Categories and forms
- Key People:
- Ibn al-ʿArabī
- al-Ghazālī
- Ameen Rihani
- Naguib Mahfouz
- Mahmoud Darwish
- Related Topics:
- qaṣīdah
- rāwī
- ghazal
- Arabic literary renaissance
- mas̄navī
One of the earliest methods by which poems were categorized was that of rhyming syllable. Thus, the famous pre-Islamic ode of the brigand poet al-Shanfarā was known as Lāmiyyat al-ʿArab (literally, “The L-Poem of the Arabs”). Even when, beginning about the 9th century, the works of poets were habitually collected under different categories, it was still common to refer to famous odes by their rhyming syllable; thus the Nūniyyah (“N-Poem”) of the 11th-century Andalusian poet Ibn Zaydūn and Al-Tā’iyyah al-kubrā (“The Great Ode on T”) by the 13th-century Egyptian Sufi poet Ibn al-Fāriḍ. However, the pioneer compilers of the earliest poetry soon developed further modes of categorization based on length and, from that, on segmentation. Poetry in general was referred to as qarīḍ, but within that framework poetry was subdivided into two types. The first was the qiṭʿah (“segment”), consisting of a relatively short poem devoted to a single theme or else composed and performed for a particular occasion; the marthiyyah, mentioned above, is an example of such a poem. While many qiṭʿahs suggest that they are complete in and of themselves, the structure of others (as well as what is now known about the nature of oral performances and the processes of recording them) points to the possibility of their being the favourite memorized examples of typical segments from a lengthier poetic performance.
That lengthier type—the second type of qarīḍ—is the qaṣīdah, a polythematic poem that might extend to 100 lines or more and that constituted an elaborate celebration of the tribe and its way of life. The critical tradition—exemplified most famously by the 9th-century writer Ibn Qutaybah—analyzed such long poems within a tripartite structure. In an opening section, called the nasīb, the poem’s speaker comes across a deserted encampment and muses nostalgically about times past and especially about his absent beloved. Via a transition, a second section (the raḥīl) recounts a desert journey, thus affording the opportunity for descriptions of animals—especially the camel and horse as primary riding beasts—that are among the most famous and beloved within the entire tradition of Arabic poetry. A section in praise of the tribe (the madīḥ) comes third, in which one of several possible “purposes” is proclaimed: boasts concerning the heroism and endurance of the tribe’s fighters, the generosity and hospitality of its people, the beauty of its women, or the feats of its animals. Descriptions of wine drinking, gambling, jousts, and horse races all contribute to the overall picture through which the performance of the qaṣīdah presents a ritualized liturgy in praise of community.
Initially 7, and later 10, of the longer examples of the qaṣīdah were early recognized as outstanding representatives of the large corpus of longer poems that had been recorded in written form. They were collected as Al-Muʿallaqāt (also known variously as the 7 (or 10) “long poems” and the Seven Long Odes). The opening of the muʿallaqah of 6th-century poet Imruʾ al-Qays is probably the most famous line of poetry in Arabic:
Halt, you two companions, and let us weep for the memory of a beloved and an abode mid the sand-dunes between Al-Dakhūl and Ḥawmal.
While certain segments of each muʿallaqah are especially famous—Ṭarafah’s elaborate description of the camel, for example, and Zuhayr ibn Abī Sulmā’s depictions of tribal wars— each of the poems invokes the imagery of the desert and its way of life to re-create a mythical past. To this day this collection is prized as a supreme poetic representation of the essence of Arab culture and its values, with chivalry, generosity, endurance, and hospitality as major components. (As a counter to the length of these classics of early Arabic poetry, the 9th-century philologist al-Mufaḍḍal al-Ḍabbī compiled a collection of shorter ancient poems, initially for pedagogical purposes, that came to be known as Al-Mufaḍḍaliyyāt.)
These two subcategories of qarīḍ were the predominant forms of expression in the history of Arabic poetry up to the conclusion of World War II, but they were not the only ones. As part of the unrecorded earliest periods in the development of Arabic poetry, the metre and genre of rajaz provided another form of the poetic (possibly emerging out of the earlier category of sajʿ, or rhyming prose). This form of poem served several functions, as is evident in, for example, camel drivers’ songs, known as al-ḥidāʾ. The urjūzah (a poem composed in rajaz) was also utilized for verbal display and other types of didactic and even obscene poetry.
Later critics subsumed the overall category of qarīḍ within a listing of what they termed “the seven types” (al-funūn al-sabʿah) of poem. To the two major forms discussed thus far, qarīḍ and rajaz, were added several that utilized the colloquial form of the Arabic language (the qūmā, for example, and the kān wa kān). But the two additional forms that have occasioned the most interest among scholars originated in the Iberian Peninsula: the zajal and the muwashshaḥ. There is a great deal of controversy regarding almost every aspect of these two forms—their early history, their performance practices, their metrics, and their linkage to the early history of Western lyric poetry. What is clear, however, is not only that they provide a wonderfully accurate picture of the rich multicultural environment found in Al-Andalus during the Islamic period (8th–15th centuries), but also that, following their migration across North Africa to the Mashriq (as the eastern regions of the Islamic world were termed), they contributed significantly to both the elite and popular traditions of Arabic poetry.
A major change in the form of the Arabic poem occurred in the late 1940s, when two Iraqi poets, Nāzik al-Malāʾikah and Badr Shākir al-Sayyāb, almost simultaneously decided to abandon the system of prosody that the critical establishment had for centuries imposed as a principal method of identifying the poetic, choosing to adopt in its place a system that used variable line length and patterns of assonance and repetition in place of end rhyme. While it should be noted that there had been previous attempts to break out of the rigid strictures of traditional metrics (especially in colloquial poetic genres that were for the most part ignored by critics), it was this gesture in the 1940s that ushered in a new era for Arabic poetry, one that moved beyond the notion of variable metre and line length to the prose poem and other experiments in form and poetic discourse. With all that, however, the traditional form of the qaṣīdah continued at the hands of certain poets to hold an important place in the hearts of those many Arabs who still enjoyed listening to the form. In the latter half of the 20th century, al-Akhṭal al-Ṣaghīr (pen name of Bishārā al-Khūrī), Badawī al-Jabal (pen name of Muḥammad al-Aḥmad), and Muḥammad al-Jawāhirī were notable qaṣīdah poets.
Genres and themes
Alongside these methods of categorizing poetry and poets, some classical critics identified three principal “purposes” (aghrāḍ) for the public performance of poetry: first, panegyric (madḥ), the praise of the tribe and its elders, a genre of poetry that was to become the primary mode of poetic expression during the Islamic period; second, praise’s opposite—lampoon (hijāʾ)—whereby the poet would be expected to take verbal aim at the community’s enemies and impugn their honour (most often at the expense of women); and third, praise of the dead, or elegy (rithāʾ).
Panegyric
Panegyric’s function as a means of extolling the virtues of the tribe and its leaders was easily transferred, albeit within a very different political and social context, from the pre-Islamic period to the Islamic. Hyperbolic expressions of satisfaction and delight with the ruler were intended to bolster the ruler’s sense of self-esteem; this goal, the poet hoped, would not only illustrate the prestige of the Muslim community as a whole but also, on a more practical level, encourage the presentation of largesse to the poet. The great master of the genre, and arguably Arabic’s most illustrious poet, al-Mutanabbī (“He Who Claimed to Be a Prophet”), is quite unsubtle in making this point in a famous ode in praise of the great 10th-century ruler of Aleppo, Sayf al-Dawlah:
To you belongs the praise regarding the pearls that I pronounce;
You are the giver, but I am the arranger.
The very continuity of the repertoire of imagery in this genre can be gauged by comparing two lines written more than three centuries apart. The first is by the pre-Islamic poet al-Nābighah addressing his ruler:
You are the sun itself, other monarchs are stars.
When your light shines bright, the other stars vanish.
The second is another of al-Mutanabbī’s lines, written after Sayf al-Dawlah was restored to health after illness:
Light is now returned to the sun; previously it was extinguished,
As though the lack of it in a body were a kind of disease.
Panegyric was adopted immediately in the cause of Islam. The 6th- and 7th-century poet Ḥassān ibn Thābit, often referred to as “the Prophet’s poet,” composed panegyrics in praise of Muhammad, recording his victories in strident tones and initiating a tradition of poems in praise of the Prophet of Islam that continued throughout the ensuing centuries. With the first dynasty of caliphs, the Umayyads, panegyric became a major propaganda device. The Christian poet al-Akhṭal, for instance, extolled figures who were now not merely spiritual but also temporal rulers:
When nobility and number are taken into account, you hail from a house that has no peer.
This widespread use of panegyric to glorify Islam and its successes through public performances of poems that record the policies and victories of rulers continued into the Abbasid period. Indeed, with the gradual fragmentation of central authority beginning in the 9th century, the process was enhanced: rival caliphates and dynasties flourished in widely scattered parts of the Islamic world, and around them courts provided venues for the stentorian boasts of poets. The Andalusian poet Ibn Hāniʾ undoubtedly enraged the Abbasid caliph in Baghdad when he referred to the capture of Cairo by the Fāṭimid dynasty:
“Has Egypt been captured?” the sons of al-ʿAbbās will ask. Inform them
that indeed the entire matter has been concluded.
As an important source of patronage, the panegyric—now assuming a more bipartite structure, extolling both the state of the people ruled and the glory of the ruler’s own personage—became the major mode of expression in qaṣīdah form until the 20th century. The volumes of collected poetry (divans) of all the greatest poets contain sections devoted to madḥ; beyond those poets mentioned above, a short list of other great classical figures would have to include Bashshār ibn Burd, Abū Tammām, al-Buḥturī, and Abū Firās. With Abū Tammām in particular the panegyric genre became the supreme (or, some critics claimed, the extreme) manifestation of a trend in poetic creativity toward elaboration in imagery and diction that was subsumed under the heading of badīʿ (innovative use of figurative language), a development that rapidly became a primary focus of critical debate.
During the ensuing centuries poets carried on this tradition, and it was not until the second decade of the 20th century that a severe critical analysis by the Egyptian critic ʿAbbās Maḥmūd al-ʿAqqād of an ode by Egypt’s most illustrious modern poet, Aḥmad Shawqī, suggested that the forms, functions, and imagery of the occasional poem, not to mention the role of the poet, were themselves in a process of change.
Lampoon
Critical analyses of the Arabic poetic tradition point out that the vigorous practice of lampooning is the obverse of panegyric: by verbally flattening one’s foes, the ground is open for the glorification of one’s own tribe or community. The themes of hijāʾ (“lampooning”) and fakhr (“boasting”) thus often occur together, and poets noted above for their contributions to the panegyric were equally at home with the lampoon. Al-Mutanabbī, in particular, is also famous for his withering attacks on Abū al-Misk Kāfūr, the enslaved Ethiopian who was regent in Egypt in the 10th century. Having quit the court of Sayf al-Dawlah, the poet arrives full of hope and hyperbolic praise:
O father of musk, the visage for which I have been yearning,
The precious moment that is my dearest wish.
But, when those hopes are dashed, the poet leaves behind him a set of lampoons that are bywords for the lampoon genre:
Never did I expect to witness a time
When a dog could do me ill and be praised for it all the while.
The ability of words to hurt and to shame is present in the Arabic poetic tradition from the outset. The pre-Islamic poet ʿAmr ibn Qamīʾah is specific on the point:
Many’s the tribal bard loaded with hatred whom I have tamed,
So his folk have felt belittled and ashamed.
While defeat in battle is, of course, a primary focus of derision in this type of poetry, the honour of the community and the family has resided to a major extent in the protection of its women. Al-Ḥārith ibn Ḥillizah’s contribution to the tribal and poetic joust between himself and ʿAmr ibn Kulthūm, recorded in Al-Muʿallaqāt, demonstrates one form of insult within such a context:
We turned our attention to the Banū Tamīm tribe. As we marked the truce month,
Their daughters were our maidservants.
During the Umayyad caliphate, a number of poets indulged in a series of poetic jousts in Al-Mirbad, the central square of the city Basra (Al-Baṣrah). Collected as Al-Naqāʾiḍ (“Flytings”), these contests—involving principally Jarīr and al-Farazdaq but also al-Akhṭal and al-Ṭirimmāh—took the level of invective to new heights (or depths):
Al-Farazdaq’s mother gave birth to a fornicator; what she produced
Was a pygmy with stubby legs.
As with panegyric, the instinct for lampoon found no shortage of targets in the ensuing centuries. The great poet Abū Nuwās seems to be aware of the risk he can take when he even teases the caliph Hārūn al-Rashīd over a scandal concerning the caliph’s sister:
If you get some pleasure from the removal of some rascal’s head,
Do not kill him by sword; marry him to ʿAbbāsah!
While such poetic barbs may have been part of the cut and thrust of political life in the premodern period, the realities of life in the Arabic-speaking world during the 20th century rendered most attempts at lampoon a life-threatening exercise. This, however, did not prevent a courageous figure such as the Iraqi poet Muẓaffar al-Nawwāb from taking potshots at the rulers of Saudi Arabia:
The son of Kaʿbah is having sex.
The world’s prices are on hold…
