his maternal grandfather, ʿAbd al-Majīd ibn ʿAbd Allah ibn ʿAydhūn al-Fihri, the Andalusian known as al-Yāburī—the grammarian and consummate poet.

He studied under Abū al-Ḥajjāj al-Aʿlam, ʿĀṣim ibn Ayyūb, and Abū Marwān ibn Sirāj. His verse is superb, and he composed a treatise defending Abū ʿUbayd against Ibn Qutaybah. An ocean of letters, he served as secretary and writer of state correspondence for al-Mutawakkil ibn al-Afṭas, ruler of Badajoz and Lisbon, and for that dynasty he crafted a brilliant elegy (1) whose opening line is:

Time strikes its blow, snatching the trace after the very eye;
so why lament over bodies and mere forms?

In later years he declined, became needy, and lived to great old age. Abū Bakr ibn Zuhr recounts:

“A shabbily dressed man, looking for all the world like a Bedouin, came to us and said, ‘My boy, seek permission for me to enter to the vizier Abū Marwān.’

I replied, ‘He is asleep.’

He asked, ‘What is that book?’

I said, ‘And why ask about it? It is from the Book of Songs.’

He said, ‘Are you comparing it against a master copy?’

I answered, ‘There is no exemplar here.’

He said, ‘I memorised it in my youth.’

I smiled; he said, ‘Then read it to me.’ I began, and—by Allah—he did not miss a single word, reciting the equivalent of two quires. I hurried to my father; he came out barefoot, embraced the man, kissed his hand, apologised to him, berated me while softening his tone toward him, then conversed with him and gave him a mount. I asked, ‘Father, who is this?’

He answered, ‘Shame on you! This is the littérateur of al-Andalus, Ibn ʿAydhūn. The least of what he carries in his memory is the Book of Songs.’”