THE FUNCTION OF RHETORIC IN

MEDIEVAL ARABIC POETRY:

ABU TAMMAM'S ODE ON AMORIUM

The emergence in the ninth century, and the subsequent rapid

spread, of the highly rhetorical and ornate style in Arabic poetry
(and literature in general), which is known as badi (literally-the
New) is an intriguing literary phenomenon. It is not that the ornate
style as such is a peculiarity of Arabic poetry, although it is still a
popular prejudice to think that Arabic tends to be flowery and verbose.
Similar examples can easily be found in other literatures as well as
other arts. One does not have to look for them only in adjacent and
more related cultures such as the Persian, from which some scholars
assumed badi to have ultimately derived. In fifteenth-century Europe
the fashion of the 'aureate' was followed not only by the Scottish
Chaucerian poets, but it spread to their French contemporaries, the
grands rhétoriqueurs. In English prose the euphuistic style may have
been limited to few somewhat idiosyncratic works such as John
Lyly's Euphue.r and perhaps Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, but in English
poetry, on the other hand, the Elizabethan conceit (vide Campion's
well known poem beginning with 'There is a garden in her face')
was a less uncommon feature of style, and 'metaphysical' poetry
certainly proved to be of longer duration. Mannerism is a familiar
phenomenon in the history of western art. However, whereas in
Europe Mannerism was only one stage in the development of art
and was followed by other stages marked by other styles, badi `
continued to exercise an attraction, which in some cases was fatal,
for well nigh a thousand years.
Of course, the mystery may become a little reduced, though it will
by no means vanish, when we bear in mind the highly conventional
nature of Islamic Arabic poetry and the limited scope in which the
individual talent could show its originality within the extraordinarily
narrow confines of the tradition, which compelled poets to concentrate
on minute stylistic features such as rhetorical devices. Before long
rhetoric was studied, analyzed and codified by medieval Arabic
literary critics, rhetoricians and grammarians, whose studies became
more elaborate, refined and indeed mechanical as time went on.
The five main elements into which badi was reduced by Ibn al-

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Mu Ctazz in the first treatise to be devoted to the subject Kitdb al-badi' `

(c. 274 H./886 A.D.) became no fewer than thirty-five different
figures of speech by the time Abu Hilal al- `Askari wrote his Kifib
al find `atain (c. 394 I-L/1003 A.D.). This number was multiplied
several times in the work which was destined to become a most
popular manual of rhetoric, Kitib miftdh al- Cttlüm by al-Sakkaki
(d. 626 H, j1228 A.D.). By the sixteenth century we find Jalal al-Din
al-Suyuti (d. 911 H./1505 A.D.) stating that there are more than
two hundred figures of speech.2
At times, as can be seen even in the brief list provided by A. J.
Arberry in his Arabic Poetry : a Primer for Stttdents (1965), the case
was one of distinction without difference. Indeed about the prolifera-
tion in Arabic critical writings of technical terms denoting the various
subtle and super subtle nuances of verbal devices one could echo
Quintilian's well known complaint about the Greeks' predilection
for naming 'figures' after Aristotle's time. And perhaps the real
parallel to the dominance of this type of rhetorical thinking, at least
in Arabic critical theory, is to be sought not so much in post-Renais-
sance Europe as in the early history of European literary criticism
during the long period stretching from the latest classical times
and the dominance of such works as the Progymnasmata of Hermogenes
to the end of the Middle Ages and the downfall of the Trivium in
which rhetoric, of course, held the same important position as logic
and grammar and was often inextricably bound up with them. So
strong was the rhetoric tradition that not a few Renaissance books
of criticism devoted a large space to a discussion of figures. For
instance, in the third book of his Arse of English Poesie (1589), signifi-
cantly entitled 'Of Ornament', Puttenham enumerates more than a
hundred figures which he divides into three classes with the quaint
names: 'auricular', 'sensable' and 'sententious'.
As is well known, badi did not assert itself in Abbasid times with-
out a struggle. Strong opposition was voiced against the artificial
mode of writing by several critics and scholars. The battle of the
ancients and moderns was in many respects a battle over the use of
badic. Badi' became the issue at the centre of the dispute over the
1 Ibn al-Mu�tazzinsists that bad��
proper is divisible only into five types,
although at the end of his book he adds some thirteen ornaments of speech.
See Kit�bal-bad��, ed. Ignatius Kratchkovsky, London, 1935, pp. 57-8 (Arabic
text).
2 See in the margin of al-Sakk�k�'s Kit�bmift�h
al-Suy�t�'s Itm�m al-dir�ya
al-�ul�m (First edn., Cairo, n.d.), p. 161.

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relative merits of the poetry of Abu Tammam and al-Buhturi and it

lay behind much of the later controversy over the poetry of al-
Mutanabbi. However, once its victory was assured, rhetoric main-
tained sway over Arabic poetry for several centuries to come, although
as late as Ibn Khaldun's time we hear that one of his mentors expressed
the wish that those who indulge in badi could be severely punished
by the State.3
As in the case of Europe, the reaction against the rhetorical tradi-
tion did not take place in the Arab world until some time after the
advent of its modern Renaissance and the gradual disappearance of
the medieval conception of literature as a public activity.4 But the
Arab Renaissance occurred only in the nineteenth century, at least
four centuries later than its European counterpart. Partly because
of its tardy appearance, the reaction of modernist Arab writers and
critics was vehement. They were disgusted by the verbal acrobatics
practiced in poetry and prose alike and by the inordinate attention
given to manner at the expense of matter. Badi" is now rejected
wholesale with the result that there is a danger of the baby being
thrown away with the bathwater. Even western scholars, when they
are not contented merely with recording, analyzing and tracing the
development of Arabic rhetorical figures in a totally cold and un-
involved manner, tend to express a similar peremptorily dismissive
attitude. One such scholar recently wrote that unlike 'sound effects
which appeal to emotions and the senses' ... 'rhetorical devices ...
mainly appeal to the intellect',5-a strange and misleading remark,
since it suggests, among other things, that rhetorical devices and
sound effects are mutually exclusive.
However, of late there have been signs of what may prove to be
an incipient movement among some scholars, who have been in-
fluenced by modern developments in stylistics, towards re-instating
badi', by showing that it is not always without a function. In Poetique
arabe: essai sur les voies d'une création (Paris, 1975), Jamal Eddine
Bencheikh discusses the role of tajnis (paronomasia) 'dans l'organiza-
tion du vers' (pp. 187 ff.), but despite its elaborate theoretical frame-

al-naqd �ind
3 Ihsan �Abb�s, T�r�kh al-�arabBeirut, 1971, p. 616.
4 On the connection between this
conception of literature and rhetoric see the
illuminating article by Peter Dronke �MedievalRhetoric' in Literature and Western
Civilization: the Medieval World,ed. David Daiches and Anthony Thorlby (London,
1973), pp. 315-47.
5 Renate Jacobi, 'Ibn al-Mu�tazz:Dair �Abdan.A Structural Analysis' J.A.L.,
VI, 1975, p. 52.

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work, his discussion deals only with the superficial aspects of poetry.
What is even more damaging is that he is so relentlessly committed
to the relativist historical point of view that he deliberately refrains
from passing aesthetic judgments. Far more penetrating and illuminat-
ing in this regard is Andras Hamori's treatment in his book On the
Art of Medieval Arabic Literature (Princeton, 1974). Guided by a
remark by the great medieval Arab critic 'Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani
in his Asrir al-baldgha to the effect that the only pleasing instances of
paronomasia are those which are 'required, called for and led up to
by the idea of the passage,' Mr. Hamori wonders if we 'can establish
some kind of direct relation between idea and rhetorical figure'
(p. 130). While priori the possibility of the existence of such a
direct relation must be doubted, at least where poems of any aesthetic
merit are concerned, it must be admitted that in the course of his
discussion Mr. Hamori offers several valuable suggestions and
insights. Taking as his example Abu Tammam's famous ode in praise
of the Caliph al-Mu <tajim on the occasion of his conquest of Amorium
in 838, he tries to show that Abu Tammam could be a master of his
rhetoric. In this, however, Hamori does not seem to me to go far
enough.
In the following remarks I shall endeavour to show how rhetoric
can be a clue to the total meaning of a poem and an essential element
in its structure. This, of course, is not a plea for rhetoric as such:
it does not mean that when it is not transformed by the poet in the
creative act rhetoric ceases to remain a mere embellishment, a me-
chanical device devoid of all value. My remarks will be confined to
the same poem by Abu Tammam : this is not only because it is an
excellent poem of its kind but also because it is so well known that
the discovery of the significance of its rhetoric will be all the more
surprising. Since lack of space makes it difficult to give here a detailed
analysis of the whole poem I shall limit my observations to certain
parts of it.
The poem has a relatively clear structure; it is divided into six
roughly equal sections and a conclusion:

I. lines 1-10: an attack on astrologers who falsely predicted that

the city would not fall to the Muslims at that time of year.
II. lines 11-22: an account of the victory which includes a descrip-
tion of the conquered city.

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III. lines 23-36: a description of the fighting and the destruction

of the city.
IV. lines 37-49: praise of the Caliph, the conquering hero.
V. lines 50-58: attack on Theophilus, the Byzantine ruler.
VI. lines 59-66: further description of the fighting and the capturing
of enemy women.
VII. lines 67-71: conclusion pointing out the religious implications
of the victory.

The vehemence of the attack on astrologers and their false prophe-

cies with which the poem opens is counterbalanced by the poet's
stress in the conclusion on the religious nature of the achievement of
God's Caliph and the affinity he finds between his victory and that
of the true Prophet. Section I therefore clearly contrasts with the
conclusion. Section IV, the encomium on Mu `tasim, contrasts with
Section V in which Theophilus is satirized. Section II gives an ideal-
ized portrait of the city in which it is likened to a woman while
Section III presents the destruction (or rape) of the city. There re-
mains only Section VI in which the two themes of Sections II and
III are taken up again: besides the fighting, it describes the capturing
of women (the woman element in the metaphor of the earlier section
reasserts itself and appears here in the form of real women). From
this brief account it becomes clear that the structure of the poem is
one of simple contrast and balances. Of course, these sections do
not constitute watertight compartments: the themes in them merge
and overlap. Nevertheless, by and large they can be divided along
the preceding lines.
We may now turn from the general structure to the details of the
rhetorical figures. Let us take by way of illustration only the opening
three lines:

?ll saifu asdaqu anba)an mina 'I-kutubi

fi haddibi l-baddu baina l-jiddi wa 'l la `ibi

Bidu Id sfidu
mutünihinna jala)u l-shakki wa 'l-riyabi
wa 'l `ilmu fi .rhuhubi 'l armahi lami `atan
baina 'l khamisai?ai ld fi 'l sbuhubi

(The sword is more truthful in tidings than books: in its edge lies
the boundary between earnestness and sport: In the text (i.e. broadside)
of bright swords, not of black pages is to be found the removal of

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doubt and uncertainties. And knowledge comes from the flames of

lances flashing between two armies (literally two fivefold armies),
not from the seven luminaries.)

Here obviously two figures stand out: tibdq (antithesis) and jinis
(paronomasia)-the former is in these pairs of words jidd (earnest-
ness) and lacib (sport); bid (bright/white) and si7d (black); khamis
(literally: fivefold) and sab(a (seven) while the latter can be detected
in hadd (edge/boundary), jidd (earnestness), fafd'ib (swords), fabd"if
(pages), mutun (texts/broadsides), shuhub (luminaries /fires), 'ilm (know-
ledge) and lamiC. This is not just a case of what Keats once described
as 'loading every rift with ore', although it certainly is that as well.
For instance, in the first line which contrasts the sword and books
the partial jinds in haddi andjiddi links these two words more closely
while the rhyme draws together kutubi and la cibi, thereby making
the identification complete between sword and earnestness on the
one hand and books and sport on the other. Whereas the books are
those of false prophecy (they are the books of astrologers) the sword
stands for the truth (jidq), both in the sense that what the sword
accomplishes is a fact, as different from a mere prophecy (which was
to be belied by the events, anyway), and in the sense of acting on
behalf of the Faith, for the sword defends Islam and through it
Islam has emerged victorious. Hence in line 70 the poet finds 'the
closest relation' between the Caliph's victory-crowned days and the
days of Badr when the Prophet Muhammad defeated his enemies.
Because it stands for the Truth the sword is serious and also means
business, unlike books of astrologers which are equated with levity.
The same type of antithesis and pun are carried over into the
second line. White (i.e. gleaming) swords are contrasted with the
black pages of astrologers: it hardly needs pointing out that in Arabic,
as in most languages, white suggests virtue, honour and magnanimity
while black stands for their opposites; the sword was used by the
Caliph to defend religion. This contrast between white and non-white
is taken up in the last line (line 71), where victory is described as
having 'brightened the faces of Arabs', i.e. brought them honour.
At the same time the word bid (white) is used emphatically in line 66
with the double meaning of swords and fair-skinned women to stress
the sword's achievement. Furthermore, the opposition between
white and dark here will be parallelled later by the striking contrast
between light and dark in the section describing the burning city of
Amorium (lines 25-29).

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The comparison between war and astrology to the disadvantage of

the latter, accompanied by a further instance of paronomasia, runs
through the third line, where we are told that knowledge is to be
sought not in the stars but in the lances, not in the seven luminaries
but in the fire of lances flashing between the two (fivefold) armies.
The jinds in the roots /-w- and (-I-m parallels that in the previous
lines between and sahd'if which the commentator Tibrizi
inversion or 6
callsi .inds al-qalb (i.e. paronomasia by metathesis).6
It goes without saying that Abu Tammam does not regard the
sword to be superior to auy book, for this would be absurd, partic-
ularly in view of the generally favourable Islamic associations that
cluster round the word book: kitdb (as seen, for instance, in such
expressions as ahl al-kit,7b and kitdb Allah). That is why it is difficult
to accept Arberry's translation of the opening lines, 'The sword is
truer in tidings than (any) writings'.' Moreover, Abu Tammam was
very much a 'bookish' poet: the imagery reveals this clearly enough.
What he seems to be saying here is more than is conveyed by the
English expression 'action speaks louder than words'. His imagination
conceives swords, lances and warfare in terms of books and learning:
the sword is more truthful (afdaq) than books, swords have texts
(mutün) and lances have knowledge ('ilm). Here things turn out to
be other than what they seem: for instance, truth and knowledge are
not in books, but in swords. Just like words in paronomasia-the
sound is the same but the meaning is different. Paronomasia involves
contrast between appearance and reality, sound and signification.
It is not surprising therefore that the two rhetorical figures jiuds
(paronomasia) and tibciq (antithesis) are often found together.
Of antithesis there is a remarkably large number of instances in
this poem-a fact often noticed by critics. What is not sufficiently
realized, however, is just how large this number is. In a poem of
71 lines no fewer than 52 lines are based on contrast or present anti-
thetical ideas. We have already seen the examples in the first three
lines. Here is a list of tibdq (varying degrees of contrast) in the rest
of the poem: 1. 5 and gharab (ultimately meaning strong/weak);
1. 7 mitzlima and kaukab (dark/star) ; 1. 8 mttnqalib and ghair munqalib
(moving/fixed); 1. 9 falak and qt?tub (sphere/pole); 1. 10 baiyanat and
tukhfi (reveal/conceal) ; 1. l ?ca?m and nathr (ordered verse/scattered
6 See Diw�nAb�Tamm�m,ed. Muhammad �Abduh�Azz�m, (hereafter to be
referred to as D�w�n), vol. I, Cairo 1951, p. 46).
7 A. J. Arberry, Arabic Poetry: a Primer for Students, Cambridge, 1965, p. 50.

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prose); 1. 12 samd' and ard (heaven/earth); 1. 14 bani 'llsldm fisu`ud

and al-mushrikin fi jabab (Muslims in the ascendant/polythesists in
decline); 1. 15 umm and ab (mother/father); 1. 17 sbdbat and lam
tasbib (her hair turned white/did not turn white) ; 1. 18 bikr and
athd (virgin/deflowered); 1. 20 kurba and farrdjat al-kurab (disaster/
deliver from disaster); 1. 24 sunnat al-saif and sunnat al-din (usage of
sword/usage of religion); 1. 26 lail and fubh (night/morning); 1. 27
dujd and shams (dark/sun) ; 1. 28 dau' and (dark/light); l. 29
al-sbams tali'a and wdjiba (sun rising/setting); l. 30 tdhir and junub
(pure/defiled) ; 1. 31 lam tatla ` al shams and taghrub (sun did not rise/
sun did not set); bdnin bi abl and cazab (married/single) ; 1. 32 rab `u
Maiya maCmiiran and rab(iha )l-kharib (Maiya's thronged quarter/her
devastated quarter); 1. 33 al-kbudfid udmina min kbajal and khaddihd
'I-tarib (cheeks blushing from modesty/her dust soiled cheek); 1. 34
samdja and busn (ugliness/beauty) ; 1. 35 busn munqalib and su' munqalib
(happy turn of events/disastrous turn of events); 1. 38 Id bu . jib at
and mubtajib (not debarred/well protected); 1. 40 nafsihi a?ahdabd and
jabfal (alone/an army) ; 1. 41 Allah and ghair Allah (God/other than
God), baddamahd and lam tufib (destroyed it/would not have hit it) ;
1. 42 miftdb and bdb al ma `qal (key/gate of citadel) ; l. 43 sirihin and
wird (those going to graze/coming down to source of water); 1. 45
al-himdmain and al-ha y itain (double death/double life), bid and sumur
(white swords/tawny lances); 1. 47 harr al-tbughfir and bard al-thu ghfir
(heat of frontier towns/coolness of mouths); 1. 48 ajabta and lam
tujib (responded/did not respond), al-saif and ghair al-saif (sword/
other than sword) ; 1. 49 camiid and autid (tentpole/pegs) ; 1. 51 jaryatabd
and al-bahr dhu )l-taiyar (ebb flow/surging sea); 1. 52 muhtasib and
muktasib (one seeking to punish/one seeking personal gain); 1. 53
kathra and faqr (plenty/poverty); 1. 54 al-masliib and al-salab (the one
plundered/what is plundered); 1. 55 mantiq, sakhab and sakta (speech,
clamour/silence); 1. 57 khiffat al-khauf and khiffat al-tarab (speeded
by fear/speeded by joy); 1. 59 nadajat juluduhum and qabla nudji 'I-tin
(their skins were ripened/before the ripening of figs and grapes);
1. 60 tabat and lam tatib (became fragrant/did not become fragrant);
1. 61 baiya ' 'l-ridd and maiyita 'I-,ghadab (his content alive/his anger
dead); 1. 63 sanaha and ",iridihd (its light/its cloud) ; 1. 64 qat(i asbdb
and kam kina min sabab (cutting cords/many a means created); 1. 65
qudub al-hindiyyi muslata and qudub tahtazzu (Indians swords drawn from
their sheaths/slender branches shaking); 1. 66 bidun idhd 'ntudiyat
min hujbihd and abaqqa bi "I-bidi mina l-blfiub (white swords drawn

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from their sheaths/more entitled to white skinned women than their

veils); 1. 68 u/-riJufi l-kubra and fa cab (the greater repose/toil); 1. 69
mau ;rula and munqadib (joined/broken) ; l. 71 fufr al-wujfih and jallat
aujuh (pale of face/faces brightened).
And what about the remaining 19 lines of the poem? Of these at
least 14 are based upon parallelism and balance: 1. 4 zukhruf and
kadhib (embroidery/lie); 1. 6 fafar au rajab (the month of Safar or
Rajab); 1. 13 huffalan tJla Csülata )'l-balab (full and sweet as regards
milk); the whole of line 16 (she tired out Chosroes and repelled Abu
Karib); the whole of 1. 22 in which we get the idea of 'her sister's
devastation' proving contagious; 1. 25 dhalil al-sakhr wa 'l-khashab
(humilated as regards stone and wood); 1. 36 al-sumur wa
(lances and swords); the whole of 1. 37; 1. 39 lam jaghqx qauman wa
lam yanhad ili balad (he never raided a people or rushed upon a land) ;
1. 44 .Zuba wa l-qana (points of swords and edges of
spears); 1. 46 ka) sa ) l-kara zva ruddba 'l kburrad (the cup of sleep and
the sweet saliva of maidens); 1. 67 jurthfimiti 'l dini wa '1- Islami
wa 'I-hasab (the roots of faith, Islam and honour); 1. 70 baina aiyanaika
wa baina aiyami Badr (between your days and the days of Badr).
The general structure of the poem which is based on simple contrast
and balance is therefore clearly reflected in the rhetorical figures
employed by the poet. Together with antithesis one of the dominant
stylistic features is the imagery derived from the world of women,
females, particularly erotic imagery, which runs like a leitmotif in
the poem. It is found in no fewer than 18 lines: 12-13, 15-19, 22,
30-33, 46-47; 63-66. The images vary from the conventional one in
which the earth comes forth in her new garments to celebrate the
victory of line 12 to the far-fetched conceit. The city of Amorium is
described first as a mother, dearer than any mother or father (line 15),
then as a beautiful woman of eternal youth and such virtue that she
resisted the manoeuvres of all suitors (lines 16-17), a virgin whom
Fortune has not been able to deflo«er (line 18). God himself is
depicted as having 'churned the years for her in the manner of a
miserly woman' (line 19). Even in her devastated state the poet finds
Amorium more lovely than the famous lover-poet Ghailan found
the lively quarter of his beloved Maiya (line 32). Likewise, to the
beholder the dust-covered cheeks of the city appear more delectable
than the cheeks of maidens suffused with blood (literally = bleeding)
out of shyness (line 33)-a metaphor in which city (the battered,
raped city) and woman have completely merged. In line 64 the identifi-

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cation between the two results in an interesting ambiguity: in Arberry's

rendering:
How many a means there was of coming to the curtained virgin
through cutting the cords of the necks (of their menfolk)!
the words 'curtained virgin' (al-mukhaddarati can, as
Tibrizi himself notes,8 refer equally to the city of Amorium (cf. line
18) and to a real virgin, i.e. the captive women. The captive women
provide the theme of the next two lines (65-66) in which brandished
unsheathed swords obtain women of slender waists, plump thighs
and fair skins: the sexual implication of these lines, particularly of
the swords drawn (muslata) and unsheathed (untudiyat) and qudub
(pl. of qadib which means not only sword but also phallus) is very
striking indeed.
Of course, the comparison of a city to a woman is not peculiar to
Abu Tammam or even to Arabic. Countless equivalent examples can
be produced from other languages, perhaps the most memorable
being that in the book of Revelation, chapter 17, where Babylon is
seen as a woman sitting upon a scarlet beast 'arrayed in purple and
scarlet colour and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls,
having a golden cup in her hand ... The woman which thou sawest
is that great city.' Furthermore, the erotic element in some of the
images derives from the obvious fact that victory in battle in those
days did mean capturing and enjoying enemy women. It is therefore
difficult to understand Hamori's remark that although historically
the conjunction is correct 'the objects that are joined-the violent
and the voluptuous-form uneasy couples'.9 After all, whether we
choose to refer to it in journalistic jargon as sex and violence, or in
more respectable Freudian terms, the coupling is familiar enough.
What we have here, in a sense, is a variation on Dryden's theme
'None but the brave deserves the fair!'
Like the antithesis, but perhaps not to the same extent, the erotic
imagery runs through the poem and seems to bind it together. An-
other recurrent image, noted by Hamori 1° is that which involves
the idea of disclosing or unveiling: the relevance of this to our sub-
ject, particularly the unveiling of women is evident enough.

8 D�w�n, I, 77.
9 Andras Hamori, On the Art
of Medieval Arabic Literature, Princeton, 1974,
p. 132.
10 Ibid., 128.
p.

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We may now ask, what is the significance of these figures? We

know that Abu Tammam was a highly conscious artist who chose
his words with the greatest care. According to a story reported by
al-Marzubani in his al Muzvashshah, he entertained for his own verses
the same affection as a man has for his children.ll In his recent study of
a/- Uawisa Klein-Franke has shown how 'in order tc> legitimize his
poetical style' Abu Tammam 'sought by means of examples taken
from the early poetry ... to prove that even the older poets used the
same language' and the same 'highly rhetorical style' as his own,12
The series of antitheses which we have seen throughout the poem
seems to build up to a climactic statement preceded by the following
apostrophe to the Caliph (line 67), which, coming immediately after
the two erotic lines discussed above, marks the ending of the descrip-
tion and the beginning of the conclusion:

Khalifata "1-1,ihijd.Za l-lahu sa!yaka Can

jurthumati 'l dani zva l-islami wa 'l hasabi
(Caliph of God, may God reward your endeavours in defence of the
roots of faith, Islam and honour).

Emphasized by the change of tone resulting partly from the use of

the second person after a passage of 8 lines (lines 58-66) where only
the third person is employed, a rhetorical device known as iltifdt,
this statement (line 68) stands out sufficiently in the mind:

Basurta bi l-kubra falam taraha

tundlu illi `ald jisrin mina

(You have beheld the greater repose and you have perceived it is
not attained save over a bridge of toil.)

The greater repose (in some versions 'higher' al `ulyd) 13 is clearly

the state of inner harmony which comes from endeavouring to
please God. The way to it is through toil which involves self-mastery
and self-imposed deprivation (which, in this case, as the sources tell
us, includes abstinence and foregoing the pleasures of women).
What the poet expresses is a spiritual and moral vision which involves
a paradox shown in the poem in a series of antithetical statements
such as the way to rest is through toil or the way to life is through
11 See Felix Klein-Franke, 'The Hame�sa
of Ab� Tamm�m,J.A.L., III, 1972,
p. 163, n. 2).
12 Ibid., p. 157.
13 See D�w�n, I, 78, n. 4.

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death (line 45) or military victory (which entails destruction) causes

the earth to bloom (line 12). The tension which is created by the
rhetorical figure tibdq is therefore a reflection of the tension which
results from this moral and spiritual paradox.
The paradox, however, does not remain ultimately unresolved and
indeed, despite the overwhelming preponderance of.tibdq, the final
effect of the poem is one of celebration and complete self-mastery.
That is because behind all these paradoxes lies the hand of God,
whose name occurs no less than three times in one line, line 37,
which, on account of its cunning artistry, its perfect balance and its
double inner rhymes, its paronomasia, including its pun on the
Caliph's name, is one of the most memorable lines in the whole
poem:
Tadbiru mu'tasimi.n bi I-ldhi muntaqimin
murtaghibin fi l-lahi murtaqibi

(The contriving of one who clung to God, who took revenge for
God, whose whole desire was for God and who waited [on God] ).

In line 41, despite his idealization and extravagant praise of his hero
(in lines 38-40, in which hyperbole is employed) the poet piously
attributes the Caliph's entire achievement to God.

Rawi bika burjaihd, fahaddamahd

wa lau ramd bika ghairu l-ldhi lam tusibi

(Through you God smote both her towers and destroyed them, but
had other than God smitten through you you would not have hit them.)

No doubt the presence of the instances of parallelism noted above

also contributes towards moderating the effect of tension produced
by tibdq. The result is that the conclusion of the poem provides the
same kind of resolution of tension and restoration of harmony as
we find in the final movement of a satisfactory symphony.
But what about the dominant woman comparison and the recurrent
erotic imagery? This surely must be related to the circumstances of
the war, the Byzantine attack on Zibatra and the Caliph's choice of
Amorium for his retaliation. Early historians like al-Tabari and Ibn
al-Athir describe the extent to which the feelings of Muslims were
incensed and how al-Mu Cta$im in particular was enraged by the
atrocities committed by Theophilus when he stormed Zibatra, killing,

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blinding and mutilating its men and capturing Muslim women.14

It is said that al-Mu `tasim himself was born in Zibatra, although
another version has it that it was the natal town of his mother. It
is also claimed that the Caliph's choice of Amorium was dictated by
the fact that it was the birthplace of Theophilus's family. 15 What is
reasonably certain is that when captured by the Byzantine soldiers
a woman from Zibatra called out for help from the Caliph, since
the poet refers to this incident in line 46. Arberry's note on the line,
based on Tibrizi 16, is useful:

When Zibatra ... was taken by the Byzantines, a Muslim woman

laid hands upon by the Christians who would carry her into captivity,
called out 'wä-MpCta.¡imäh /' Report of this was brought to the Caliph
as he held in his hand a cup of wine; he laid it aside and ordered
mobilization and the attack on Amorium. The caliph forewent the
pleasures of the marriage-bed ... and of sleep to answer the appeal
of the Zibatrian woman 17

In spite of some probable element of exaggeration it may contain,

surely this account provides us with an adequate explanation for
the dominance of women images in the poet's mind, however far-
fetched some of the conceits may seem at first sight. It was clearly
an issue of honour involving their women which was uppermost in
the minds of the Muslims.
Abu Tammam's 'Ode on Amorium' is a close knit, highly organized
poem. Some of its elements indeed occur separately in his other
poems. For instance, the image of the warrior's spears or swords
'deflowering virgin cities' occurs in his panegyric on Khalid b.
Yazid al-Shaibani,i8 the hyperbole of likening a single warrior to a
whole army is employed in his paneqyric on al-Hasan b. Sahl,19 the
rejection of astrology is found in his panegyric on his friend, 'Ali b.
al-Jahm.2° Likewise, the blossoming of thickets as a result of military
victories is mentioned in another panegyric on the same Caliph and

14 See Ibn al-Ath�r,al-K�mil f� Beirut 1965, Vol. 6, pp. 479-80 and

¸l-t�r�kh,
Najib Muhammad al-Bahb�t�, Ab�Tamm�mal-T�¸�, hay�tuhwa hay�tshi�rih,2nd
edn., Cairo, 1970, pp. 139-43.
15 See �UmarFarr�kh, Ab�Tamm�msh��ir al-khal�faMuhammad al-Mu�tasim
bi ¸l-l�h:dir�satahl�liyya, Beirut, 1964, p. 173.
16 D�w�n, I, 67.
17 Arberry, op. cit., p. 58.
18 D�w�n, I, 10.
19 Ibid., I, 119.
20 Ibid., I, 408.

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his army general Afshin.21 But it is in the Ode on Amorium that we

find these and other elements brought close together and fused into
a harmonious whole.
The poem has won the admiration of many readers across the ages.
As is to be expected, medieval Arab critics and commentators like
al-Ma Carri and Tibrizi commented only on individual lines or ex-
pressions and their comments were predominantly philological. In
modern times we find Margoliouth describing it as 'one of the most
brilliant of Abu Tammam's odes', without explaining why he thinks
SO. 22Arab scholars who wrote monographs on the poet such as al-
Bahbiti and 'Umar Farrukh did not bother to discuss the poem in
detail. Shauqi Daif has indeed some intelligent, albeit brief remarks
on what he calls its nawaftr a/-aJdid (conflicting opposites) in his book
al-Fann wa madhahibuh fi )1-shiCr al- carabi.23 However, apart from
Hamori no critic has attempted a serious textual analysis of the
poem, and, as is already said, Hamori's treatment is limited to certain
themes only. But, as we have seen, an overall view of the poem, which
takes as its starting point textual analysis but does not lose sight of
its general structure, will show how a particular rhetorical device
can at once be a structural principle and a clue to the overall meaning
of the poem. In the finest examples of Abbasid poetry badi is more
than just rhetorical embellishment or a mere outward trapping.

M. M. BADAWI

21 Ibid., III, 86.

22 'Indices of the Diwan of Abu Tammam,' J.R.A.S., 1905, ch. xxviii, p. 764.
23 Cairo, 1960,
pp. 256 ff. The term is, of course, Ab� Tamm�m's own; it
occurs in his eulogy of Ibn Abi Du¸�d(see Daif, op. cit., p. 250).

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