Çeviri
Tercümânü’l-Eşvâk İbn Arabi
1 قصيدة
من لي بمخضوبة البنان
من لي بمعسولة اللسان
من كاعبات ذوات خدر
نواعم خرد حسان
بدور تم على غصون
هن من النقص في امان
بروضة من ديار جسمي
حمامة فوق غصن بان
تموت شوقا تذوب عشقا
لما دهاها الذي دهاني
قصيدة 2
ترنو اذا لحظت بمقلة شادن
يعزى لمقتها سواد الاثمد
بالغنج والسحر القتول مكحل
بالتيه والحسن البديع مقلد
هيفاء ما تهوى الذي اهوى ولا
تف للذي وعدت بصدق الموعد
سحيت غديرتها شجاعا اسودا
لتخيف من يقفو بذاك الاسود
والله ما خفت المنون وانما
خوفي اموت فلا اراها في غد
قصيدة 3
طلعت بين اذرعات وبصري
بنت عشر واربع لي بدرا
قد تعالت على الزمان جلالا
وتسامت عليه فخرا وكبرا
كل بدر اذا تناهى كمالا
جاءه نقصه ليكمل شهرا
غير هذي فما لها حركات
في بروج فما تشفع وترا
حقه اودعت عبيرا ونشرا
روضة انبتت ربيعا وزهرا
انتهى الحسن فيك اقصى مداه
ما بوسع الامكان مثلك اخرى
Poem 1:
Who will show me her of the dyed fingers? Who will show me her of the honeyed tongue?
She is one of the girls with swelling breasts who guard their honour, tender, virgin, and beautiful
Full moons over branches: they fear no waning
In a garden of my body’s country is a dove perched on a bough
Dying of desire, melting with passion, because that which befell me hath befallen her
Mourning for a mate, blaming Time, who shot her unerringly, as he shot me
Parted from a neighbor and far from home! Alas, in my time of severance, for my time of union!
Who will bring me her who is pleased with my torment? I am helpless because of that with which she is pleased.
Poem 2:
When she looks, she gazes with the deep eye of a young gazelle: to her eye belongs the blackness of antimony
Her eyes are adorned with languor and deadly magic, her sides are bound with wonder and incomparable beauty
A slender one, she loves not that which I love, and she does not fulfill her promises with sincerity
She let down her braid like a black serpent, to frighten her followers
By God, I fear not death, my only fear is that I shall die and not see her tomorrow.
Poem 3:
Between ‘Adhriyat and Buṣra, a maid of fourteen rose in my sight like the full moon
She was exalted in majesty above time and transcended it in pride and glory
Every full moon, when it reaches perfection, suffers a waning that it may make a complete month,
Except this one: for she does not move through the zodiac signs, nor double what is single
You are a container holding fragrant perfumes, you are a meadow of spring herbs and flowers
Beauty has reached it utmost limit in you, another like you is outside the realm of possibility.
From R.A. Nicholson’s translation of Tarjuman al-ashwaq
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