Original content

English translation

In the convention of the ancients and the philosophers, poetry is speech composed of imaginative premises—that is, it is of such a nature that it casts into the listener's imagination meanings that induce attraction toward something or aversion from something, whether it be true in itself or not, and whether the listener believes in its truth or not.

As when they say 'wine is molten ruby' or 'a flowing sapphire,' or 'honey is a thing bitter or briny, vomited by the bee.' The later philosophers have also taken meter and rhyme into account in it; but in the convention of the common people nothing is regarded therein except meter and rhyme. Thus poetry is speech that is metered and rhymed, and imagination or its absence, truth or its absence, are not truly of consideration in it. By God, how excellent is poetry—how great its rank and how lofty its place! Would that I knew: what virtue is more sublime than poetry, and what magic is more abundant than this magic!

No beloved is like measured speech; the secret of comeliness lies within its down. Patience from it is hard and consolation difficult, especially when, to win the heart, it draws over its breast the robe of coquetry from meter, and fashions its hem into embroidery from rhyme; it arrays its foot with the anklet of the radif, and adds upon its brow the beauty-mark of imagination. Its cheek, through simile, shines forth like the moon, carrying off the reason of a hundred who have strayed. Its hair, through paronomasia (tajnis), it parts asunder, weaving two tresses parted flawlessly. Its lip, through gem-setting (tarsi'), scatters pearls, and hangs its musky curls with jewels. Its eye, through ambiguity (iham), gives a wink, casting turmoil into the assembly of fancy. Upon its face it lays the tress of metaphor, and from behind the veil becomes an unveiler of truth.

As for the fact that God—glorified and exalted—purified the miraculously-fashioned speech of the Qur'an from the taint of the accusation of poetry by the particle of negation in 'And it is not the word of a poet,' and raised the science of its eloquence from the lowliness of the defilement of 'nay, he is a poet' to the summit of the sanctity of 'And We did not teach him poetry, nor is it befitting for him'—this does not establish the notion that poetry is in itself something blameworthy, and that the poet is to be reproached and blamed for producing versified speech. Rather, it is so that the deficient may not attribute the composition of the Qur'an to poetic taste, and the obstinate who undertake to challenge it may not reckon him—God bless him and grant him peace—among the ranks of poets. And this is the clearest proof of the elevation of the station of poetry and poets and the loftiness of the rank of the magic-creating adorners of verse.

Behold the rank of poetry: for when, to negate the attribute of prophethood from the Prophet, and to correct the ascription of the Qur'an, they leveled against him the accusation of being a poet.

Poetry is of various kinds: such as the qasida, the ghazal, the masnavi, the qit'a, and the ruba'i; and poets differ in their practice of them. Some are versatile, having composed poetry in all of these kinds, and some are of the sort whose inclination toward certain of these kinds has been greater—such as the ancients, whose attention was to qasidas in panegyrics, homilies, and the like, and the attention of some to the masnavi—unlike the moderns, most of whose utterances have fallen in the manner of the ghazal. The number of this group is beyond limit and count, and the mention of their details exceeds the bounds of comprehensive coverage; therefore, mention will be confined to a few of their famous ones.