from Ibn al-`Arabi, Turjuman selections, translated by Michael Sells

Poem #43
Cracking Bitterapple

I won't ever forget the day I camped
in Wana and my words to the riders
as they setting off with the women of the tribe
and as they arrived

Pull up and halt that I
for a time and the one I love
may recover.

If they ride, they ride with auspicious omen
if they halt, they rest on fertile land

In the gulch in the valley of Qanat I found them
Ah, the times spent with them
between Pure Sands and Arroyo!

They tend the sand-roans roaming
pasture to pasture but not to
a lover beside himself,
gone lost.

Camel-driver, go gentle
on a young man you see
cracking bitterapple
the hour of parting.

One hand clenched
beneath his ribs, then the other,
to keep his heart from tearing free
at the sound of the saddle grinding.

Patience, they say,
but grief is impatient
What of me then
when I have no patience?

Had I patience to keep
myself in measure
I'd have lost it just the same.
With none to start with
then what.

Nov 02, 25 May, 8 June, 1 Dec 03, 15 May (chez L), 13 June, August, Nov 04, 7 Jan 05