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their idioms, and are nourished by their speech, it is rare for them to take a motif from a predecessor and not do it well.

11.2

      We have discovered in the poetry of the Moderns motifs the Ancients did not utter and others they hinted at, which the Moderns then used and excelled in. In addition, their poetry is more suited to its time, and people employ it more in their gatherings, writings, pithy sayings, and petitions.

      12.1

      People admire how (God support you) within one verse Imruʾ al-Qays makes comparisons between two things and two other things, and they say, “No one can match him in this.” Here is how he describes a female eagle:

      Bird hearts, moist and dry,

      in her nest were like jujubes and withered dates.

      He produced a most beautiful and excellent line.

      12.2

      Then Bashshār said:

      The dust whirled up above our heads

      and our swords were like a night whose stars had tumbled.

      This from a blind man who did not have the power of sight and who did not actually see this. He composed his comparison by intuition and produced something excellent and beautiful, comparing within one verse two things with two other things.

      12.3

      Manṣūr al-Namarī followed suit, with the following:

      A night of dust, with no stars or moon—

      only your noble brow and the sharp spears, raised high, are visible.

      12.4

      And al-ʿAttābī said:

      Their hoofs raised a canopy above their heads

      where the stars are shattered swords.

      13.1

      People also admire the words of apology uttered by al-Nābighah to al-Nuʿmān in a classic ode:

      You are like the night, engulfing me,

      even though I imagined myself at a vast distance from you.

      Iron hooks on twisted ropes are

      pulled by hands that reach toward you.

      13.2

      Salm al-Khāsir composed several verses of apology to al-Mahdī, as follows:

      I seek refuge among the best of all people:

      you are that man by virtue of what you do and do not do.

      You are like fate, whose nets are cast—

      there is no escape or refuge from fate.

      If I could control the wind I would turn its reins

      in every direction, but still you would catch me.

      13.3

      This comes from the words of al-Farazdaq to al-Ḥajjāj:

      If the wind were to carry me and you pursued me,

      I would be like something trapped by its fate.

      Salm thus successfully replaced “You are like the night” with “You are like fate” and replaced “iron hooks” with “If I could control the wind I would turn its reins” and produced excellent poetry.

13.4

      ʿAlī ibn Jabalah, however, praised Ḥumayd with a motif similar to al-Nābighah’s, as follows:

      No one can escape you in pursuit,

      even if ladders were to lift him to the sky,

      Not even if he fled to a place where

      neither darkness nor bright morning light could find their way.

      In Ibn Jabalah’s favor is the fact that he added to the motif and expanded it, but the fact that he turned it into two verses, whereas al-Nābighah had done so in one verse and had come first, counts against him.

      13.5

      The words of al-Buḥturī are similar to Ibn Jabalah’s phrase, “If ladders were to lift him to the sky”:

      They were despoiled. Their blood shone red, like clothes—

      it was as if they had not been despoiled.

      Were they to ride the stars,

      their fastest ones would not elude your intrepid grasp.¹¹

      13.6

      Salm’s words “You are like fate” are taken from al-Akhṭal:

      The deeds of the Commander of the Faithful are like fate—

      there is no shame in acts of fate.

      14.1

      The finest thing the Ancients said about homesickness and longing is a verse Abū Aḥmad Yaḥyā ibn ʿAlī l-Munajjim recited to me:

      A land where the amulets of childhood were undone in youth,

      the place where dust first touched my skin.¹²

      14.2

      Ibn Mayyādah later said:

      If I only knew whether I would ever spend a night

      in Layla’s stony flatlands, where my people reared me.¹³

      A land where amulets were hung from my neck

      and then cut off, when maturity came.

      If you are detaining me from my home,

      give me ample sustenance and then reunite us!

      and there are more lines like these.

      14.3

      Ibn al-Rūmī evoked his home, explained why it is beloved, and within the verses of a single poem brought together all this disparate material:

      I have a house I swore I would never sell,

      Nor live to see anyone own but me.

      It was there I knew the carefree bliss of youth,

      the blissful slumber of those who wake in your shadow.

      My soul grew so used to it, it seemed like its body:

      If I lost it, I would be left for dead.

      What makes people love their homes

      is what they accomplished there in their youth.

      As they recall their homes, they bring to mind

      their youthful lives—oh, how they miss them now!¹⁴

      15.1

      People admire al-Nābighah’s description of a topic rarely broached:¹⁵

      When you thrust your spear, you thrust it into a high target,

      rising to the touch and perfume-daubed.

      And when you pull out, you pull out from a tight spot,

      like a grown boy pulling on a twisted rope.¹⁶

      15.2

      Other poets used this motif and made it longer or shorter, then Ibn al-Rūmī brought together this disparate material in three verses:

      She has a pussy that borrows its fire

      from a lover’s passionate heart and a chest full of hatred.

      When you feel its heat

      it’s as if your own innards were on fire.

      It gets tighter in the grip of love

      like the noose of a rope.¹⁷

      16

      This

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