ترجمة قصيدة أبو تمام وعروبة اليوم

[ahmed_allaithy]

ترجمتي شعرًا لقصيدة: أبو تمام وعروبة اليوم
عبد الله البردوني

How true the sword when not unsheathed by lies, But false the blade if wrath does not arise. The gleaming steel best guides when it is borne By hands that, conquering, lift honor's horn. Yet victory is vile when strength prevails Without the wisdom of what it entails. More dire than ignorance, a knowledge vain, Content with half-men who o'er others reign. They claim, "We are the best of humankind," Yet feast upon man's flesh with heart and mind. What has befallen? You ask me, Abu Tammam? Forgive me—I'll relate, though silence calm. The question bleeds with shame when we inquire How Haifa welcomed foes with friendly fire. Who answers now? Is there a steadfast chief? Nay, more disgraced than Afshin is our grief. Today, the Roman hordes return as kings, Our plundered home beneath their shadow clings. What did we do? We raged like valiant men, But faith we lacked, though stars foretold us then. The trumpets fought alone with steadfast sound, While men lay dead or fled the battleground. Our rulers, when they face their land, oppress; Confronted by the foe, they acquiesce. They spread before invasion's force their eyes, And boast of leaps before they dare to rise. The governors—with Washington they stand, They shine but neither dawn nor dusk command. They kill the people's genius to appease The invaders; such servitude displease. They wear the pride of Muthanna's acclaim, Yet to Babak Khorramdin link their name. What say you, Abu Tammam? Have we lied About our lineage? Has our gold denied? Today's Arabians—another breed, No name, nor hue, nor title do they heed. Ninety thousand for Amorium blazed, Told the astrologer, "We are the stars upraised." They did not wait the vineyard's harvest time; Before the grapes were ripe, they seized their prime. But now, though ninety million strong we be, We have not ripened—pressed the olives be. The lofty heads forget their noble fire When servile tails to lords of old aspire. Habib, from Sana'a I have journeyed here, An eagle bears me while behind me peer The panting Arabs lodged within my breast— What can I tell of Sana'a, dispossessed? A beauty loved by sickness and by blight, She died within Waddah's chest, devoid of light. Yet love and joy within her have not died, She watched for dawn's rebirth, hope at her side. Awoke in dreams, then sank to sleep's embrace, Though rains withheld, she holds a fertile grace. Still pregnant with Qahtan or Karib's line, Within her sorrow, Yemen's hopes entwine. Habib, you ask me of my state today? A flute upon the lips of winds at play. Your land was but a saddle swift to roam; But mine—no back to bear, no flesh, no bone. You fed each barren land the camel's meat, That grazed upon the meadows soft and sweet. You journeyed from exhaustion unto toil, For paths of rest are wearisome and coil. But I, I journey not through lands afar, My baggage is my blood, my path a scar. If you have mounted steeds to voyage wide, Within myself on flames I ride and hide. My grave and tragic birth upon my back, Surrounded by the void's inflated wrack. Habib, today I sing your echoed tone, But why, upon my face, do you bemoan? What? Do you marvel at my early gray? I was born old—why wonder at decay? Today I wither, art's madness plays my strings, At forty years, my cheek with fire stings. Thus when life's ripeness pales to silver white, The mind of poets bursts with shining light. And you, who grayed before your fortieth year, In "Hamasah's" flames did shed the bitter tear. You begged each lavish thief for generous grace, Yet gave him verse surpassing gifts' embrace. You journeyed east and west from lord to king, Poverty drove you forth, desire's sting. You roamed until you reached old Mosul's gate, Your hopes extinguished, unfulfilled by fate. But death of one so great begins anew, A birth from youth that feeds the ages through. Habib, within your eyes questions reside, They surface, then their tales in veils they hide. And in my throat a thousand griefs reside, Too shy to speak, they tremble deep inside. Enough for you our foes have spilled our blood, While we from our own veins consume the flood. The clouds of conquest scorch us, hide the sun— Will storms conceive from thunder we've begun? Do you not see, Abu Tammam, our spark? “The sky is longed for when it's veiled and dark.”

ما أَصْدَقَ السَّيْفَ! إِنْ لَمْ يُنْضِهِ الكَـذِبُ وَأَكْذَبَ السَّيْفَ إِنْ لَمْ يَصْـدُقِ الغَضَـبُ بِيضُ الصَّفَائِـحِ أَهْـدَى حِيـنَ تَحْمِلُهَـا أَيْـدٍ إِذَا غَلَبَـتْ يَعْلُـو بِهَـا الغَـلَـبُ وَأَقْبَـحَ النَّصْرِ..نَصْـرُ الأَقْوِيَـاءِ بِـلاَ فَهْمٍ. سِوَى فَهْمِ كَمْ بَاعُوا وَكَمْ كَسَبُـوا أَدْهَى مِنَ الجَهْـلِ عِلْـمٌ يَطْمَئِـنُّ إِلَـى أَنْصَـافِ نَاسٍ طَغَوا بِالعِلْـمِ وَاغْتَصَبُـوا قَالُوا: هُمُ البَشَرُ الأَرْقَـى وَمَـا أَكَلُـوا شَيْئَاً كَمَا أَكَلُـوا الإنْسَـانَ أَوْ شَرِبُـوا مَاذَا جَرَى.. يَـا أَبَـا تَمَّـامَ تَسْأَلُنِـي؟ عَفْوَاً سَـأَرْوِي .. وَلا تَسْأَلْ .. وَمَا السَّبَبُ يَدْمَـى السُّـؤَالُ حَيَـاءً حِيـنَ نَسْأَلُـُه كَيْفَ احْتَفَتْ بِالعِدَى «حَيْفَا» أَوِ «النَّقَـبُ» مَنْ ذَا يُلَبِّـي؟ أَمَـا إِصْـرَارُ مُعْتَصِـمٍ؟*** كَلاَّ وَأَخْزَى مِنَ « الأَفْشِينَ » مَـا صُلِبُـوا اليَوْمَ عَـادَتْ عُلُـوجُ «الـرُّومِ» فَاتِحَـةً وَمَوْطِـنُ العَرَبِ المَسْلُـوبُ وَالسَّلَـبُ مَاذَا فَعَلْنَـا؟ غَضِبْنَـا كَالرِّجَـالِ وَلَـمْ نصدُق وَقَدْ صَـدَقَ التَّنْجِيـمُ وَالكُتُـبُ وَقَاتَلَـتْ دُونَنَـا الأَبْــوَاقُ صَـامِـدَةً أَمَّا الرِّجَالُ فَمَاتُـوا ثَـمَّ أَوْ هَرَبُـوا حُكَّامُنَا إِنْ تَصَـدّوا لِلْحِمَـى اقْتَحَمُـوا وَإِنْ تَصَدَّى لَـهُ المُسْتَعْمِـرُ انْسَحَبُـوا هُمْ يَفْرُشـُونَ لِجَيْـشِ الغَـزْوِ أَعْيُنَهُـمْ وَيَدَّعُـونَ وُثُـوبَـاً قَـبْـلَ أَنْ يَثِـبُـوا الحَاكِمُونَ و«وَاشُنْـطُـنْ» حُكُومَتُـهُـمْ وَاللامِعُـونَ .. وَمَـا شَعَّـوا وَلا غَرَبُـوا القَاتِلُـونَ نُبُـوغَ الشَّـعْـبِ تَرْضِـيَـةً لِلْمُعْتَدِيـنَ وَمَـا أَجْدَتْـهُـمُ الـقُـرَبُ لَهُمْ شُمُـوخُ «المُثَنَّـى» ظَاهِـرَاً وَلَهُـمْ هَـوَىً إِلَـى «بَابَـك الخَرْمِـيّ» يُنْتَسَـبُ مَاذَا تَرَى يَا «أَبَـا تَمَّـامَ» هَـلْ كَذَبَـتْ أَحْسَابُنَـا؟ أَوْ تَنَاسَـى عِرْقَـهُ الذَّهَـبُ؟ عُرُوبَـةُ اليَـوَمِ أُخْـرَى لا يَنِـمُّ عَلَـى وُجُودِهَـا اسْـمٌ وَلا لَـوْنٌ وَلا لَـقَـبُ تِسْعُونَ أَلْفَـاً « لِعَمُّـورِيَّـة َ» اتَّـقَـدُوا وَلِلْمُنَجِّـمِ قَـالُـوا: إِنَّـنَـاالشُّـهُـبُ قِيلَ: انْتِظَارَ قِطَافِ الكَرْمِ مَـا انْتَظَـرُوا نُضْـجَ العَنَاقِيـدِ لَكِـنْ قَبْلَهَـا الْتَهَبُـوا وَاليَـوْمَ تِسْعُـونَ مِلْيونَـاً وَمَـا بَلَغُـوا نُضْجَـاً وَقَدْ عُصِـرَ الزَّيْتُـونُ وَالعِنَـبُ تَنْسَى الرُّؤُوسُ العَوَالِـي نَـارَ نَخْوَتِهَـا إِذَاامْتَطَاهَـا إِلَـى أَسْـيَـادِهِ الـذَّنَـبُ «حَبِيبُ» وَافَيْتُ مِـنْ صَنْعَـاءَ يَحْمِلُنِـي نَسْرٌ وَخَلْفَ ضُلُوعِـي يَلْهَـثُ العَـرَبُ مَاذَا أُحَدِّثُ عَـنْ صَنْعَـاءَ يَـا أَبَتِـي ؟ مَلِيحَـةٌ عَاشِقَاهَـا :السِّـلُّ وَالـجَـرَبُ مَاتَـتْ بِصُنْـدُوقِ «وَضَّاحٍ» بِـلا َثَمَـنٍ وَلَمْ يَمُتْ فِي حَشَاهَا العِشْـقُ وَالطَّـرَبُ كَانَتْ تُرَاقِبُ صُبْـحَ البَعْـثِ فَانْبَعَثَـتْ فِي الحُلْمِ ثُمَّ ارْتَمَـتْ تَغْفُـو وَتَرْتَقِـبُ لَكِنَّهَا رُغْمَ بُخْـلِ الغَيْـثِ مَـابَرِحَـتْ حُبْلَى وَفِي بَطْنِهَـا «قَحْطَـانُ» أَوْ «كَرَبُ» وَفِـي أَسَـى مُقْلَتَيْهَـا يَغْتَلِـي «يَمَـنٌ» ثَانٍ كَحُلْـمِ الصِّبَـا...يَنْـأَى وَيَقْتَـرِبُ «حَبِيبُ» تَسْأَلُ عَنْ حَالِي وَكَيْـفَ أَنَـا؟ شُبَّابَـةٌ فِـي شِفَـاهِ الرِّيـحِ تَنْتَـحِـبُ كَانَتْ بِلاَدُكَ «رِحْلاً»، ظَهْـرَ «نَاجِيَـةٍ» أَمَّـا بِـلاَدِي فَلاَ ظَهْـرٌ وَلاَ غَـبَـبُ أَرْعَيْـتَ كُـلَّ جَدِيـبٍ لَحْـمَ رَاحِلَـةٍ كَانَتْ رَعَتْـهُ وَمَـاءُ الـرَّوْضِ يَنْسَكِـبُ وَرُحْتَ مِنْ سَفَـرٍ مُضْـنٍ إِلَـى سَفَـرٍ أَضْنَـى لأَنَّ طَرِيـقَ الرَّاحَـةِ التَّـعَـبُ لَكِنْ أَنَا رَاحِـلٌ فِـي غَيْـرِ مَـا سَفَـرٍ رَحْلِي دَمِي وَطَرِيقِي الجَمْرُ وَالحَطَـبُ إِذَا امْتَطَيْـتَ رِكَابَـاً لِلـنَّـوَى فَـأَنَـا فِي دَاخِلِي أَمْتَطِـي نَـارِي وَاغْتَـرِبُ قَبْرِي وَمَأْسَـاةُ مِيـلاَدِي عَلَـى كَتِفِـي وَحَوْلِـيَ العَـدَمُ المَنْفُـوخُ وَالصَّخَـبُ «حَبِيبُ» هَـذَا صَدَاكَ اليَـوْمَ أَنْشُـدُهُ لَكِـنْ لِمَـاذَا تَـرَى وَجْهِـي وَتَكْتَئِـبُ؟ مَاذَا ؟ أَتَعْجَـبُ مِنْ شَيْبِي عَلَى صِغَـرِي؟ إِنِّي وُلِدْتُ عَجُـوزَاً .. كَيْـفَ تَعْتَجِـبُ؟ وَاليَـوْمَ أَذْوِي وَطَيْـشُ الفَـنِّ يَعْزِفُنِـي وَالأَرْبَعُـونَ عَلَـى خَــدَّيَّ تَلْتَـهِـبُ كَـذَا إِذَا ابْيَـضَّ إِينَـاعُ الحَيَـاةِ عَلَـى وَجْـهِ الأَدِيـبِ أَضَـاءَ الفِكْـرُ وَالأَدَبُ وَأَنْتَ مَنْ شِبْتَ قَبْـلَ الأَرْبَعِيـنَ عَلَـى نَـارِ «الحَمَاسَـةَ »تَجْلُوهَـا وَتَنْتَـحِـبُ وَتَجْتَـدِي كُـلَّ لِـصٍّ مُتْـرَفٍ هِـبَـةً وَأَنْتَ تُعْطِيـهِ شِعْـرَاً فَـوْقَ مَـا يَهِـبُ شَرَّقْتَ غَرَّبْتَ مِنْ «وَالٍ» إِلَـى «مَلِـكٍ» يَحُثُّـكَ الفَقْـرُ ... أَوْ يَقْتَـادُكَ الطَّلَـبُ طَوَّفْتَ حَتَّى وَصَلْتَ « الموصِلِ » انْطَفَأَتْ فِيـكَ الأَمَانِـي وَلَـمْ يَشْبـعْ لَهَـا أَرَبُ لَكِـنَّ مَـوْتَ المُجِيـدِ الفَـذِّ يَـبْـدَأه وِلادَةً مِـنْ صِبَاهَـا تَرْضَـعُ الحِقَـبُ «حَبِيبُ» مَـا زَالَ فِـي عَيْنَيْـكَ أَسْئِلَـةً تَبْـدُو... وَتَنْسَـى حِكَايَاهَـا فَتَنْتَـقِـبُ وَمَا تَـزَالُ بِحَلْقِـي أَلْــفُ مُبْكِـيَـةٍ مِنْ رُهْبـَةِ البَوْحِ تَسْتَحْيِـي وَتَضْطَـرِبُ يَكْفِيـكَ أَنَّ عِدَانَـا أَهْـدَرُوا دَمَـنَـا وَنَحْـنُ مِـنْ دَمِنَـا نَحْسُـو وَنَحْتَلِـبُ سَحَائِـبُ الغَـزْوِ تَشْوِينَـا وَتَحْجِبُـنَـا يَوْمَاً سَتَحْبَلُ مِـنْ إِرْعَادِنَـا السُّحُـبُ؟ أَلاَ تَـرَى يَـا أَبَـا تَمَّـامَ بَارِقَـنَـا (إِنَّ السَّمَـاءَ تُرَجَّـى حِيـنَ تُحْتَجَـبُ)

[ahmed_allaithy]

وترجمة شعرية أخرى فيها بعض تغيير

How true the sword when lies do not unsheathe, But false the blade when wrath gives no bequeath. White blades of steel best guide when they are borne By hands that, conquering, lift honor's horn. The foulest victory—when strength prevails Without the sense of what that might entails. More dire than ignorance, a knowledge vain, Content with half-men who o'er others reign. They claim, "We are the best of human kind," Yet naught but human flesh they eat and find. What has transpired? O Abu Tammam, you ask? Forgive me—I shall tell, though grave the task. The question bleeds with shame when we inquire How Haifa cheered invaders' cruel desire. Who shall respond? Is there a steadfast one? Nay, more disgraced than those before undone. Today, the Roman brutes return as kings, Our plundered Arab home beneath their wings. What did we do? We raged like valiant men, But lacked the truth—foretold by stars and pen. The trumpets fought alone with steadfast sound, While men lay dead or fled the battleground. Our rulers, when they face their land, oppress; Confronted by the foe, they acquiesce. They spread before invasion's force their gaze, And boast of leaps before they dare to raise. The governors—with Washington they stand, They shine but neither dawn nor dusk command. They kill the people's genius to appease Invaders; such servility displease. They outwardly the pride of heroes show, Yet in their hearts to traitors' paths they go. What say you, Abu Tammam? Have we lied About our lineage? Is our gold denied? Today's Arabians—another breed, No name, nor hue, nor title do they heed. Ninety thousand for Amorium blazed, Told the soothsayer, "We are stars," unfazed. They waited not for grapes to ripen sweet; Before the clusters formed, they moved their feet. But now, though ninety million strong we be, We have not ripened—pressed are olive and tree. The lofty heads forget their noble fire When servile tails to foreign lords aspire. Habib, from Sana'a I have journeyed here, An eagle bears me, Arabs panting near Within my breast—what shall I of them tell? What of Sana'a, where woes and beauty dwell? A beauty loved by sickness and by blight, She died within the chest of Waddah's night. She perished in a box without a price, Yet love and joy within her still entice. She watched for dawn's rebirth, then sank to sleep, Awaits and dreams, her vigil still to keep. Yet though the clouds withheld the rain she needs, She still is pregnant with Qahtan's seeds. Within her sorrow, Yemen's spirit wells, A youthful dream that near yet distant dwells. Habib, you ask about my state today? A flute upon the lips of winds at play. Your land was but a saddle swift to roam, But mine—no back to bear, no shade, no home. You fed each barren land the camel's meat That grazed upon the meadows soft and sweet. You journeyed from exhaustion unto toil, For paths of rest are wearisome and coil. But I, I journey not through lands afar, My baggage is my blood, my path a scar. If you have mounted steeds to voyage wide, Within myself on flames I ride and bide. My grave and tragic birth upon my back, Surrounded by the void's inflated wrack. Habib, today I sing your echoed tone, But why, upon my face, do you bemoan? What? Do you marvel at my early gray? I was born old—why wonder at decay? Today I wither, art's madness plays my strings, At forty years, my cheeks with fire singe. Thus when life's ripeness pales to silver white, The mind of poets bursts with shining light. And you, who grayed before your fortieth year, In "Hamasah's" flames did shed the bitter tear. You begged each lavish thief for generous grace, Yet gave him verse surpassing gifts' embrace. You journeyed east and west from lord to king, Poverty drove you forth, desire's sting. You roamed until you reached old Mosul's gate, Your hopes extinguished, dimmed by fickle fate. But death of one so great begins anew, A birth from youth that feeds the ages through. Habib, within your eyes, questions reside, They surface, then in veils of silence hide. And in my throat a thousand griefs abide, Too shy to voice, they tremble deep inside. Enough that foes have spilled our blood in flood, While we from our own veins consume the blood. The clouds of conquest scorch us, hide the sun— Will storms conceive from thunder we've begun? Do you not see, O Abu Tammam, our spark? "The sky is longed for when it grows most dark."