'Nation of Poets' | Discussions on Somali literature, poets and poetry | Historic and modern

[juzme123]

^ Brilliant! Thanks for posting.

[juzme123]

(The Somali equivalent of Romeo and Juliet and consists of many poems and songs). These poems and songs were/are taught in all Somali schools and this collection is among the most famous of Somali literature.

Cilmi (3ilmi) Boodhari


Hadday ili wax qabanayso
Oo lagu qaboobaayo
Ama qurux la daawado
Mar uun aadmi ku qancaayo
Aniguba Qadraan soo arkiyo
Qaararkii Hodane

Wax badan baan qumaati u hubsaday
Qalanjo naagoode
Ha yeeshee qaraan baa
Igu galay qalay naftaydiiye
Idinkuna halkii i qoomanayd
Baad i qabateene

Qalbigaan bogsiinaayey
Baad qac iga siiseene
Bal qiyaasa waataan qandahday
Qamareey awgiine
Qalaaxyaha gacmaa iyo junuhu
Way qarraqayaane

Qosolkaa yaryari
Waa waxaa nagu qaldaysaane
Inaan eebahay idin qatalin
Qariya laabtiina
Sidii geel harraadoo
Wax badan hawdka miranaayey

Oo haro la soo joojiyoo
Kureygu heegaayo
Oo hoobey loo qaaday
Iyo hadal Walwaaleedka
Kolkaad Hodan tidhaahdaanba
Waan soo hinqanayaaye

Hadday hawl yaraan idin la tahay
Aniga way hooge
Ayadoon xabaal lagu ham siin
Waanan ka hadhayne
Hammada beena baan idhi
Malaha waad la hurudaaye

Hareertayda oo madhan is idhi
Haabo gacanteeda
Goortaan hubsaday meel cidla ah
Onaan ku hawshooday
Hogaansigeedii dambaan
Soo habaabiraye

U haylhaylay gogoshii
Sidii halablihii Aare
Siday iga haleeyeen
Maryihii hiifay oo tumaye
Haab-haabtay labadii go'oo
Shaadhkii maan heline

U hamiyey sidii wiil la dhacay
Kkadin ay haysteene
U handaday sidii geel biyaha
Hoobay loo yidhiye
U hagoogtay sidii geesi ay
Niman ka hiisheene

U hiqleeyey sida naag la yidhi
Huray dalaaqdaaye
Wax aanad haynin ood ku hammida
Hadimo weeyaane
Hoh-eey iyo Hoh-eey
Maxaa hadimo la ii geystey

[juzme123]

This a geeraar-poem.

In Praise of My Horse.
Ali Bu'ul.

My horses reaches,
In but one afternoon,
From the seaside of Bulahar,
To the slopes of the Almis mountains,

Harawe of the pools,
Hargeisa of the gob trees,
Is it not,
Like a scudding cloud?

From its pen,
A huge roar is heard,
Is it not,
Like a lion leading a pride?

In the open plains it makes,
Camels kneel down,
Is it not,
Like an expert camel-rustler?

Its mane and tail,
With white tufts on top,
Is it not as beautiful,
As a Galool tree abloom?

[juzme123]

The nation of poets - Where poetry is revered

Imagine a country where poetry is everything. Imagine a place where the poets themselves are folk heroes and role models, a place where
everyone knows the verses by heart and where crowds gather spellbound to hear the most popular poets perform.

What you’re imagining is probably not Somalia, a country that has become a byword for death, mayhem and chaos, but where poetry is a political tool as powerful as the gun.

“Without poetry we would not exist as a society. It can rouse thousands of people in a minute and demobilize thousands in a minute. As the stomach needs food, so the brain needs beautiful words,” said Mohamed Ibrahim Warsame, known as Hadraawi, Somalia’s most famous poet.

Some have compared Hadraawi to Shakespeare and his works have been translated internationally. With sparkling eyes and a neatly trimmed white beard, the 66-year-old explained, “Poetry is a tool that we use in both war and peace. When we want to tell somebody something, poetry is the best way to convince them.” As Hadraawi put it: “Poems and not just recited for their own sake, there must be a purpose.” It is hard to overstate the importance of poetry in Somalia. Here it is not an esoteric minority interest but a form of mass popular culture. When poets such as Hadraawi perform — the words half-sung, half-spoken — audiences are silent, taking in every word. “You think the audience is not breathing; they are trying to feel the words,” said one Somali poetry fan.

“Poetry has many roles,” said Boobe Yusuf Duale, program coordinator at Hargeisa’s Academy for Peace and Development, a cultural institution in the breakaway territory of Somaliland.

“It has an awareness, a sensitization, an educational role; it has a role in helping people to develop, in saving the environment; it has got socio-economic and political roles; it has cultural and ethical and moral roles.

“In traditional Somali society poetry played the role of the media and to a certain extent it still does: it tells people what’s going on,” said Duale. “Poetry and prose are extremely important for the Somali people. It’s the only thing that can turn the people to you or against you, that is how powerful it is,” explained Dhuh.

“We are a nation of poets,” said Hadraawi. That may be true but it is a side of Somalia rarely seen as, so often, the gunfire drowns out the poetry.

Globalpost.com

[juzme123]

Self-Misunderstood

Maxamed Xaashi Dhamac 'Gaarriye'

I can't understand you, curious self,
nor grasp how you're both life and death,
grabbed land and peaceful settlement,
grudging milker that makes me full,
sun set at evening whilst casting
noon's shortest shadow: how can you be
two who can't marry
yet share the same house?

How can I set this riddle and
give away its answer if
I fail to understand your secret
or even what you mean by it?

Are you something separate,
a stand-alone that leans
upon no man’s shoulder,
or such a part of the people
that you can't be parted from them?

And are you that which is Gaarriye
or two opposing halves
he cannot fit together?
I call you, crooked creation:
bear witness to your character.

I can't get to grips with you, gregarious self
are you the same age as Gurey
and his fellow constellations?
Are you all kin?

And what about the history of the Greeks,
the Pharaoh's army and
the goring of kings,
what about the groans of war,
the dynasties you saw destroyed?
Bear witness to it all.

My limbs and all their molecules,
call them to the stand:
line them up in ranks,
collect their statements;
those million monsoons that marched past,
tell them to complete
the tale of that trek
which each one took, the night-walking
and the assignations,
where they were each afternoon
when they made Gaariye:
make their stories flow like milk.

I can't seem to fix you, quarrelsome self,
you're like that riverbed, Waaheen,
shifting between long drought, brief spate –
that business you concluded yesterday,
signed, sealed and celebrated,
today you snatch it back
and poke it full of holes.
Did you tear up all natal traits,
redraft infancy and all its rites?
Or did truth grow old, and find
its essence not eternal after all?
Where does the failure lie?

Your usual impact is to put
the people in two minds,
to keep them from deciding


one casts you as the hero
they could never see back down;
while another thinks you short of wits –
your way lost, your well dry –
a barren camel; another one
misses you as he'd miss his own son –
if a speck of grit scratched you
he could not be consoled;
one casts you as cobra,
trustless as a looter; while another
has you as the strong shoulder,
a sure repayer of kindness,
deserving of good deeds,
a shelter and a shield.

Unquantified soul, secret from yourself,
ungraspable for others –
they all fall short in the fathoming.
Did anyone ever track you down
and shake you by the hand
or did they all end up lost?
Or could it be you who fails them?
Hiding within your shapeshifting,
a different colour for each place,
each night a new beast, a different face?

I can't get to grips with this garrulous self
even if my lope outstrips
the galloping of ostriches or horses,
even if I vanish from their horizons,
enter and depart from orbit
in the same instant you are with me,
you never fall short of my side.
Wherever I stand, whenever I stop,
you stand and stop with me
as though I carried round a debt
and someone said, 'Collect it!'
as though you were a good catch,
a woman looking for a husband.
Why is it you never sleep,
following me everywhere?

Whatever crime I commit,
whatever ugliness I enter into;
each shameful deed
that is my very own –
even though I gird myself to lie,
pull on another mask
to leave people at a loss –
you record each defect
as though set down on tape,
insidiously fill me with guilt,
obligation, injury:
you see through me as a wife does –
but why understand me by my flaws?

Curious, gregarious, garrulous self,
did you fail to grasp the stifling norms?
To quarrel with those who rap our knuckles
for whom only their diktats
need be acknowledged,
and not what you conclude

[juzme123]

Caqliga Wanaagsan

Xassan Sheekh Muumin

Gorayadu ilmaheed
aroori bay dhigtaayoo
aboodigu ku laayaa,
shimbirtuna aroosay
ilaxidhoo ammaana bay
ubadkeeda seexisaa.

Kala awran labaduye
edebtiyo aqoontiyo
asluubtay isku dhaafeen.
Caqligii wanaagsani
itaal in uu ka roon yahay
bal eegoo u fiirsada.

Ilka weynoo maroodigu
araduu mirtaa buu
cadawgu ku ugaadhaa,
aboorkuna duddumadaan
aragnay buu dhistaayoo
naftiisa ku ilaashaa.

Kala awran labaduye
edebtiyo aqoontiyo
asluubtay isku dhaafeen.
Caqligii wanaagsani
itaal in uu ka roon yahay
bal eegoo u fiirsada.

Ma ogtahay sagaaradu
awaarahay qoddaayoo
saaladeeda ku aastaa,
libaaxuna ma asturee
hilimaduu ka arooruu
digadiisa ku aslaa.

Kala awran labaduye
edebtiyo aqoontiyo
asluubtay isku dhaafeen.
Caqligii wanaagsani
itaal in uu ka roon yahay
bal eegoo u fiirsada.

--- English

Good Sense

Hassan Sheekh Muumin

The ostrich places
Her young in the open
Where the hawk kills
But the small bird marries
And beds her young
In a nest that's safe

Different in size, the two
In manners, wisdom
And sense are opposite
See how good sense
Is superior to strength
And think on it.

The elephant with large tusks
Grazes at night in land
Where the enemy hunts him
But the termite builds
The mound we see
Protects himself within it.

Different in size, the two
In manners, wisdom
And sense are opposite
See how good sense
Is superior to strength
And think on it.

Do you know the dikdik?
She digs at the dust
Buries her droppings
But does the lion conceal his?
The path to the watering hole
He stains with his dung.

Different in size, the two
In manners, wisdom
And sense are opposite
See how good sense
Is superior to strength
And think on it.

[juzme123]

Alleyl Dumay

Raage Ugaas

Alleyl dumay albaabbadoo xiran, uunku wada seexday
Onkod yeedhay uugaamo roob, alif banaadiiq ah
Iihdayda bixi baa libaax, iman la moodaaye
Raggase adhaxdiyo ooftu waa, udub dhexaadkiiye
Labadii wax laga eegi jirey, waan ka awdnahaye
Halkaan aa ka leeyahay Ilaah, keliya uun baa og
Aboodigu ma lalo garab hadduu, iin ku leeyahaye
Orod uma hollado oglihii, adhaxda beelaaye
Ma aarsado il iyo oof ninkii, iimi kaga taale
Aroos uma galbado nimuu, wadnaha arami jiifaaye
Geeluba kolkuu oomo waa, olol badnaadaaye
Sidii inan yar oo hooyadeed, aakhiro u hoyatay
Oo aabbeheed aqal mid kale, meel illin ah seexshey
Hadba waxaan la urugoonayaa, uur-ku-taallada e
Ninkii ooridiisii rag kale, loo igdhaan ahaye
Ninka ilo biyo leh soo arkoo, oomman baan ahaye
Nin ugaas walaalkiis yahoo, eeday baan ahaye
Af-dhabaandhow aayar ninkaa, aammusaan ahaye

---English

Night Has Fallen

Raage Ugaas

Night had fallen and behind closed doors everyone was sleeping
Thunder called out with a clamour of rain like shots from a thousand rifles
So was my wailing heard that they thought it a lion approaching
For men the spine and ribsides are the body's central support
I am shut away now from the eyes through which I used to see
Only God knows the source of my lamentations
The vulture with an injury to his shoulder cannot fly
The horse who has lost his spine cannot gallop
The man injured in eye and ribs cannot seek revenge
A man whose heart aches cannot take a bride home
When the camels are thirsty their outcries increase
Like a small girl whose mother now lives in the hereafter
Whose father has brought another woman to sleep in the home*
I grieve constantly from the sorrow deep in my belly
I'm the man whose fiancée has been given to another
I'm the man who sees springs but whose thirst remains unquenched
I'm the man whose brother is leader and yet is accused
I am that silent man who sits, slowly patting his mouth again and again

[juzme123]

Mother

Maxamed Ibraahim Warsame 'Hadraawi'

The world certainly
Would never have left night
Light not been found
People not have trekked
To a star over the Hawd*
Would not have flown
Like birds of prey
To the moon in the clouds
Not have sent rockets
That appear like waves in the sky
Nor reached into space

Oh Mother, you've guided
The servants of God
To where they are today
With numbers I cannot
Calculate or count
The number of great people
You carried on your back
That you suckled
That you nourished
From your breast

When you bear a man
With support of his kin
Whose posessions men fear to thief
A steadfast hero
Mother, you are commemorated for it.

When you bear a generous man
Who says 'Please, take this.'
Who when a visitor
Arrives with nothing
Gives of his wealth
Coming closer to God
A man people wish
Would never die
Mother, you are commemorated for it.

When you bear a man
Who in his intention
Follows a straight path
When he meets one wave
Then deals with the next
Who guides his dependents
Whom all wish to emulate
Mother, you are commemorated for it.

When you bear a man who stands
Against disaster and war
Who understands the law
Deliberates on the truth
Dampens conflict and danger
When it's set alight
Who prevents bloodshed
Gives order to the people
Leads them all
Mother, you are commemorated for it.

When you bear a famous poet
Who knows the construction and decoration
The composition and the tuneful chant
Tightly forming the words of poetry
Which God has given as a gift
The artist who shapes all this
Mother, you are commemorated for it.

Women are needed in life
The ones sought after
Like a forest of fresh leaves
Men are wanting, and what
Their eyes fall on
Are those women of yours
When marriage is discussed
It is a woman, a tall heego cloud
Like ripe fruit, rich
In strength, maturity and beauty,
It's Hira, that one marries
Mother, you are commemorated for it.

Oh Mother, without you
Language would not be learnt
Oh Mother, without you
Speech would be impossible
There is no one in the world
You did not bring up
To whom you haven't sung,
Haven't calmed with lullabies,
Not one who lacked you efforts
In reaching maturity
That compassion has not covered
In the house of love.

Oh Mother, through you
Peace is made certain
Oh Mother, on your lap
The child falls to sleep
Oh Mother, by your hem
Shelter is found
Oh Mother, the infants
Benefit from your teaching
You gladden the camel calf
You, the rain cloud that cools
You, the essential sleeping mat
You, the clean shelter
You, a heritage all journey towards.

Mother, while you live
I anoint you with congratulations
Greetings and wealth
I cover you with respect and esteem
Mother, your death
Is my disaster
In both body and mind
I hold your memory
I sing still for you
Above your grave
I wear the mourning cloth
Knowing that better than here
Where the birds fly
The animals roam
Where all creation lives
By the gift of God
Better than all this
Is the hereafter.

---

Hooyo

Hooyoy la'aantaa
Adduunyadu hubaashii
Habeen kama baxdeenoo
Iftiin lama heleenoo
Dadku uma hayaameen
Xiddig hawd ka lulatoo
Sida haad ma fuuleen
Dayax heego joogoo
Hubka laguma tuureen
Hawo laguma gaadheen
Cirka hirar ka muuqdoo
Hooyoy addoomuhu
Halkay maanta joogaan
Adigow horseedoo
Intaad hanad xambaartee
Haaneedka siisee
Horaaddada jaqsiisee
Habtay baan xisaab iyo
Tiro lagu heleynoo.
Marka aad nin hiilloo
Laga baqo hashiisiyo
Halyey diran dhashaabaa
Hooyo lagu xusuustaa
Marka aad nin hoo-loo
Gurigiisa habaqluhu
Isku soo halleeyoo
Hayntiisa quudhoo

Hor Ilaahay geystiyo
Lama hure dhashaabaa
Hooyo lagu xusuustaa.
Marka aad nin himilada
Hilin toosan mariyoo
Hir markii la gaadhoba
Ku labaad hilaadshoo
Haga maatadiisoo
La higsado dhashaa baa
Hooyo lagu xusuustaa.
Marka aad nin hooggiyo
Ka hor taga dagaalkoo
Garta hubin yaqaanoo
Xaqa hoos u eegoo
Halistiyo colaadaha
Dabka hura bakhtiiyoo
Ku haggoogta dhiiggoo
Dadka kala hagaajoo
Kala haga dhashaa baa
Hooyo lagu xasuustaa.
Markaad hoobal caaniyo
Hindisaa farshaxanoo
Hab-dhaca iyo luuqdiyo
Hawraarta maansada
Heensayn yaqaannoo
Rabbi hibo u siiyo
Labadaba hannaanshiyo
Hal-abuur dhashaa baa
Hooyo lagu xasuustaa.

Dumar iyo haween baa
Nolol lagu haweystaa
Kuwa lagu hammiyayee
Sida hawd caleen weyn
Rag u wada hamuumee
Ishu halacsanaysaa
Hablahaaga weeyee
Marka guur la haybshee
Gabadh heego dheeroo
Hoobaan la moodoo
Karti iyo hub-qaadloo
Quruxdana ka hodaniyo
Hira1 laga aroostaa
Hooyo lagu xusuustaa.
Hooyoy la'aantaa
Higgaad lama barteenoo
Hooyoy la'aantaa
Hadal lama kareenoo
Ruuxaanad habinoo
Kolba aanad hees iyo
Hoobey ku sabinoo
Hawshaada waayaa
Hanaqaadi maayee
Hoygii kalgacalkee
Naxariistu hadataay.
Hooyoy dushaadaa
Nabad lagu hubaayoo
Hooyoy dhabtaadaa
Hurdo lagu gam'aayoo

Hooyoy taftaadaa
Dugsi laga helaayoo
Waxa lagu hal-maalaa
Hooyo ababintaadee
Hayin lagu badhaadhaay
Hogol lagu qaboobaay
Gogol lama huraaneey
Dugsigii hufnaantaay
Hidda lagu arooraay.
Intaad hooyo nooshahay
Hambalyiyo salaan baan
Hanti kaaga dhigayaa
Hamrashiyo xaq-dhowr baan
Dusha kaa huwinayaa,
Hooyo dhimashadaaduna
Hooggayga weeyoo
Hiyiga iyo laabtaan
Kugu haynayaayoo
Weligey hoggaagaan
Ka dul heesayaayoo
Hengel baan u xidhiyaa
Inta haadka duushiyo
Idil habar dugaaggee
Ifka hibo ku noolow
Aakhiro halkii roon.

[juzme123]

Ignorance is the Enemy of Love by Faarax M. J. Cawl.

Translated by B.W. Andrzejewski.

The author of the novel, Faarax Cawl, was born in Las Qoray in the Sanag Region of Somalia in 1937. The Somali title of the novel is "Aqoondarro Waa u Nacab Jacayl". The translation into English is by Russian linguist B.W. Andrzejewski.

Synopsis:

Cawrala falls in love with Calimaax although she has already been promised to a rich and elderly man by her father. The character of Cawrala is a classic example of the strength and spiritedness of Somali women. She is a poet who does not wait for signs of Calimaax’s affection but instead writes a poem to him herself declaring her love. Unfortunately, Calimaax can neither read nor write. Not knowing that Cawrala’s note is a love poem, he asks his brother-in-law to read it, thus insulting his wife’s relatives unintentionally. This incident inspires Calimaax to learn how to read and write. As he says:

"It is now clear to me that not being able to read and write is a matter of great ignorance, in which stupidity and disgrace are combined. I’ve seen today that ignorance is like a moonless night, like the darkness which screens off from you the world and the light of day-there’s no doubt that whatever a man’s inborn abilities may be, whatever his manly qualities, if he is ignorant his true manhood is flawed and incomplete, as I witnessed in this incident today, when I brought trouble and disgrace on myself and made a fool of myself in front of my wife’s relatives (p. 35-36)"

"You sent to me at Taleex a precious letter of love-you know this well-and there was nothing in its sweet art and wisdom nor in its mode of expression that could have been ignored or rejected. It created in me a love, ardour and affection that I had not felt for you before. But it was my ill fortune, Cawrala, that because of my ignorance I could not read your letter, and instead I handed it to my new neighbours, who did not want us two to come together. The discovery of my secret led to my being hurried away to a remote part of the eastern region, so that I would be kept far away from Xiis, where you lived. There in the east I played my part in a noteworthy way in the Dervish offensive against the British, but before I could reach the coast and seize some of their ships I was wounded and left for dead. For a long time I could not deliver myself from that empty, deserted place, where for sustenance I had only the berries and leaves which grow on the Cal mountains. I had beasts of prey for company-all of them-and one night the accursed leopard attacked me, tearing a wound in my flesh, when I already had a broken thigh and was holding on to life only by God’s mercy. Nevertheless, in spite of all I had to go through, God rescued me from all the troubles that had come upon me. What I am trying to tell you is that my delay in coming to you was caused by all this-that this is why I did not get to you in time before you were taken to the wedding against your will. O Cawrala, how bitter I feel, how deeply sorrowful I am, how stricken with impotent anger from which I get no respite, that you had to die because of your love for me! (p. 82) "

[Constantine MMX]

^How did you find this book? I've been looking for it for ages. There are few novels about historic kingdoms, empires and states in historic Africa like that one, padded with romance, philosophy and poetry.


In other news: Somali poet Hadrawi to be one of the laureates of the 2012 Prince Claus Awards - Award money: $25 000.

[juzme123]

^ I came across the title in a video and looked it up. There were about 3 original copies on sale on Amazon, of which I now own one

I'm in the process of reading it and its a fascinating book. I'll let you know my verdict when i've read it. One thing I would say is that perhaps the translator has been too rigid in terms of how he has translated it.

I would be very interested in reading the Af-Soomaali (original) version but i've yet to find that one. Any other similar books you would recommend?

[juzme123]

Originally Posted by Constantine MMX

In other news: Somali poet Hadrawi to be one of the laureates of the 2012 Prince Claus Awards - Award money: $25 000.

That's fantastic news sxb. I'll click on the link later as i'm a bit short of time atm. Thanks for posting it anyway, itll be interesting to read about.

I heard about the Hargeisa International bookfair recently, I'll see if I can post any info/pics about that too.

[juzme123]

The Messenger
BY: Ilmi Boodheri

Winds that possess the power of speech
Are something new in this world, perhaps,
But you must swear to me, O wind, by the Everlasting One
That you will receive the impress of my words!

Indeed I would have gone to the sailing ships
And handed them my letters in a packet
But ships may tarry on their hourneys
And nights may pass before they come to port.

So it is you, O Wind, whom I have chosen,
You who have the speed that I demand.
Swear to me then bu the Everlasting One
That you will receive the impress of my words!

You pass above the ground,
Above the settlements of men,
Never resting, you run and run
As if sent by God on everlasting errands.

Weariness is not for you,
It is only the living whose breath gives out.
I have heard that other men have stepped forward
To claim the girl on whom my mind was set -
Wind, swear to me by the Everlasting One
That you will carry my words through the air!

Daaroole is where I found my solace,
That is the place that you must find,
And nothing must stop you -
Not bad roads, nor screens of matting.

Muuse knows the country well
And he knows where she is to be found.
There is a man who looks at her admiringly -
O this world is a precipitous mountain path!

Tell her that stone houses and walls would have felt the pain
Tell her that termite hills would have sprouted green grass
If they had but heard these words of mine!

[juzme123]

What follows next is the most fascinating story I have read in years. Just brilliant. A recent new member asked for "something to return to", well here you go. Enjoy, and check back soon for parts 2, 3 and 4. And after I have posted the complete series of this story, I have some sensational poetry next in line

The serpent
BY: Muuse Xaaji Ismaaciil Galaal
Translated by B.W. Andrzejewski with Sheila Andrzejewski
Source: 1993, An Anthology of Somali Poetry, Indiana University Press

PART 1

There was once a soothsayer, skilled at foretelling the future by turning and counting his beads, who had such success with his predicitons that his fame reached the sultan. At an assembly the sultan offered him to work out a horoscope for the coming year, promising him a rich reward if it came true but death if it did not. With trepidation the soothsayer began to turn his beads, but time and time again the result was meaningless, and the impatient sultan finally told him to come back in a week's time with his prediction - or die.

For six days the soothsayer wandered in the wilderness, counting over his beads, but not one intelligible answer came out, and he resigned himself to death. Suddenly he was startled by a serpent, and still more startled when it spoke to him with kind words. They swore a mutual pact of peace, and the serpent offered to help him, asking only for a half-share in the sultan;s reward as his payment. Eagerly the soothsayer agreed, and the snake began:

I have found out the secrets of the time that is to come
Listen to what I have to say!

Eight years have passed since the deeds of Ibliis, Prince of Evil.
The round of the years has brought back the jins
And all their wickid deeds
There are signs to be seen in the return of this eight year -
A wife who covers her head with a mourning scarf,
Brave men slaughtered, looted herds,
Vultures pecking at the flesh of sturdy warriors,
Disaster!
Men are preparing busily for war,
Their rusty battle-spears made newly sharp.
Horses are fattened, and harnessed ready for the fray,
And once-dry waterskins, with fastenings new-fixed,
Are ready again to slake men's thirst.
Whether you close your eyes in sleep, whether you flee,
Or whether in readiness you draw your sword from its scabbard,
Soon there wil come a fierce and determined cohort
Sand against the very dust the encounter with them raises
You will cry out to God in awe!

[juzme123]

PART 2

Joyfully the soothsayer blessed the serpent and hurried off to tel the sultan that he must prepare for war. For the whole year there was fighting, bu his people gained a final victory, and gratefully he bestowed on the soothsayer large herds of valuable animals.

As the soothsayer drove them away he remembered his promise that the serpent should get half the reward. But the animals were so beautiful - and he began to question the wisdom of keeping his promise. Would it not be more sensible to kill such a dangerous creature? He took up his sword and went in search of his benefactor - but the blow he aimed at it hit only the tree where it had been lying, while it slithered away to safety.

Now the time came when once again the sultan wanted to know what the next year would bring, and once again the soothsayer could get no answer from his beads. In despair he went back to the serpent, contrite and apologetic, and begged him with tears to help him. Th emagnanimous creature agreed, but had a few words to say first:


Mankind, O Diviner, was destined, it seems,
To be the cause of this world's woes.
Butchering each other was your invention
'Stab' was a word that you devised,
And the fire that you have kindled
Will consume a large part of creation.
When you are weak and defenceless
How fond you are of friendship
And the support of mutual aid -
But for the man you call your friend
When you were pressed by need,
You care nothing when your purpose is achieved!

You have broken the covenant in which you entered
And the pact that once was made between us.
The evil deeds of the sons of Adam
Will surely end by destroying the world!
What you say out loud with your lips
You do not really mean in your heart.

It was I who saved you from a trap
When you came to me in such dire straits.
I expected some reward from you
But instead, you dolt, the profit I gained
Was a deadly blow from a hilted sword!
The thud and crack of that sword of yours -
The cloud of dust that vexed my head -
The fear in which I fled from you -
Leaping, stumbling, dashing against euphorbia trees -
My ears were made deaf by all that happended!
O how I was taken in by you -
By that trickling tear, that gaunt aspect,
Those pleeding words which touched my flesh,
Those jinn-like supplications!

So do not look for trust from me
For that trust fell down a very deep hole.
I shall tel you this, for the sake of God -
You are a doer of evil deeds!
I have no doubt that many a time
You have oppressed weak men and orphans,
And in my view you are paying now
For all the injustice you committed -
An old debt of yours is now being settled.

Nevertheless - tell the sultan who sent you here
That a wasting drought will come.
Tell him that grass in the pastured will wither,
That trees will die, the ones that stand in groves
And the ones that grow alone and tall.
Tell him that water will no longer flow
In pool or shallow well, valley or running stream.
Tell him that those who are weak and poor
Will perish with their flocks
And only the black-headed sheep
And the sturdiest camel will live.

But tell him, too, that hard work and resourcefullness
Will help a man to survive till the rains return.

[juzme123]

Part 3

The soothsayer was almost dazed with gratitude, and this time he assured the serpent that he would bring him the whole of the reward that the sultan had promised him. The serpent only replied, "Well, we shall see!"

Once again the prediction came true, but the sultan and his people, who had been forewarned and had gathered stocks of food, came through the hard times while others perished. The soothsayer received his reward, and as he was driving his animals away, he remembered his promise to give them all to the serpent. But the love of wealth stirrid in him, and he told himself it would be foolish to give such beautiful animals away - he would keep them for himself and not go near the serpent at all.

But a third time he was called by the sultan to predict the coming year, and a third time he realised that there was nothing for it but to consult the serpent. The creature laughed when he saw him, but without rancour began his prediction:

Tell the sultan who sent you here
That the sky will bring back the clouds once more
For it is barren no longer, and carries the Dirir rains
Tell him that soon, on a night half-spent,
Flashes of lightning will be seen,
And the bountiful plenty of the Daydo rains
Will fall, just as it used to.
Tell him that showers will pass over the land
That had been laid bare by drought.
Tell him that the herds will suffer no more
On their long treks to the water-holes.
Tell him that the torrents will scurry like lizards
Through the dry scrub of arid valleys,
That fresh grass will pring up round the encampments
And that among the herds that have survived the droughts
There will be beats in milk

Tell him that the wife who was banished from her husband's side
Inthe rigorous months of the rainless season
Will soon build a hut as spacious as a house of stone.
Now she can put off her workaday clothes
And dress herself anew in the silks
She had kept rolled up against this time.
Incense-burners appear from nooks and crannies
And a mat for sleeping is spread in a snug recess,
For her husband had had no thought of love
While the harsh dry season lasted,
But now that his flesh has lost its gauntness
He will come once more inside the hut.
Now he can choose what food he will eat -
No longer is he driven by hunger alone.
Over and over, with tender little words, he will be asked
To take more, and yet again more.
His wife will come and go, fetching this bowl or that,
And as she passes to and fro so close to him
The love that had grown old will become young again,
And in their revelry and play sons of blessing
Will be conceived, sons bright as thunderbolts.

Tell the sultan, too, that the younger men
Will not remain for long unwed.
They will marry, in a befitting way,
The girls they have been yearning for,
And riding displays and dancing
Will entertain and honour them.
And tell him, finally, that a man who so wishes
Will be free to turn his ming to faith and prayer.

[juzme123]

Part 4.

Everything befell as the serpent predicted, and the sultan and his people had a joyful year. The soothsayer, more than ever repentant of his treatment of the serpent, gathered all the animals together that he had received as reward and went in search of him. He offered them all to him, asked for his forgiveness, begged that they should become friends, and finally asked him, "You, who are wise, will you tell me about the world and about life?"

In answer the serpent said,

As for friendship - I become a friend to no one.
I either harm a man or help him,
According to the purpose for which I have been sent.

As for forgiveness - I have forgiven you.
As for the animals you brought to me -
I give them all back into your hands,
But nevertheless I regard the gift
As having been accepted.

Now as for the world and life - I tell you this:
World there is, but life is not distinct from it.
Your life, as you call it, goes as the world goes
For God made the world with many patterns
And it is these that rule men's lives.

When war is the pattern of the times
All men are at enmity with each other,
And thus it was that in the war just past
You took up your sword against me
Even after I had helped you,
And said to yourself, "Cut off his head!"
And then again, at a time of drought
No man is generous to his fellows,
So you ran away with all your herds,
Giving me no share of the sultan's reward.
But when there is a pattern of prosperity,
What man is ever ungenerous or full of hate?
So you came to me, offering me all you had,
Not keeping even one animal for yourself.
Each time it was the pattern, not you yourself,
That forced you to do what you did.

And now I shall tell you who I am.
I am not a serpent, but Fate, the Leveller,
And you will not see me again after this day -
Farewell!

[juzme123]

A Terrible Journey
BY: Maxamed Abdille Xassan

A story of betrayal. Late 1800's

A trailing of rosy light, hazy wisps high above,
Towering precipices of clouds, flashes of lightning,
Thunder reverberating, flood-water rushing in spate,
The earth and air vibrating with the sounds ahead,
Last nights heavy rain that roared like a falling meteorite,
Showers pouring down, the speldour of spring rains,
A pond filled to the brim,
Pools overflowing, hollows swelling with water,
The parched land sprouting grass, thickets rustling -
Like this will your longings be alleyed,
As when a camel slakes her craving
When the salty water is pured out for her,
For I shall entertain you
With a poem like a preciouss stone.

Listen to my words then -
Tonight I shall pour them out for you!

When I was staying in my homestead,
I and the troops who were my kin,
No man ever uttered to me
One single hurtful or offensive word
No one came to me who would have robbed me
Of even the smallest scrap of leather.
I studied the commentaries of the Jalaals,
I persued religion through ecstatic states.
In the quiet comfort of my own headquarters
I joined the congregation in their communal prayers.
Whatever I wished was given to me in full -
I had all the good things of this world,
Frothy sour milk I drank, and curds,
And I was never deprived of food when I wanted it.

Then folly possed me
And cheated me of the jewl of my life-force,
Me - a man not devoid of high purpose,
And ready to climb the mountain peaks,
Who like an unbroken he-camel
Has never known the touch of a bridle!
But when the words that called me to come
Were uttered, and prevailed on me,
It was by an ordinance of God
That I was compelled to do what I did.

There was a thicket of Xagar trees,
There were Jaleefan and Qurac, and the cutting Jinow
The close-growing Galool, and the Sarmaan
With its pods that whistle in the wind,
The swinging and recoiling Jimbac,
The intertwining Jiiq trees,
The Jiic shrub and the Siiq wild fig,
The stining Jillab nettles,
The shrivelled Jowdheer gum tree,
Jagged branches inflicting grievious pain,
The Jirme with its thorns,
The Jiiqjiq with its prickles,
The Jeerin and the Yooco flame tree,
The Qaroon, the Jaaful and the Seerin,
And tree-stumps everywhere along the path I trod.
Journeying through the night I tore my way
Through tick-infested bushland
And I stumbled and fell
As the ground dropped steeply beneath my feet.
A lion roared, its front paws as thick and rough
As an old pack-saddle.
He followed me along the track of footprints
That I myself was following -
I could hear his steps behind me,
And time after time I turned to look back.
Spies were lurking on either side,
Watching as I made each step in fear,
Stretching out my arms before me.
With strips of bark I warded off
A wild dog and a hairy-tufted rhino,
A leopard shrieked at me, possesed by jinns,
And suddenly a whole crowd of beasts of prey
Were playing and sporting there.
Stalking marauders appeared far off,
Prowling in the scrub of the waterless plain,
And then a hunter passed close by,
Cautiously crouthing as he walked.

I came to a stretch of broken ground
Where not one family camp was pitched,
I trudged across a waterless land
Where the vary air engendered thirst.
The Francolin screamed at sight of me
And the ill-omened Bustard uttered his piteous cries.
I trekked along a drought stricken road
The wind of the Xagaa season licking my face.
My eyes lost their power as without cease I peered about me,
And I had to turn my face from the springing, whipping branches.

Marching from early morning, marching again in the afternoon,
I pressed on towards the East.
With every swing of arm or leg
I could hear the clamour of my cracking joints.
On that long journey I counted each weary span I trod
As thorns shed by the trees snapped under my shoes.

How prickly and sore was my skin -
What distress I suffered -
What sharp blows to my ankles and pains in all my tendons!
Stumbling and tripping I hit one foot against the other -
Spine and sinews were racked by the hurt inflicted on them
And I even broke a tow on a tree-stump in the ground.
I tore through euphorbia that crackled like crickets,
Through caltrops that pricked and entangled.
I was exhausted by the trek, parched with the heat and hungry
And as I marched on and on my body grew lean and gaunt.

Springing, I snatched my foot from a Jilbis and a Good
Only to step on an Abees as it lay, coiled and scaly skinned,
While the other snake that goes chrak-chrak-chrak, dashed into me
As it clattered on its way.
I fell to the ground exhausted
Yet I could not rest where I lay,
And moaning, I bent my limbs, then stretched,
Then bent them once again.
Through hunger and thrist my gullet was blocked
And in no way could I free it.

When the morning star appeared I resumed my march,
Trudging to the ring of my sandals on the ground.
On that early morning journey
My countenance grew haggard
And there was a roaring in my ears
As loud as a falling meteorite.
But I got into this plight myself
And the body that I injured was my own.
The fate I am suffering was ordained for me by the Lord
And driven by want I had to drain it to the dregs.

Had there been no answer from Boqor
I would not have craved for the coast as camels crave for salt.
My body would not have suffered hurt
If he had told me to stay away
But it was my affection for him
That drew me to the sand-dunes by the sea.

The journey across the steep enscarpments
Must have been decreed for me by God
For only an ignorant man does not know
Whither he is being taken by a leading-rope,
But it was Boqor dangling before me a shawl of honour
That brought this trial upon me.
There was a time when he and his men
Had gifts from me of horses and bellowing camels,
Herds of humped cattle and flocks of sheep and goats,
And I untied prodigious sums of money
And crammed their pockets full.
For them I slaughtered gelded camels, big of flank,
And cut them the choiciest, fattest meat.
For them great dishes of millet
Were in friendship filled and filled agin,
And vessels brimmed with fresh milk from flocks, newly calved,
That crooned and murmured to their young.
I gave them splendid brides
And houses decorated with screens of skin,
I offered them jars of honey and well-smoked meat to eat,
For them I burnt Jaawi incense and filled pots full of tea.

These were men whom at the assembly-hall
I took care never to offend.

But never did I expect any reward from them for all I did,
For my meed will come from God alone.

***

Not matter what plans a man may make,
The outcome will be decided not by him
But by the constraining forces of the times.

[juzme123]

The Somali poet Mohamed Hashi Damaca (nicknamed "Gaarriye) has passed away. I had posted some of his poems in this thread so this is sad news.

AUN to him.

[IMG]http://i46.************/zjtily.jpg[/IMG]

[Constantine MMX]

^RIP