Malik ibn Dinar 1, 2
Malik ibn Dinar 1, 2
Malik ibn Dinar al Sami (d. 130 AH), son of a Persian slave but himself born free, is said to have come from Sijistan or Kabul. He was a reliable transmitter of hadith and a noted calligrapher. He took the path at the hands of al Hasan al Basri.
1
He boarded with the rest of the canaille
goats, hens, and a donkey
and the children, worse
than those who begat them
thieves and lowlife
By God, their hands never rested
like magpies
flitted about, here now
and yon then
And this one, ragged
his djellabiyya might well
have been old cheese cloth
all patches of faded
color … and that scraggly beard
hennaed weeks before
was a sore eye
with white trim
And he sat aft, alone, to starboard
mumbling to himself
barely acknowledged me when I came
to get his fare
– I don’t have it, he says
I might have guessed from his looks
one more fake sufi, dressed all holy
and hoping to cadge a ride
off a poor boatman trying
to earn his daily portion
And three times the same thing
– I don’t have it
So we beat him, me and my boys
as was custom. No fake sheikh
’s going to rob me of my wages
that’s certain…
Grabbed him then by legs
and arms and we’re all swinging
and the boat’s rocking
and believe me, we were at sea
when these fish surface
by the hundreds
with two bits each in their mouths
Can’t even remember putting him down
when all of a sudden he reaches
out, picks up two gold dinar
turns round, gives them to me
Then he climbs over the rail
and walks off, calm water
not wetting his feet
2
In Damascus was music
where I dwelt
far into the night
on cushions of silk
we sat, a rich abundance
of fruit from endowment
orchards, sweet meats
and milk, grilled meats
and spices, and the lute
I was handsome
I was fond of life
and desiring a soft appointment
I prayed in the grand mosque
each day would throw my
rug in the same spot
tear off the cycles
hoping to be noticed
when next they decide who
to put in charge
night was play laughter music
meats and fruit
my comely lute
'til from sleep I was shaken
“Malik, what ill
grips you that you not repent?”
I dropped the lute
ran to the mosque
said, For a year
I affected faith
like a rogue student without stipend
shams love for a maiden
to win her wealth
Shame, I hypocrite!
but what then?
I prayed
for the first time
I put my heart in
the next day seeing damage
to the walls a few
devotees approached
would have me superintend
“God,” I said, “a year
I worked for my reward.
It was withheld.”
“Today, I pray and
twenty come to place it on my neck.”
“By glory, I don’t want it.”
I ran then
from the world I ran
to you
and have ever since.
[yusuf zanella © 2006]
http://smorgas22.blogspot.com/2006/0...dinar-1-2.html
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