A Brief Note on the Life of
Abu al-Najm Manuchehri

By
Iraj Bashiri

Copyright Bashiri, 2002

His full name is Abu al-Najm Ahmad ibn Qows ibn Ahmad Manuchehri Damghani. Regarding his place of birth, the town of Damghan, in northern Iran, is mentioned in a few places in his own compositions. There are also some references to Balkh, in present-day Afghanistan as his birthplace, but that does not seem to be likely, given Manuchehri's own assertions.

As is the case with some other major poets of his time, we know do not know the date of his birth or have any knowledge about the formative stage of his life. We can speculate, on the basis of his later life, that he received his early education in Damghan. There he became well versed in the art of poetry so that he could compose poems on the spot about any subject that was suggested to him.

As a youth, he studied both Persian and Arabic verse and gained insight into theology and medicine. About the level of his achievement in these areas, he brags:

I am versed in medicine, religion, and syntax
While you struggle with A and B and C, and D.

His abilities are evident in his poetry. He intertwines his knowledge of theology, medicine, and astronomy with the social, political, and often even personal issues of the time. The inclusion of exotic subjects, and his insistence in accommodating the names of almost all the Persian and Arab poets who had lived before him, makes some of his verses cumbersome. Often, a lack of knowledge of Arabic and, indeed, of the scientific jargon he uses, places those poems beyond the reach of the casual reader. But, in general, his poetry is simple and a delight to read.

Like Farrukhi, who started his career at a smaller court and persevered until he was recognized by the Sultan and brought to Ghazna, Manuchehri served as the poet in residence at the small court of Manuchehr ibn Qabus, the Ziyarid ruler (1012-31) of Gurgan and Tabarestan. (The takhallus or pen name, Manuchehri, originates in the name of this early supporter of the poet). It was from his residence in Ray, in the early 1030's, that he set out for Sari to meet Sultan Mas'ud, Mahmud of Ghazna's son and his own future patron.

Manuchehri's career prospered at the court of Mas'ud. He became the third most important poet of the court (after 'Unsuri and Farrukhi) and, as a protege of 'Unsuri, enjoyed untold fame and fortune.

As mentioned, like his master, 'Unsuri, Manuchehri sang the praises of Mas'ud. But he never overlooked the all-important poet laureate. To keep on the good side of 'Unsuri, Manuchehri composed long qasidahs (odes) praising his teacher and master.

Manuchehri as a poet was an innovator. He is credited with the invention of the mosammat, a short poem in which the first 3-5 hemistich rhyme while the last hemistich introduces a new rhyme. This was a poetic device that he used frequently and which was later employed by Lame'i Gorgani. Manuchehri's divan (collection of poetry) consists of 57 qasidahs (odes), 11 musammats, 20 qit'as (stanza), 6 ruba'is (quatrains), and several unfinished qasidahs.

The themes of Manuchehri's poetry consist of praise of the ruler, the Ziyarid ruler of Tabaristan in earlier compositions and the Sultans Mahmud and Mas'ud towards the end of his career. He also composed long odes in praise of wine, especially describing the processes whereby wine is produced. In this, he was continuing the tradition of Rudaki whose Modari Mai (Mother of Wine) set the scene for a series of works on the subject. Manuchehri also borrowed themes from pre-Islamic Arab poets. These include descriptions of the desert, the camel, as well as tribal life and tribal raids.

Manuchehri's end was not much different from the fate of his fellow poets Rudaki and Farrukhi. Towards the end of his life, the master of the epic tradition (cf., Ferdowsi) took to drinking and died at an early age in 1040.

Mother of Wine

Written by
Abu al-Najm Ahmad ibn Qows ibn Ahmad Manuchehri (d. 1040)

Translated by A. J. Arberry, 1958

'Jamshid's daughter is living yet':
   So I read in a book to-day;
'Above eight hundred years it will be
  In her prison she doth stay.
In the house of worshippers of fire
  She stands, like a cypress-tree,
Nor sits her down, nor ever at all
  On a pillow her side rests she:
Never of food nor of drink she takes,
  Nor her long, lone silence breaks.'

Now as I thought upon this creed,
  It gave me small merriment
Swiftly as one that maketh trial
  To that ancient house I went,
And I saw a house all of black stone,
  Like a hoop its passage bent.
With magic craft I opened the door.
  And thief-like a fire I lit;
A lamp I took, like a dagger's head
  Golden the shine of it.
And in the house I saw there stood
  A doll, full huge and round
Like a standing camel; by God's grace
  No gold or gems I found,
But earthen girdles seven or eight,
  And a fine veil o'er its head,
Its belly swollen, as great with child,
  Its brow like a palm outspread.
Much dust was gathered about its brow,
  On its head was a clay crown put,
Thick as an elephant's thigh its neck,
  Round as a shield its foot.

As a sister unto a sister runs,
  So fondly I ran to her,
And I gently took from her brow the veil
  Finer than gossamer.
With my sleeve I softly swept her face
  of the dust and ashes gray;
Like a warrior's helmet from her head
  I lifted the crown of clay.
Beneath the crown was a mouth agape
  And a throat below the mouth,
And her lips were thick as a negro's lips
  Or a camel's in the drowth

Sweet musk was her breath, as frankincense
  Smoked in a brazier.
With the love of a dark-eyed fairy fey
  I was seized by the wind of her.
And I ravished her, my maiden fair,
  And a cup of her wine I drew
Whereof on my palm tricked a drop
  Till my palm as Kausar grew;
And I smelt my wrist, and of that scent
  Jasmined my every hair;
And I set my lips to the goblet's rim,
  And sweetness I tasted there.



Rise and Wrap Yourself in Silk Brocade

Manuchehri (d. 1040)

Translated by Jerome W. Clinton
Copyright, Clinton 1972

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Rise and wrap yourself in silk botched, now that it's autumn;
A chill wind blows from the direction of Khvarizm.
Look at the vine leaves on the branches of the vines;
They seem like tatters from a dyer's smock.
            The dihqan[1] bites his knuckle in amazement.
            That in garden and meadow no rose or pomegranate blossom remains.
 
Like at the citron and wonder at its appearance,
Its breasts firm and full and pendant;
Yellow and white, its whiteness increasing,
All yellow without but white within.
            No. silvery within, but without gold like dinars.
            And its silver interior is stuffed with royal pearls.
 
And that apple like a smooth-turned ball of white sugar
That has been dipped three hundred times in yellow dye,
On its cheek some small spots of coral,
And on its tail a green saddlecloth of emerald hue—
            In its stomach are two or three tiny domed chambers;
            In each sleeps a Negro child, as black as pitch.
 
At dawn, when the dihqan leaves his house,
He neither hesitates nor stands at gaze;
He approaches the vineyard and opens the gate,
To see how his daughters the vines are, and what they are about.
            Not one of his daughters turns a virginal face to him;
            All are pregnant and all infirm.
 
He says, "My little daughters, what's happened to you?
Who has seen you veiled cheeks?
Who drawn the curtain of your rooms aside?
Who torn your God-given veil of Hymen?
            Who has come here since I left the house?
            Turn to your actions and try to explain them!"...
 
"I will tell you how I will punish you.
First I will separate you each from each.
I will take you from the garden to prison, and if I delay in coming,
Once I have reached you I'll not hesitate
            I'll crush your bodies under foot,
            For you deserve no better than this..."
 
            For three measured months he mentions not their names;
            He knows he will not be blamed for their blood.
 
Then one day he rises up lightly, happy, laughing and gay;
He comes to the prison and removes the door's seal.
When he looks smiling in upon the prison and the imprisoned,
A hundred lamps and candles fall upon his teeth and lips.
            Roses in abundance, he sees, and in abundance jasmine flowers,
            Such as no one has seen in a rosegarden or a field of jasmine...
 
I will never quit your company
And will hold you dearer than my eyes—heart and soul.
I will rain red rose water on your brow,
And pass you around in a crystalline cup.
            I will recompose you well
            And treat you with complete justice.
 
The dihqan then brings in a large cup
And holds it for a moment in his palm.
Its [silver] color paints moons on his two cheeks
And the aloes and balsam of its scent pierces his brain.
            He says, "This dark wine will be indigestible,
            Unless with it I drink to the just and elect Shah."


[1] dihqan means landlord.


The Master of the Masters

Written by
Abu al-Najm Ahmad ibn Qows
ibn Ahmad Manuchehri (d. 1040)

Translated by Jerome W. Clinton
Copyright, Clinton 1972

 

The master of the masters of the age, 'Unsuri—

      His origin is without blemish, his heart without deceit,

 

His poetry is like his character, both orderly and original.

      His character is like his poetry, both beautiful and elegant.

 

The wealth of paradise is the reward for one of his fine words.

      The treasure of Khusraw is the price of a single bayt from

      his panegyrics.

 

As you read his poetry, you are nibbling sugar.

      As you recite his bayts, you inhale the fragrance of jasmine.

 

His dignity is like a mountain, and in that mountain lies the Cave of Faith.

      His nature is like a sea, and in that sea is the pearl of intellect.

 

Sometimes prose, sometimes verse, sometimes eulogy, sometimes satire he composes.

      One day serious, the next day witty, one day the pen, the next the beaker.

 

Pearl-bearing, musk yielding, sweet-tempered but bold in act;

      Soul-inflaming, heart-exciting, care-denying, joyous spirit.

 

Where now are Jarir and Farazdaq, where now Zuhayr and where Labid?

      Where Ru'bah-i 'Ajjaj, and Dik al-Jinn, and Sayf-i Zu-Yazan?

 

Where Hutiah, where Umiyah, where Nasib and where Kumyat?

      Akhtar and Bashshar-i Burd, that poet from Yaman?

 

From Khurasan Bu Sha'ib and Bu Zar, that slayer of Turks,

      And that Subur the Persian, and that lyre strumming Rudaki?

 

Those two from Gurgan, and two from Ray, and two from Valvalji?

      Three from Sarakhs and three who lived in Sughd?

 

Ibn Hani, Ibn Rumi, Ibn Mu'tazz, Ibn Bayd?

      Da'bal and Bu Shis and paragon from Qaran?

 

And those splendid five poets who were wherever

      'Azzah, 'Afra, Hind, Miyah, and Layla were to be found?

 

And those two Imr al-Qayses, and two Tarafahs and two Nabighahs?

      And those two Hassans, and three A'shas and three Hammads and three women?

 

Five from Bukhara and five from Marv and another five from Balkh?

      Seven Nishapuris, three Tusis, and three Bu al-Hasans?

 

Tell them to gather here to listen to my master's verse,

      That they see the beauty of paradise and the essence of the narcissus.

 

So that they may weep over the traces of their own poetry.

      Not over those of vanished friends!

 


               The Candle

Written by
Abu al-Najm Ahmad ibn Qows
ibn Ahmad Manuchehri (d. 1040)

Translated by Jerome W. Clinton
Copyright, Clinton 1972

O, you who have placed your soul amid the candle holder
Our bodies hold our souls, your soul sustains your body

Your soul eats away your body and diminishes it in size
Is your body being gradually concealed by your soul?

If you are not a star, why do you appear only at night?
And if not in love, why do you weep upon yourself?

You surely are a star, but one made of wax
You are a lover, in love with the candle stick.

You wear your body around your shirt while others
Wear their shirts around their bodies.

When you die, fire would revive you and make you fresh
When you get sick, decapitation saves your life.

To keep laughing, you keep crying, isn't this odd?
You are the lover, the beloved, the idol and the shaman.

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