Grey dawn, asphalt hush:
Early flight. Sleep beswaddled,
Waiting for taxi.
Surah 104
Not all of the surahs are particularly poetic. Abu Lahab (111), a short tirade against a personal enemy, has very little by way of poetic style (my translation here). Nevertheless, some of the surahs are very highly sculpted. The following translation of surah 104 (al-Humaza - the Backbiter) attempts to mimic as closely as possible the Arabic rhyme-scheme and so takes liberties with the precise meaning of individual words. The rhythm is more difficult for me to notice in its current written form, especially with the vowels added, so I've not attempted to replicate that. In the original oral delivery I'd imagine that rhythmic patterns were far more marked. (More conventional trans. here and another by me here.)
In the name of God passionate, compassionate:
Woe to every bitcher and snitcher
hoarding his wealth, noticing any short-fall
thinking it has made him immortal!
No. He'll be thrown into destruction.
And what's it like, destruction?
A fire by God set burning,
over their hearts licking,
around them turning,
like pillars towering.
In the name of God passionate, compassionate:
Woe to every bitcher and snitcher
hoarding his wealth, noticing any short-fall
thinking it has made him immortal!
No. He'll be thrown into destruction.
And what's it like, destruction?
A fire by God set burning,
over their hearts licking,
around them turning,
like pillars towering.
Surah 112 - Unadulterated
Say this: "He alone is God,
God who endures forever.
He neither fathers nor was he fathered,
nor, indeed, is there anyone like him."
Commentary
This seems almost creed-like: an eternal, singular notion of the divine. There may be some anti-Trinitarian polemic, although just possibly the surah could be read as a rejection of a pagan pantheon. Different Arabic titles are given, including 'Unity'. I've chosen 'unmixed/pure' with the hint in English of a rejection of other divine relationships.
There is some end-rhyme: wahad / Samad (one / eternal).
Surah 113 - Daybreak
(Continuing a series in which an Anglican priest translates and comments on the Quran)
Say this: "I will look to the creator of the daybreak for my protection:
from the malevolence of creation,
from the malevolence of the darkness when it grows intense,
from the malevolence of women who make curses,
from the malevolence of the man who holds a grudge."
Commentary
I've aimed for a more expansive translation than other English versions adding pronouns, for example, changing some word-order and tenses for emphasis and paraphrasing a fair bit.
Rab (creator/ruler) is cognate with common words throughout the middle-east, including the Hebrew honorific rabbi and the Babylonian majordomo rabshakeh.
The word I have translated as malevolence (sharr) is repeated four times (possibly) in pairs: the final two evils, at least, reflect a gendered pair: female and male evil-doers (thus inclusive of all humans who seek to wound).
'Women who make curses' is my paraphrase of 'the female blowers on knots', a reference to some form of evil magic (are knots about causing us to be tied-up, i.e. for life not to flow easily...?). There is some nice onomatopoeia: 'blowers' is an-nafathat. The word 'protection' in verse 1 can be used in terms of warding off the evil eye.
There is a fair bit of end-rhyme: falaq / khalaq (v. 1 day-break / v. 2 he created) - notably both words emphasizing God's role in starting something; and ghuqad / hasad (v. 4 knots / v. 5 he envies); indeed the final word of the middle verse waqb arguably acts as a shift in the rhyme sequence by moving the -q- to the medial position.
Theologically, the surah replicates a problem concerning the origin of evil: v. 2 has 'the evil that [God] created', but in the cultural context of early monotheism (and without Augustine's more sophisticated discussion of evil as privation) this might mistakenly imply that God is the author of evil. Rather, I think the notion is that evil arises from a divine creation with free-will, and one prays to be delivered from this.
The surah is a prayer about how to deal with adversity from other people by seeking a more secure anchorage in the concept of a god who is the author of creation, in particular the one who breaks the night (the locus of evil) each day by bringing light. 'The Daybreak' is a fitting title. Christians will recognize the theme in 'Let there be light...' and in the Johannine Jesus referring to himself as 'the light of the world'. Of course, themes of darkness and evil abound in Christian (and other) writings.
In terms of human psychology here is an urge to re-frame the experience (or fear) of evil. Note that evil is not explicitly experienced but rather located in the (feared) intentions of others; the believer is to submit to trust in God rather than let his/her fears take over.
Say this: "I will look to the creator of the daybreak for my protection:
from the malevolence of creation,
from the malevolence of the darkness when it grows intense,
from the malevolence of women who make curses,
from the malevolence of the man who holds a grudge."
Commentary
I've aimed for a more expansive translation than other English versions adding pronouns, for example, changing some word-order and tenses for emphasis and paraphrasing a fair bit.
Rab (creator/ruler) is cognate with common words throughout the middle-east, including the Hebrew honorific rabbi and the Babylonian majordomo rabshakeh.
The word I have translated as malevolence (sharr) is repeated four times (possibly) in pairs: the final two evils, at least, reflect a gendered pair: female and male evil-doers (thus inclusive of all humans who seek to wound).
'Women who make curses' is my paraphrase of 'the female blowers on knots', a reference to some form of evil magic (are knots about causing us to be tied-up, i.e. for life not to flow easily...?). There is some nice onomatopoeia: 'blowers' is an-nafathat. The word 'protection' in verse 1 can be used in terms of warding off the evil eye.
There is a fair bit of end-rhyme: falaq / khalaq (v. 1 day-break / v. 2 he created) - notably both words emphasizing God's role in starting something; and ghuqad / hasad (v. 4 knots / v. 5 he envies); indeed the final word of the middle verse waqb arguably acts as a shift in the rhyme sequence by moving the -q- to the medial position.
Theologically, the surah replicates a problem concerning the origin of evil: v. 2 has 'the evil that [God] created', but in the cultural context of early monotheism (and without Augustine's more sophisticated discussion of evil as privation) this might mistakenly imply that God is the author of evil. Rather, I think the notion is that evil arises from a divine creation with free-will, and one prays to be delivered from this.
The surah is a prayer about how to deal with adversity from other people by seeking a more secure anchorage in the concept of a god who is the author of creation, in particular the one who breaks the night (the locus of evil) each day by bringing light. 'The Daybreak' is a fitting title. Christians will recognize the theme in 'Let there be light...' and in the Johannine Jesus referring to himself as 'the light of the world'. Of course, themes of darkness and evil abound in Christian (and other) writings.
In terms of human psychology here is an urge to re-frame the experience (or fear) of evil. Note that evil is not explicitly experienced but rather located in the (feared) intentions of others; the believer is to submit to trust in God rather than let his/her fears take over.
The Ritual (a poem)
The Ritual
Arriving early for Armistice Day, clutching
service orders, the huddled few
nod greetings. An awkward
waiting. Slow, then urgent, an avalanche
deposits the expectant crowd and we begin.
Names are read: bricks laid in memory's
mortar, an unfinished building.
The coarse rope slips through careful hands,
the flag descends - and silence.
Noisy halyard slaps desperately
against the pole: thoughts tug and
pull. The crowd stills, quickens,
a body crystalised by death, re-membered. Then
the Rouse: sleeper awake!
Hands shake, a deal done,
the waters pushed back - for a while - return.
It is finished.
(written November 2017 on the occasion of the University's annual Armistice and memorial service)
A Chaplaincy Weekly thought
I joined a group of charismatic Christians earlier this week to pray. OK, it wasn't really my cup of tea: I'm normally a sit-on-my-own-in-silence kind of guy. A classic introvert contemplative.
Nevertheless, I found myself moved and reinvigorated just by being around these Christians. With their prayers and words of prophecy they jolted me out of my less spiritual way of 'seeing', and helped me to 'see' the world again afresh as the place where God is at work.
It struck me that one of the things that worship is for is to change us: to remind (literally re-mind) us of the spiritual dimension. Often 'normal life' blinds me - robs me - of wonder, trust, and the memory of God.
But being with other Christians, speaking their language in song and prayer, 'woke me up' again, helped me again to 'see Christian-ly'.
Duck or rabbit: Is life 'normal', is life 'holy'; or is it both, depending on how you see?
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