321 – al-Ghazzi, Abū Isḥāq Ibrāhīm ibn Yaḥyā ibn ʿUthmān
The poet of Khurasan, Abū Isḥāq Ibrāhīm ibn Yaḥyā ibn ʿUthmān al-Kalbī, compiler of a celebrated dīwān.
He studied in Damascus, where he heard hadith from the jurist Naṣr. After that he stayed for a time at the Niẓāmiyya College in Baghdad, praising the notables there, and then moved on to Khurasan where he sang the praises of the vizier of Kirmān. Had he left us nothing but the following ode, it would have been enough to attest to his skill:
By the closing of your eyelids—poised between wellness and ailment—
do not spill the blood of my tears at the moment of parting.
One gesture from you would suffice for us; the finest way
to return a greeting on the dawn of separation is with a nod. (1)
My heart’s attachment to the girl who wears the earring wounds it;
let the earring give thanks—it hangs there without pain. (2)
(*) Nuzhat al-alba, p. 378; al-Muntazam, vol. 10, p. 15; al-Kharida, vol. 1, p. 4–75 (Syrian section); al-Kamil fi al-tarikh, vol. 10, pp. 666-667; Wafayat al-aʿyan, vol. 1, pp. 57-62; Tarikh al-Islam, vol. 4, 254/1-252/2; al-ʿIbar, vol. 4, p. 55; al-Wafi bi-l-wafayat, vol. 6, pp. 51-54; Tatimmat al-mukhtasar, vol. 2, pp. 57-58; Mirʾat al-jinnan, vol. 3, pp. 230-232; Mirʾat al-zaman, vol. 8, pp. 81-82; al-Bidaya wa-l-nihaya, vol. 12, p. 201; al-Nujum al-zahira, vol. 5, p. 236; Kashf al-zunun, pp. 763, 804; Shadharat al-dhahab, vol. 4, pp. 67-68; Idah al-maknun, vol. 1, p. 520; Tahdhib Tarikh Ibn ʿAsakir, vol. 2, pp. 232-234; Majallat al-Majmaʿ, vol. 21, pp. 178-182.
(1) ʿAnam: a kind of tree with red blossoms, to which henna-dyed fingertips are likened. Al-Nabigha says: “With a supple, henna-stained hand whose fingertips look like ʿanam blossoms upon their branches, still untied.” Al-Wafi bi-l-wafayat (6/54) adds a following line: “A walking man may mount hope and be borne by it, and the reader of lines may hear them without melody.”
(2) Al-Wafi bi-l-wafayat also quotes three further verses:
“A live ember flares in the water of her cheek, while embers in water normally fail to burn;
I have not forgotten—nor will I ever forget—her smile, though the sky’s garment remains heedless and unknowing;
until, in sudden confusion, her cloak slipped from her, and the string of pearls loosened its knots in the darkness.”
The simile initiated by the word tabasamat (she smiled) ultimately goes back to a verse of Abu al-Tamhan al-Qayni: “Their noble lineage and bright faces lit up the night’s gloom until even the agate beads were strung together by the light.”