Nine original verses with bilingual teaching, vocabulary, grammar, rhetoric, and assessment Read the bilingual lesson for Imruʾ al-Qays: The Long Night, Travel, and the Wolf (Verses 43–51) and test your understanding with a focused quiz.
Lesson
1. From romantic objection to the night and the wilderness
The preceding passage ended with the beloved's beauty and the speaker's continuing attachment. The poem now turns to a critic of that attachment, followed by a night pictured as sea waves and an immense body, and finally the hardships of traveling through empty country.
In verses 43–47, isolation is expressed mainly through night, stars, and the approach of dawn. In verses 48–51, the same loneliness takes the form of a water-skin borne on the shoulder, a barren valley, and the call of a wolf. The stillness of the night anticipates the emptiness of the wilderness.
The passage offers substantial material for simile, metaphor, personification, address, negation, and imagined dialogue. Several expressions require their older poetic setting and the supplied commentary rather than an automatic modern dictionary gloss.
2. Verse 43: resisting a persistent reprover
أَلَا رُبَّ خَصْمٍ فِيكِ أَلْوَى رَدَدْتُهُ
نَصِيحٍ عَلَى تَعْذَالِهِ غَيْرِ مُؤْتَلِ
“How many an obstinate opponent concerning you, professing good counsel and sparing nothing in reproach, have I turned away.”
Rubba khaṣmin emphatically introduces an adversary. The second-person feminine fīki addresses the beloved; alwā points to obstinacy, while ghayri muʾtali depicts the critic as unsparing in blame.
The verse turns a dispute about the beloved into an expression of the speaker's persistence in attachment. The contrast between the advisor's standpoint and the lover's resolve supplies the dramatic movement: the speaker hears the repeated criticism but will not change his position.
3. Khaṣm, alwā and taʿdhāl: the vocabulary of reproach
Khaṣm means an adversary or disputant and can occur with an unusually broad range of number or gender in classical usage. Alwā intensifies the idea of argumentative stubbornness. Naṣīḥ presents a counselor ostensibly offering good advice, but here the counsel takes the form of reproach against the affair.
Taʿdhāl means repeated or forceful blame. Muʾtalin can imply withholding or falling short of an effort; consequently, ghayri muʾtali means not holding back from reproach.
The movement khaṣm → naṣīḥ → taʿdhāl describes a single figure through opposition, claimed concern, and tireless criticism. The vocabulary concentrates the psychological pressure against which the speaker asserts himself.
4. Rubba and radadtuhu: grammatical and rhetorical connection
Rubba governs the indefinite khaṣmin in the genitive and foregrounds a striking type of encounter. Fīki is a prepositional expression with a second-person feminine pronoun referring to the beloved. In radadtuhu, past verb, first-person agent, and third-person object are combined in a single form.
Naṣīḥin qualifies or further characterizes the opponent. ʿAlā taʿdhālihi brings the critic's repeated blame into view, while ghayri muʾtali stresses the critic's relentless effort.
The artistry lies partly in the balance: several descriptions establish the advisor's pressure, but the poet answers with the concise decisive verb radadtuhu—“I turned him away.” The syntax mirrors resistance.
5. Verse 44: the night as the waves of a sea
وَلَيْلٍ كَمَوْجِ الْبَحْرِ أَرْخَى سُدُولَهُ
عَلَيَّ بِأَنْوَاعِ الْهُمُومِ لِيَبْتَلِي
“And many a night like the sea's waves lowered its curtains upon me, with every kind of anxiety, as though to test me.”
Ka-mawji al-baḥr compares the night to the reach, tumult, and dark mass of sea waves. Arkhā sudūlahu gives the night the action of lowering curtains; bi-anwāʿi al-humūm piles up various kinds of grief.
Li-yabtalī presents the night as an examiner. The line does not literally ascribe a conscious intention to darkness: this is personification and metaphorical projection, making the speaker's mental suffering visible as an external force.
6. Mawj, sudūl, and humūm: elements of the image
Mawj is a wave; the phrase ka-mawji al-baḥr evokes a boundless, formidable night. Sudūl refers to hanging curtains or drapes that obscure what lies behind them. Arkhā means to let something down or slacken it.
Humūm is the plural of hamm, denoting worry, grief, and mental pressure. Anwāʿ emphasizes plurality of kinds: the poet does not specify a single sorrow but the accumulation of anxieties.
Two images work differently: the waves suggest vastness and agitation, whereas the curtains suggest enclosure and obscuration. Reducing both to the single word “darkness” would obscure the poem's carefully layered sensory design.
7. Verse 45: the night stretches its body
فَقُلْتُ لَهُ لَمَّا تَمَطَّى بِصُلْبِهِ
وَأَرْدَفَ أَعْجَازًا وَنَاءَ بِكَلْكَلِ
“Then I spoke to it when it stretched out its back, added its hindquarters behind, and bore down with its massive chest.”
Tamaṭṭā bi-ṣulbihi pictures an extended back; ardafa aʿjāzan adds the rear portions; and nāʾa bi-kalkal suggests the weight of a heavy chest or forepart.
The night is no longer merely a curtain: it has become a huge, oppressive body. Length of time, the weight of sorrow, and physical exhaustion are fused in one figure. The next verse will directly address this embodied night.
8. Ṣulb, aʿjāz, kalkal: anatomizing the night
Ṣulb refers to the back or its firm central structure. Aʿjāz, the plural of ʿajuz, names hind parts of a body, while kalkal denotes the chest or heavy front portion. All three belong to the vocabulary of physical anatomy.
Tamaṭṭā evokes a body stretching itself. Ardafa means bringing one part behind another; nāʾa communicates bearing or sagging under weight.
The result is a complete figure in which abstract duration acquires a back, rear, and chest. Translating all this simply as “the night lasted a long time” would remove the layered figurative structure of the original.
9. Verse 46: calling for dawn, then denying its relief
أَلَا أَيُّهَا اللَّيْلُ الطَّوِيلُ أَلَا انْجَلِي
بِصُبْحٍ وَمَا الْإِصْبَاحُ مِنْكَ بِأَمْثَلِ
“O long night, clear away into morning—yet morning is no better than you.”
Ayyuhā al-layl al-ṭawīl directly calls upon the night, and injalī asks it to disperse. Immediately afterward, wa-mā al-iṣbāḥu minka bi-amthal denies that the appearance of dawn would improve the speaker's state.
The verse juxtaposes hope and withdrawal of hope. If the cause of suffering were merely the absence of sunlight, dawn would cure it. The speaker instead suggests that distress persists within him even after the visible world becomes bright.
10. Alā, ayyuhā, and injalī: address and morphology
Alā calls for attention. Ayyuhā forms a vocative expression, followed by al-layl al-ṭawīl, the identified addressee. An inanimate night is made capable of being addressed in the language of an intimate plea.
Injalī belongs to the root family j-l-w / j-l-y (ج ل و / ج ل ي), with the sense of becoming clear or dispersing. Here it is a request or command that the night disappear, not an actual order to a human listener.
In mā ... bi-amthal, mā is negative, and the bāʾ with the predicate reinforces negation. Amthal conveys the comparative idea of being better or more favorable.
11. Why dawn offers no relief: apparent paradox
In ordinary poetic expectation, the end of darkness brings relief. Here the speaker makes two apparently opposing statements: alā injalī asks the night to depart; wa-mā al-iṣbāḥu minka bi-amthal then denies that morning is any better.
These are not simply inconsistent assertions. The first voices a natural desire for time to move on, while the second acknowledges the continuing state of inner distress. The result is a contrast between physical daylight and emotional darkness.
The force of the passage comes from the poet qualifying his own plea. The listener discovers that the problem lies deeper than the length of a night: changing the outer landscape need not alter an inner condition.
12. Verse 47: stars tied to immovable rocks
فَيَا لَكَ مِنْ لَيْلٍ كَأَنَّ نُجُومَهُ
بِأَمْرَاسِ كَتَّانٍ إِلَى صُمِّ جَنْدَلِ
“What a night! Its stars seem fastened by flaxen ropes to massive, unyielding stones.”
Nujūmahu names the stars of that night; amrāsi kattān are ropes made of flax, and ṣummi jandal are hard, unyielding rocks. Together they make the apparent immobility of the stars vividly concrete.
The verse is not a scientific assertion about celestial motion. It describes a night that feels unbearably slow. Because the stars seem fixed in place, the desired arrival of morning appears impossibly distant.
13. Amrās, kattān, and jandal: the simile of immobility
Mirs, plural amrās, denotes strong cords or ropes. Kattān is flax, a plant fiber used for thread and cordage. Jandal is rock, while ṣumm highlights the stones' hardness and resistance.
The stars are what is compared; the scene of objects lashed to unyielding rocks is the comparator. The point is not an identical physical shape but stillness and resistance to movement.
Previously, night resembled sea waves and then an enormous body. It now resembles a sky immobilized by ropes. These different sensory images render a single experience—agonizingly slow passage of time—through several distinct visual mechanisms.
14. Verses 44–47: four perspectives on the night
VerseImageEffect
44Sea waves and curtainsEnclosure on every side
45Back, rear, heavy chestProlongation and weight
46Direct address and dawnDesire for relief, then its denial
47Stars, flax ropes, rocksThe apparent arrest of time
The night remains central throughout, but no single simile is mechanically repeated. It first envelops the poet, then weighs him down, is next addressed, and finally appears fixed in place.
The sequence shows how successful description achieves more than attractive phrasing: motion, dialogue, and stasis each deepen the presentation of the same psychological state.
15. Verse 48: carrying a water-skin on a journey
وَقِرْبَةِ أَقْوَامٍ جَعَلْتُ عِصَامَهَا
عَلَى كَاهِلٍ مِنِّي ذَلُولٍ مُرَحَّلِ
“And many a people's water-skin have I slung by its carrying strap over my shoulder, accustomed to bearing loads and to travel.”
Qirbah is a leather water-skin, ʿiṣām its carrying strap, and kāhil the upper shoulder/back area. Dhalūl muraḥḥal expresses a shoulder or bearer trained through service, movement, and the repeated burden of travel.
The emotional pressure of the night yields to a literal load on the body. The shift displays endurance and a life in motion. The image can also suggest shouldering responsibilities for others; its basic pictured action remains carrying a water-skin.
16. Qirbah, ʿiṣām, and kāhil: vocabulary of travel
Qirbah is a vessel, commonly made from animal hide, used to transport water. Aqwām, plural of qawm, makes clear that the poet recalls loads belonging to people other than himself.
ʿIṣām is the strap for carrying the water-skin, and kāhil is the upper part of the back just below the neck. Dhalūl normally characterizes a compliant mount or trained bearer; here it conveys the speaker's willingness and endurance.
Muraḥḥal evokes the condition of repeated travel and loading. Rendering it only as “departing” would lose the important sense of experience and physical hardship within the line.
17. Jaʿaltu ʿiṣāmahā: syntax and characterization
Jaʿaltu is a past verb with a first-person agent. In ʿiṣāmahā, ʿiṣām is the object and the feminine pronoun hā refers back to the water-skin. ʿAlā kāhilin minnī locates the carrying strap upon the speaker's own shoulder.
Dhalūlin muraḥḥal qualifies the shoulder or load-bearing person as accustomed to service and travel. Minnī makes the physical experience unmistakably personal, while qirbati aqwāmin shows that the object belongs to others.
There is thus a relation between the poet's self and other people: after the private suffering of the night, he now bears a communal load. The line expands his characterization rather than merely adding another travel detail.
18. Verse 49: a barren valley and the wolf’s call
وَوَادٍ كَجَوْفِ الْعَيْرِ قَفْرٍ قَطَعْتُهُ
بِهِ الذِّئْبُ يَعْوِي كَالْخَلِيعِ الْمُعَيَّلِ
“And many a desolate valley, hollow as the inside of an ass, have I crossed, while in it a wolf howled like an outcast burdened with dependents.”
Wādin ... qafrin is a valley nearly devoid of habitation and life. Ka-jawfi al-ʿayr intensifies the impression of hollowness; bihi al-dhiʾbu yaʿwī sets a single plaintive voice inside that vast silence.
The simile ka-l-khalīʿ al-muʿayyal compares the wolf with a person cut off from his community who must still support dependents. The wilderness is therefore not merely an empty landscape: its sound also evokes social exclusion and need.
19. Qafr, khalīʿ, muʿayyal: desert and destitution
Qafr describes land without meaningful habitation, water, or growth; qaṭaʿtuhu asserts that the speaker has crossed it. Al-dhiʾb is the wolf and yaʿwī its characteristic howl, a sound that receives special emphasis in the scene.
Khalīʿ evokes a man disowned or cast off by his people. Muʿayyal describes someone carrying the burden of dependents. Together they evoke isolation, obligation, and poverty.
The comparison between wolf and human does not depend on similar physical appearance. Their point of resemblance is the quality of the cry and the helplessness it implies. The animal remains a wolf, but its howling resonates with the suffering of an excluded person.
20. Jawf al-ʿayr: reading the valley simile carefully
Jawf is an inner cavity or hollow, and al-ʿayr can denote a donkey. The phrase ka-jawfi al-ʿayr emphasizes a valley that appears hollow, empty, or forlorn. More than one detailed reading of this comparison is possible; their shared core is desolation and emptiness.
Grammatically, wa-wādin introduces the place; ka-jawfi al-ʿayr supplies the simile; qafrin its desolate quality; and qaṭaʿtuhu the speaker's act of crossing it. Place, character, and action therefore emerge in sequence.
The word qafr is more than topographical information: it supplies the silent setting in which the wolf's howling in the second hemistich becomes especially striking.
21. Verse 50: an imagined conversation with the wolf
فَقُلْتُ لَهُ لَمَّا عَوَى إِنَّ شَأْنَنَا
قَلِيلُ الْغِنَى إِنْ كُنْتَ لَمَّا تَمَوَّلِ
“When it howled, I said to it: our lot is a scant share of prosperity, if you too have not yet gathered wealth.”
Fa-qultu lahu explicitly addresses the wolf. Lammā ʿawā marks the occasion of the speech, while inna shaʾnanā qalīlu al-ghinā characterizes their shared lack of means. Lammā tamawwal suggests not having acquired wealth up to that point.
This is a poetic imagined dialogue, not documentary evidence that an animal conversed as a human. The speaker projects his own deprivation onto the only other living being audible in the wilderness and establishes a kinship of hardship.
22. Shaʾnanā, qalīl al-ghinā, and lammā tamawwal
Shaʾn means one's condition or affair; in shaʾnanā, nā is the first-person plural pronoun. Qalīlu al-ghinā describes limited means or prosperity shared, in the poem's comparison, by poet and wolf.
Tamawwala is a verb of acquiring wealth from the root m-w-l (م و ل). Negation with lammā can carry the nuance “not yet,” which should not be collapsed into simple past negation with lam.
In kunta lammā tamawwal includes a conditional element: “if you have not yet acquired property.” The line emphasizes their parallel deprivation. Translation should retain its conditional flavor without treating the wolf as a literal human economic agent.
23. Verse 51: the shared condition of loss
كِلَانَا إِذَا مَا نَالَ شَيْئًا أَفَاتَهُ
وَمَنْ يَحْتَرِثْ حَرْثِي وَحَرْثَكَ يَهْزَلِ
“Each of us, when he obtains something, lets it slip away; and whoever strives for a livelihood like yours and mine grows lean.”
Kilānā gathers the speaker and wolf under one description. Nāla shayʾan afātahu presents acquisition immediately followed by loss. Yaḥtarith ḥarthī wa-ḥarthaka makes cultivation or striving a metaphor for obtaining a living.
Yahzal means to grow thin or weak. The preceding verse stated a shared condition; this one offers its consequence and broader observation. The imagined dialogue becomes not only complaint but a bitter generalization about effort without lasting gain.
24. Kilānā and yaḥtarith: dual reference and condition
Kilānā means “both of us,” referring here to the poet and wolf. Idhā mā nāla shayʾan describes obtaining something; the object pronoun in afātahu points back to that acquired thing.
In man yaḥtarith, man is conditional and yaḥtarith is the jussive imperfect. Ḥarthī wa-ḥarthaka are possessive constructions, literally “my cultivation and yours.” Yahzal gives the consequence, growing lean.
Ḥarth literally belongs to agriculture but is applied here to earning a livelihood and its results. Recognizing the metaphor is essential to understanding the shared struggle to survive attributed to the poet and wolf.
25. Verses 43–51: synthesis of structure and imagery
VersesScene or eventLiterary feature
43Resistance to a counselorRejection and resolve
44–45The protracted, oppressive nightWaves, curtains, embodied night
46–47Desire for dawn, fixed starsAddress, negation, stasis simile
48Carrying another group's waterPhysical burden and endurance
49–51Valley, wolf, and dialogueDesolation, human analogy, condition
The sequence shifts from human opposition to the pressure of a long night, then to the isolation of the wilderness. Both night and wolf become recipients of the poet's speech, turning nature into more than scenery.
The following section begins wa-qad aghtadī wa-l-ṭayru fī wukunātihā, introducing early morning, the poet's horse, speed, and hunting. The present portion concludes a connected unit devoted to grief, endurance, and deprivation.