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THE AUTHOR DESCRIBES THE ODE OF ABŪ SHĀDŪF

1.1

To proceed. The humble slave of the Almighty, Yūsuf ibn Muḥammad ibn ʿAbd al-Jawād ibn Khiḍr al-Shirbīnī, may God be his support and have mercy on his ancestors, declares: among the rural verse to come my way—verse characterized by a coarseness of expression that cannot be gainsaid, with lines set out like blocks of mud for making walls—and which has become the subject of comment in certain salons, was the “Ode of Abū Shādūf,” a thing redolent of sheep’s droppings or shoveled mud. And what an ode I found it to be—as though made out of iron or by stacking the thick ends of palm fronds!³ Then one whom I cannot disobey and with whose commands I have no choice but to comply⁴ besought me to stick on it a commentary, like butterfly feathers, or clouds of dust and whirlwinds of manure, that would unravel its tepid turns of phrase, make plain its uncommendable motifs, and strip the mask from the face of its tongue-in-cheek dialectalisms and lame paradigms, its banal motifs and battered constructions, its silly senses and tendentious terms; to round it out with strange tales and amazing nonsensical discussions; and to embellish it with an explanation of the linguistic peculiarities of the countryside, which are on a par, without a doubt, with the farting of ants, of their poetry, ladled out from the ocean of chaos, and of the etymologies of some of the words resembling old clouts in shape and form that occur therein, as well as of the misadventures that befell certain among them, by chance, in al-Qāhirah, Miṣr, and the port of Bulaq;⁵ to include an account of their ignorant dervishes, whose learning is to knowledge as gruel is to porridge, of their uncouth village pastors, and of the condition of both the riffraff among them and the elite; to mention their women when slapping and tickling and at their sport in bed, which resembles the gamboling of apes or the jabbering of Indians; and to make available the eddying dust devils of the original text, which, should you taste it, Dear Listener, would put you in mind of urine, and whose ripe lexical fruits, should you pluck them, Dear Reader, would make you think of ghoul droppings, while the contemplation of its verses would remind you of clods of mud stacked in courses and the scrutiny of its slovenly language would convince you you were chewing on horse dung; and that I include within it some comic quips and moronic maxims, by way of something obscene and lewd, and frivolous and rude, so that knowledge of my commentary on the ode be guaranteed from Dimyāṭ to the Ṣaʿīd. And indeed, I pray that not one clime, nay, nor any of the countries of mankind, be without it, since rare is he who, having once heard this ode, can put the droning of its worthless phrases from his mind, or, having once read it, is not taken with an urge to vomit, for when it passes by the ear, it does so like wind, and, should the body reject it, that’s only to be expected. As the poet of chaste speech has said, in these verses gleaned from The Glowing Pearls:⁶

Grant but that utterance⁷ is sound,

And sound meaning, O you of eloquence undimmed,

And you will grant that what I write are words

That charm the ear, and also wind.

And, as the proverb has it, “Said one, ‘There’s a fish farts fire in the seas.’ ‘The water,’ said others, ‘would put it out!’ ‘It’s all talk,’ returned the first, ‘Take it or leave it as you please!’”

1.2

Likewise, there being no harm in depicting this commentary in verses fragrant as maidens’ pee, I declare it to be:

A book full of the art of naught, a book full of the feathers of butterflies!

A book with pages, ink, and words—some true, some lies!

Within, my friend, are examples foul-tasting of every topos,

And phrases like piss that glisten with eye pus.

Within it are debates⁸ infantile

Draped over it all like a mantle,

While the verses it contains are like bricks in their stacking,

And there are learned discussions free for the taking.

Gaze on it well and peruse it truly

And very soon you’ll find your stomach’s unruly!

All of this has been done to match the phrasing of the ode itself and to unravel its meanings that resemble the butt ends of palm branches, for the commentator from the author’s text should never depart, according to the custom of those, be they experts or dabblers, who practice this art.

1.3

And what a commentary it has turned out to be! Set it on the highest mountain, and the mountain would tumble! Engrave it on the Pillar of the Columns,⁹ and the Pillar would crumble! Were a rock but to touch it, the latter would shatter, and were it thrown in the ocean, it would churn in commotion! Meet it is to be inscribed in donkey foals’ piss on the walls of a church, and to be written out in the urine of brides, outhouse walls to besmirch; yet more that it be thrown on top of a midden, being so despicable that it should on the walls where the loafers sit be written, for it is a commentary in coarseness without peer, on the characteristics of the people of the countryside brought to bear, and in boorishness without rival, being devoted to describing the ignoble.

1.4

Now, you must know that every commentary should have a title that’s right and a name that’s apposite. This, then, I have entitled Brains Confounded by the Ode of Abū Shādūf Expounded, calling on a talent that’s turned and a wit that’s spurned for help with words I’ve dredged up that are brainchildren of mine, and with setting them down, line after empty, vaunting line, hoping they will take their place in the ocean of nonsensicality and farcicality, and of license and buffoonery, with just a touch of Ibn Sūdūn-ery; for the listener will often take pleasure in laughter and license and show no interest in eloquence and excellence, because, in these times, it’s for distractions that the soul yearns, and for whatever may sweep aside its worries and concerns. I have composed a verse to this effect that says:

To my mind, licentiousness is rest—

It dispels one’s worries when depressed.

In this age of ours, none survive but those possessed of a measure of profligacy and buffoonery, and frivolity and effrontery, which is why the poet says:

Dead of hunger is he who lived by eloquence,

While Fortune smiles on pimps and clowns.

He who cannot pen a line is blessed with a living fine, while the master of wit sees of victuals not a whit, leading the poet to say:

Billy goats get given their livelihood with ease

While that of the eloquent is refused;

If my eloquence be the cause of my privation,

Let me with the billy goats be confused!

And the leading man of letters al-Būṣīrī, may the Almighty have mercy on his soul, said in a mawāliyā:

The man of great taste stands puzzled and at a loss,

While the billy goat advances and puts on airs.

Lord, let me be a billy goat, son of a dumb billy goat,

If you intend no relief for my cares!

And Ibn al-Rāwandī, God excuse his sins, said:

Allocator of our Daily Bread, how Fate has straitened me!

If You are not to blame, pray tell me, who might be?

You give silver in bushels brimming¹⁰ to the Jews

When I don’t have enough to even buy shoes.

You gave me wisdom, but not lucre.

Tell me, without the one, what use is the other?

1.5

It follows that one should stay in tune with one’s days, humor the age by acting in keeping with its ways, be on guard against whatever assaults Fate may bring, and “dance for the ape when he is king.” One should get along with people as best he may, perform any role he may be asked to play, implicate himself in men’s excesses, and number himself among them in their successes. As a poet has said:

Humor them in their homes,

Greet them courteously while their guest.

Make friends with some

That those may help you against the rest.

And in a Tradition it says, “I have been commanded to deal circumspectly with others.”

1.6

The tale is told that a certain king’s imam died. The king said to his ministers and the privy councilors of the realm, “Find me an imam who is God-fearing and ascetic, gentle in nature and unassuming.” Their choice fell on a man of the city who answered to that description but was poor. “Bring him to me,” said the king. When the man appeared, the king honored and made much of him, raising him in rank till he was more exalted than his ministers and showering him with favors. Finding himself in this state, the man started to lord it over his own kind and to treat them with contempt; he ceased to humor people or pay them due respect, and he treated the great men of the realm with contempt. These then agreed to set a trap to destroy him. Now, it was the king’s custom, when it was Friday and he wished to pray in a certain mosque, to send his prayer rug on ahead. There it would be spread out for him, and he would enter and sit on it with this imam beside him. What they agreed to do was to have a small cross of gold and jewels made and to give it, with a gift, to a certain intimate of the king’s who could be trusted to keep a secret, telling him, “Place this under the prayer rug where the imam’s forehead touches it, in such a fashion that no one sees you.” This he did. When the people dispersed following the prayer and the king was about to depart, the mosque attendant picked up the rug and saw the cross. He presented it to the king, who denied all knowledge of it and said to the great men of the realm, “What’s this? This cross has been found under the place where the imam’s forehead touches the rug!” “He must be an infidel,” they replied, “who has been hiding his true nature from us!” At this the king grew angry and ordered the man killed. As his funeral procession passed by, a poet declaimed:

Pious he was, God knows—righteous,

Fair and just, and ne’er before accused.

To which another replied:

He had no sense of how to humor men,

And that’s a sin too great to be excused.

Thus safety lies in humoring others, and using winning ways to get along with one’s brothers. One should adapt himself to their different manners and march under their changing banners, as I make clear in the following lines from a maqāmah of mine:

One day you’ll find me a scholar and a teacher,

The next a sinner and freethinker.

One day you’ll find me buried in the crowd,

The next a lord and master proud.

A pleasant manner, once you have the knack,

Will bring you pendant gems and money by the sack.