, he told her he would find her even in the grave.  Then she said Nur Miah would recite:

তুমি যদি হইতা চাঁদ
আমি হইতাম সুর্য
প্রথম প্রভাতে উঠিয়ে
নয়ন খুলিয়ে
আমরা একী সাথে থাক্থাম  *

If you were the moon
I would be the sunlight
At the first break of dawn
As open eyes perceive
We would be as one. 

That summer, Nanu determined that my signature poem--the poem she loved most for me to recite to her again and again (and again)--would be the one she recited to Nur Miah when he would return home after a long trip. Each time, the conversation would go like this,

"Do you know what I'd tell him when he would come home?"

After the night she passed

"No, Nanu. What would you say?"

"I would say --

সামনে আসার যতক্ষণ

ভালবাসা ততক্ষণ 

সামনে আইলে পুড়ে মন

দুরে গেলে ঠনঠন

When you are before me 

Love lasts the duration

When you are before me

The heart burns

But go far away

Nothing.

She would shake her right fist in front of my face on the rhythm of ṭhanṭhan - the sound of nothing. Then she would conclude happily, with a sly, mischievous smile,

"Oh, he would become so furious! He would say, 'Thanṭhan? Thanṭhan?!? I crossed rivers for you, roads for you, walked through the rain and mud to return to you...and you say thanthan?!"

She then commanded me to recite this very poem to my new partner.  

So I committed the lines to memory, archived as "love's arsenal" and prayed it would make her happy to drive a lover of my own as crazy.

Al-Fatihah. 


 

In Praise of the Heavenly Night Traveller

Dedication: To the one who flew from one sanctuary to another as the full moon traverses the night sky[1]

On 4 May 2016 / 25 Rajab 1437, after an evening conversation over music and recitation, food, animals, and the night ascension, a friend was inspired to recite and share the following verses.  I have attempted to translate them and have included my rough translation below.  

Full moon over Jerusalem (Image from Islamicity.org)

صلوا على من قد سرى نحو السما
ليلا وعاد وما برحنا نوما
بالروح والجسم المطهر قد سما
قله وعلِّم من أبى تعليما 

صلوا عليه وسلموا تسليما

صلوا على من قد رأى الرحمنَ
بالقلب بل بالعين منه عيانا
من قاب أو أدنى قريبا كان
فخذ الفوائد واحذر التجسيما 

 صلوا عليه وسلموا تسليما

Pray upon the one who traversed the heavens in a night

Returning before we barely stirred from slumber

In spirit and purified body, he took flight

Humbling and teaching the one who rejected (him)

Invoke blessings and peace upon him.

Pray upon the one who beheld The Most Merciful

By heart and, indeed, the eye was witness

To One who was but a short distance--or intimately closer[2]

Take what you may of lessons and beware of anthropomorphism[3] 

Invoke blessings and peace upon him.

---

The Miraj by Sultan Muhammad (16th century)

[1] See the first verse of the chapter on the Night Journey and Ascension in The Mantle Ode by Al-Būṣīrī. 

[2] The poet echoes the ninth verse from the Chapter of the Star in the Qur’an (Sūrat al-Najm 53:9) in which God is described as being “at a distance of two bow lengths or nearer.”

[3] I couldn't think of a more poetic replacement for the technical term "anthropomorphism." Here, the poet is warning against the doctrinal and philosophical position of reading the Qur’anic text that refers to change in space and time in a way that anthropomorphizes God and conceptualizes the divine bound by space and time.