the lives of the sufi masters - simawe

The Lives of the Sufi Masters in ʿAbd al-Wahhāb al-Bayātī's PoetryAuthor(s): Saadi A. SimaweReviewed work(s):Source: Journal of Arabic Literature, Vol. 32, No. 2, Perhaps a Poet Is Born, or Dies (2001), pp.119-141Published by: BRILLStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4183435 .Accessed: 13/08/2012 16:24

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THE LIVES OF THE SUFI MASTERS IN 'ABD AL-WAHHAB AL-BAYATI'S POETRY

'Abd al-Wahhab al-Bayati (1926-1999) is considered a major Iraqi poet. Paradoxically he is more recognized abroad than in the Arab world, and more in the rest of the Arab world than in Iraq. In his own country, he is less popular than contemporaries such as Badr Shakir al-Sayyab (1926- 1964), Nazik al-Mala'ikah (1923-), or Sa'di Yusuf (1934-). After graduating from Teachers' Training College in Baghdad in 1954, al-Bayati taught Arabic and pursued his political activities until he was fired and forced to leave the country. His exile began in late 1955 and continued, except for brief intervals, until his death in Damascus almost two years ago. Since 1950 al-Bayati published more than twenty volumes of poetry and, in addition, several volumes of prose describing his poetic experience and his life in exile and in Iraq.

Critics are sharply divided about al-Bayati's role in harakat al-shi'r al- hurr (free verse movement) and about his overall poetic achievements.' Thus, he is a sort of poetic anomaly among his contemporary poets and also among the majority of Arab critics and readers. His international recognition, the many translations of his work into European and Asian languages, and his close relationship with major world poets, writers, and politicians2 all drew mixed responses from Arab poets, intellectuals and general readers. Though some of the negative responses to al-Bayati can be seen as symptoms of jealousy or poetic "sibling rivalry," so to speak, other responses

An early version of this paper was presented as part of the panel titled "'Perhaps a Poet Is Born, or Dies': The Poetics of 'Abd al-Wahhab al-Bayati," organized by Suzanne P. Stetkevych under the auspices of the Journal of Arabic Literature at the annual meeting of the Middle East Studies Association of North America (MESA), November 16-19, 2000 in Orlando, Florida.

I For an example of effusive praise of his poetry see Nihad al-Takarli, ed., 'Abd al-Wahhab al-Baydti: Ra'id al-Shi'r al-Hadith (Damascus: Dar al-Yaqazah: 1958) and Nazim Hikmat et al., Ma'sdt al-Insan al-Mu'asir fi Shi'r 'Abd al-Wahhdb al-Baydti (Cairo: al-Dir al- Misriyyah lil-Tiba'ah wa al-Nashr wa al-Tawzi' 1966). For negative evaluations, see studies, cited below, by Fadil Thamir, Ghili Shukri, Issa J. Boullata, Salma Khadra Jayyusi, 'Ali Ja'far al-'Allaq and M. M. Badawi.

2 More than any other modem Arab poet, al-Bayiti nurtured a huge international network of friendships that includes prominent literary, intellectual, and political figures such as Turkish poet Nazim Hikmat, Spanish poet Rafael Alberti, Lebanese, poet Khalil Hawi, Egyptian critic Lewis 'Awad, Egyptian fiction writer Najib Mahfuiz, to mention only a few.

Journal of Arabic Literature, XXXII, 2 © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2001

THE LIVES OF THE SUFI MASTERS

may be based on genuine skepticism. I think there are several reasons for the mixed reaction to al-Bayati. One is probably his contentious personality, as is evident from his own accounts of other poets' jealousy of his poetic achievements.3 Obsessively self-promoting all his life, al-Bayati had a shrewd talent for effective networking to promote his poetry, as can be seen from the hundreds of studies written on him. Still another reason is the tendency of the international left and of the socialist realist school to inflate any exiled mediocre poet from the Third World, evaluating his or her poetry according to its political commitment. And lastly, some of the problem may be attributable to the tendency of Western scholars to become fascinated with exotic foreign writers without adequate understanding of the cultural contexts.

Al-Bayati's exaggerated international prominence is in many ways similar to the still baffling popularity of Gibran Khalil Gibran (1883-1931) in the United States, who is not read much in his native Lebanon nor in the rest of the Arab world. Another famous case of falling in love with foreign authors is that of Edgar Allen Poe who, after Baudelaire's translation of his work, suddenly became more popular in France than in his own country. Readers in the Arab world still wonder what there is in al-Bayati that American, European, South American, and Asian readers find so fascinat- ing. Though it may sound cynical, some Arab readers have become enchanted with al-Bayati due to the influence of his international reputation, a disturbing case of convoluted Orientalism. Owing to his international recognition, numerous studies in many languages have explored different aspects of his poetry, especially the role of his political commitment in shaping his

major themes. In this paper I will discuss the drawbacks of al-Bayati's poetry through examining his use of the literary persona or the mask,4 focus-

3 Al-Bayati's quarrels with other poets are documented in his Hard'iq al-Shu'ara': Dhikrayat wa Nu.sus (Beirut: al-Mu'assasah al-'Arabiyyah lil-Dirasat wa al-Nashr, 1994). See especially chapters "Badr Shikir al-Sayyab: al-Mawt wa al-'Abqariyyah," "Khalil Hawi: al- Khalas bi al-Mawt," and "Salath 'Abd al-Sabur: fi Asqa' al-Nfir." Almost the same accounts are repeated in his 'Abd al-Wahhdb al-Baydti, Sirah Dhdtiyyah: al-Qithdirah wa al-Dhdkirah. (London: Bazzaz Manshurat, 1994); and Yandbi' al-Shams: al-Sirah al-Shi'riyyah (Damascus: Dar al-Farqad, 1999).

4 The mask, or the literary persona, has been defined by several modern Arab critics and poets such as Ihsan 'Abbas in Ittijdhdt al-Shi'r al-'Arabi al-Mu'asir (Kuwait: Al-Majlis al- Watani lil-Thaqafah wa al-Funfin wa al-Adab, 1978), Shukri 'Ayyad in "Sifr al-Faqr wa al- Thawrah," in Hikmat, Ma'sat al-lnsdn al-Mu'asir, 177-83, Jabir 'Usfur in "Aqni'at al-Shi'r al-Mu'asir: Mihyar al-Dimashqi" Fusul no. 4 (1981): 123-48, and 'Ali Ja'far al-'Allaq, "The Artistic Problems in 'Abd al-Wahhab al-Bayati's Poetry: A Comparative Critical Study," (Unpublished Ph.D. Thesis, University of Exeter, 1983). As far as I know, 'Usffir's study of the mask in Adinis's long poem "Aghani Mihyar al-Dimashqi" is the most comprehensive treatment of the use of the mask in both Arabic and Western literatures. He rigorously examines the inevitable links of the mask with metaphor, symbol, and myth. Hence, effective use of the mask, he argues, usually exploits all these artistic possibilities.

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ing on his utilization of the lives of al-Hallaj and Ibn 'Arabi as literary masks. Many of al-Bayati's poems employ such traditional Sufi masters as 'Umar al Khay-yam, al-Hallaj, Ibn 'Arabi, al-Suhrawardi, and al-Shiafi as literary personae or masks. Before I discuss the use of the mask in al- Bayati, focusing on only two poems, "'Adhab al-Hallaj" (The Passion of al- Hallaj) and "'Ayn al-Shams, aw Tahawwulat Miuhyi al-Din Ibn 'Arabi in

Tarjumdn al-Ashwdq" ('Ayn al-Shams, or the Transformations of Muhyi al- Din Ibn 'Arabi in The Interpreter of Desires), I think it is crucial to define the traditional concept of Sufism and al-Bayati's perspective on it.

In modem Iraqi poetry and in modem Arabic poetry in general there has been a strong trend to use-or claim to use-Sufism. Historically, the use of Sufism has become more noticeable in the 1960s. This became especially visible as the 1960s was a time when the liberation movement in the Arab world began to decline, and intellectuals, especially poets and writers, became increasingly disillusioned with the revolutionary regimes that they had dreamt of and fought for for so many decades.5 Clearly, this statement assumes that Sufism usually emerges as a counterpoint to a rejected reality. In other words, Sufism expresses an intense desire to reject the present world and to dream of a better one. To account for this phenomenon in modern Arabic poetry, many studies have been published in Arabic on the

reemergence of Sufism. On Sufism in al-Bayati's poetry there are several studies such as 'Aziz al-Sayyid Jasim's 1990 book, titled Al-Iltizdm wa al- Tasawwuf fi Sh'ir 'Abd al-Wahhdb al-Baydti (Political Commitment and Sufism in 'Abd al-Wahhab al-Bayati's Poetry),6 which examines the evolu- tion of the poet from socialist realism to Sufism. Samih al-Rawashidah's 1996 Sh'ir 'Abd al-Wahhdb al-Baydti wa al-Turdth (The Poetry of 'Abd al- Wahhab al-Bayati and Arabic Literary Tradition)7 devoted two sections to the treatment of the Sufi dimension in al-Bayati's poetry.

Modern Sufism has of course developed new characteristics that make it distinct from traditional Sufism. The most obvious is that most practitioners of what might be termed literary Sufism, to distinguish it from traditional Sufism, among modern Arab poets are not religious. Actually, many of them are practitioners of modern ideologies that have nothing to do with, if not hostile to, traditional Islam. Among those, in addition to al-Bayati, who flirt with or claim to express Sufi diction and vision are the following: Badr Shakir al-Sayyab (1926-1964), especially in his later work after his break

I On this point, see M. M. Badawi's A Critical Introduction to Modern Arabic Poetry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 212-13.

6 'Aziz al-Sayyid Jasim, Al-Iltizdm wa al-Tasawwuf fi Shi'r 'Abd al-Wahhab al-Baydti (Baghdadi: Wizarat al-Thaqafah wa al-I'lam, Dar al-Shu'un al-Thaqafiyyah al-'Ammah, 1990).

7 Samih al-Rawashidah, Shi'r 'Abd al-Wahhdb al-Baydti wa al-Turdth (Irbid, Jordan: Matba'at Kan'an, 1996) 40-58, 119-29.

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with the Communists and the onset of his fatal illness, consciously wrote Sufi poems. Nazik al-Mala'ikah (1923-), Muzaffar al-Nawwab (1931-), Adunis (1929-), Muhammad 'Afifi Matar (1935-), Mahmfd Darwish (1942-), SalAh 'Abd al-Sabfir (1931-1981), just to mention the most obvious figures. Despite their different ideologies and political convictions, these poets are fascinated with Sufism. In their poetry they seem to aspire to the condition of Sufi poetry and Sufi vision. Some of the attraction of Sufism can be located in its ambiguity and its esoteric vision, which make it an especially convenient mask for the poet who fears oppression and therefore loves to whisper in symbols. But also there is a satisfying sense of power for authors in creating difficult texts, thus competing with the most challenging and coveted Arabic text, that is, the Qur'an. Sufism attracts poets because it provides them with a divine vision, a symbolic language, and a claim to pro- phethood, or at least clairvoyance.

Before discussing al-Bayati's masks of the traditional Sufi masters, I would like to attempt a definition of Sufism, albeit by its very nature it defies definition. Sufism is a mystical movement, which emerged in Islamic history around the 3rd/9th century.8 It is based on the essential tenet of sys- tematic rejection of this world as it is. The next step is to identify one's self through the medium of selfless love with the transcendental power called al- Mutlaq (The Absolute), which can be one's idea of God, or the Beloved. Hav- ing rejected the mundane discourse of reason and intellect, Sufis find poetry, especially esoteric poetry, as their natural and highly trusted medium of discourse. Since their primary audience and sole object of love is God, their poetic utterances tend to be a blend of lyricism and ambiguity. The rejection of this world, its social institutions, and its materialism in the system- atic pursuit of the spiritual and the Absolute,9 appeals of course to modern Arab poets, who are mostly Marxists, existentialists, or nationalists, or at least antiestablishment. Traditional Sufism was perceived as antiestablishment primarily because of its rejection of Islam as state and its insistence on the praxis of faith in everyday life, rather than the learned theology man- ifested in most prominent Islamic scholars. Praxis is the distinctive element in Marxist ideology, as Marx declared in 1845: "The philosophers have only interpreted the world, in various ways; the point is to change it."10 Although major figures of Sufism were not even interested in changing the world since they rejected it altogether, Maxism and Sufism seem to agree on one

8 In terms of dates, the first figure refers to the Islamic calendar, and the second one to the Western calendar.

9 Fritz Meier, "The Mystic Path," Bernard Lewis et al., Islam and the Arab World: Faith, Hope, Culture (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1976), 118.

10 Karl Marx, "Theses on Feuerbach." In Karl Marx and Frederick Engels: The German Ideology (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1964), 647.

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common element: that the present world is fundamentally wrong. This critical view of the world is the source of the subversion that characterizes, in different degrees, major Sufi schools and, of course, caused historical fric- tion between orthodox Islam and Sufism.

The essentials of Sufism that traditionally alienated orthodox Islam are almost the same elements that appeal to modem Arab poets and writers who, for different reasons, are unhappy with the status quo. Foremost among these elements was "the negative attitude to this world that seemed to develop among the Stufis with alarming alacrity."" Fuzlur Rahman believes that this negative attitude, "with its popular character and mass appeal,"'2 was perceived by the 'Ulama' as a major threat to the spirit of Islam, which is expressed in the famous Hadith "there is no monasticism in Islam." Another major threat that Sufism inadvertently poses to a crucial tenet of Islam is the doctrine of the spiritual itinerary. Unconventional and highly esoteric, this doctrine opens the door wide for the Sufis to receive direct inspiration from God, thus abolishing a fundamental Islamic concept of pro- phethood as a divine phenomenon that ended with Prophet Muhammad, the official last prophet.'3 Equally subversive and with far-reaching philosophical, political and religious ramifications is the Sufi dismissal of rational thinking and accepted reason and their almost total faith in gnosticism, which primarily trusts intuitive passions and symbolic knowledge. Thus the three essential elements of Sufism, that is, unhappiness with the present world, a direct contact with God, and the belief in gnostic knowledge, make the Sufi by nature a creative artist. Hence the natural affinity between Sufism and poetry.

As a poet, al-Bayati slowly but steadily moved from identifying with Marxist figures to identifying with Sufi figures. In this regard, a close look at his two-volume Al-A'mdl al-Kdmilah (Complete Works), published in 1995, is revealing.14 In volume one, the contents of which were all origi- nally published before 1965, there is only one title that mentions a Sufi master, the Persian poet Jalal al-Din al-Rfimi (1207-1273). It occurs at the very end of the last collection titled Al-Ndr wa al-Kalimdt (Fire and Words), published in 1964. The majority of the titles and dedications in this volume refer to Marxists, Communists, or revolutionary leaders from the international liberation movements. For example, there are titles such as "Mau Mau," "Jam1l 'Abd al-Nasir," "For Gabriel Bern and the Workers of Marseilles,"

Fuzlur Rahman, Islam (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966), 134. '2 Ibid., 134.

,3 Ibid., 136. 14 'Abd al-Wahhab al-Bayiti, Al-A'mdl al-Kdmilah, 2 vols. (Beirut: al-Mu'assasah al-'Arabiyyah

lil-Dirasat wa al-Nashr, 1995).

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"Spartacus," "Algeria," "Warsaw," "Mau Tse Dung," "For Demetrov," and

many poems for the Palestinians. As 'Aziz al-Sayyid Jasim has noticed, in this period of socialist realism, al-Bayati scarcely wrote about Sufism.1s In a poem dedicated to his close friend and comrade, the Turkish Communist

poet Nazim Hikmat (1901?-1963), al-Bayati titles Part Four of the poem "Jalal al-Din al-Rumi," a double gesture indicating both his Maxism and Sufism. After 1964, titles of poems and of entire collections begin to honor

major Sufi masters, and the poetic diction, the dominant themes, and the historical settings contain echoes of Sufi tradition with, of course, a leftist slant. The titles of the collections published after 1964 are very suggestive of the significant spiritual transformation that al-Bayati had gone through. For example, in the 1965 Sifr al-Faqr wa al-Thawrah (The Book of Poverty and Revolution), the word sifi implies, first, that it is a holy book not different from the Bible or the Qur'an and, second, that the poet is a prophet and a seer and a revolutionary leader of the poor.

In addition to Marxism and Sufism, aspects of existentialism begin to

grow in al-Bayati's diction and symbols and dedications. In a second major publication of 1965, Alladhi Ya'ti wa Id Ya'ti (The One Who Comes and Does Not Come), the title is mystical and tantalizingly absurd; it echoes the title of Samuel Beckett's famous play En attendant Godot (1952; the

English version, Waiting for Godot, was published in 1955). A pioneering play in the convention of the theatre of the absurd, Waiting for Godot, translated into Arabic in 1964 and published in the Egyptian journal Al-Masrah (Theatre),'6 fascinated Arab intellectuals and writers and, therefore, made its mark on major authors. Following the publication of Albert Camus's Le

Mythe de Sisiphe in 1942, the Theatre of the Absurd set out in many powerful plays to dramatize the philosophical notion of the essential absurdity of the world. "To define the world as absurd is to recognize its fundamen-

tally mysterious and indecipherable nature, and this recognition is frequently associated with feelings of loss, purposelessness and bewilderment."'7 In this sense the literature of the absurd and Camus's existentialism echo many of the basic tenets of mysticism and Sufism. Actually al-Bayati has titled one of his poems "For Albert Camus," published in 1964 in Al-Nir wa al- Kalimdt during the last year of his socialist realist period, while he was

15 'Aziz al-Sayyid Jasim, Al-iltizdm wa al-Tasawwuf. See especially chapter 10 on al-

Bayati's transition from socialist realism to what Jasim terms "revolutionary" Sufism, pp. 187- 222.

16 1 am grateful to Professor Farouq Mustafa of the University of Chicago for the information on the date of the Arabic translation and publication of Beckett's Waiting for Godot

17 See Margaret Drabble, ed., Oxford Campanion to English Literature, 5th ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985).

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still living in Moscow. Thus in addition to Marxism and Sufism, existentialism, as a component of modernism, is evident in al-Bayati's poetry after 1965. The three ideologies, Marxism, existentialism, and Sufism, both enriched and diluted al-Bayati's poetry.

Other titles of collections that convey Sufi sentiment are Al-Mawt fi al- Hiydh (Death in Life), Al-Kitdbah 'ala al-Tin (Writing on Clay), Qasa'id Hubb 'aid Bawwdbdt al-'Alam al-Sab' (Love Poems on the Seven Gates of the World), Sirah Dhdtiyyah li-Sdriq al-Ndr (Autobiography of the Stealer of Fire), Qamar Shirdz (The Moon of Shiraz), Mamlakat al-Sunbulah (The Kingdom of the Spike), Bustdn 'A'ishah ('A'ishah's Orchard) and the last published collection in Al-A'mdl al-Kdmilah, Al-Daynunah (This Puny World). Out of the thirteen books of poetry published after his socialist realist period, ten titles echo Sufism directly or indirectly. The Sufi titles of numerous poems in these thirteen books further reveal al-Bayati's increased appropriation of Sufism and mysticism. In the poetry published after 1964 there are more than thirty-five poems that indicate Sufi tradition in their titles, symbolic settings, use of Sufi masters as masks, allusions to Sufi poetry, or at least in their Sufi diction. Entire poems such as "'Adhab al-Hallaj" (The Passion of al-Hallaj) and "Mihnat Abi al-'Ala"' (The Ordeal of Abfi al-'Ala') are supposedly devoted to the lives of a Sufi master and a great ascetic, respectively. All the poems in the collection Alladhi Ya'ti wa Id Ya'ti are concentrated on the internal autobiography of 'Umar al- Khayyam; and all the poems in Al-Mawt fi al-Haydh portray the other face of al-Khayyam's meditations on existence and nothingness. Albert Camus's presence with al-Khayyam is announced from the very beginning by a quo- tation from Camus: "In the heart of my writing there is a sun that does not set." Al-Bayati's poetry after 1964 promises a rereading of Sufism with new portraits of the Sufi masters, such a Ibn 'Arabi, al-Suhrawardi, Jalal al-Din al-Rfimi, al-Hallaj, and Farid al-Din al-'Attar among many others. However, al-Bayati's Sufism is unusually blended with Marxism and existentialism. Writing about the committed Arab poets and modernism of the 1970s, M. M. Badawi remarks that "Bayyati seems to adopt a strangely material- ist philosophical position, fraught with elements of pantheism and mysticism, for which he finds support in ancient Babylonian literature."'8

Yet how does al-Bayati understand Sufism and how does he explain his fascination with it? In other words, how does he perceive Sufism, blended with Marxism and existentialism, as enriching his poetic vision? Though ide- ally we should seek answers for these questions in his own Sufi poems, a reading of his many interviews and several autobiographies may shed light

g1 Badawi, A Critical Introduction, 214.

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on these often abstruse poems. In his Yandbi' al-Shams: al-Sirah al- Shi'riyyah (Fountains of the Sun: The Poetic Autobiography) published in 1999, al-Bayati speaks at length about his creation of the elusive, ubiquitous 'A'ishah, who is capable of endless transformations. "Thus, 'A'ishah has been for me the symbol for femininity, revolution, and myth and the twin of Sufism." He goes on to define his concept of Sufism:

The union with the beloved is what made me perceive the things of this world not out of the window of a seclusion or from the shore. For when I am in love I die in that love, and when I believe in an idea I identify with it until it becomes part of my spiritual existence. Therefore, everything I love and feel ready to die for becomes part of my poetic crucible. It burns only to emerge in a new form. And if there are some poets who approach Tasawwuf [lit., the practice of Sufism] by way of imitating its philosophy, I am not one of those. For my Tasawwuf-if I am correct in saying so-is part of my poetic vision and my being is burnt into it [...]. As I have said on many occasions, I do not strive for God's Kingdom in the Afterworld, but I work for the Kingdom of God and Man in this world [.. .]. Tasawwuf does not mean for me wearing wool or becoming a dervish or dwelling at meditation circles. Rather, it means absolving one's self of selfishness, hatred, harm, and evil and entering the union with the spirit of this world and with the music of this universe that manifest themselves in the poem that becomes a being glorifying truth, freedom, justice and the supreme love.19

Evidently here al-Bayati is synthesizing Sufism, by modifying its metaphys- ical focus on the union with God in Heaven, with a revolutionary activism that aims at establishing a better world. By doing so, al-Bayati effectively appeals to a variety of audiences in the Arab world and abroad, including the nationalists, the Marxists, the Muslims and all others who are interested in changing the status quo, including existentialists and iconoclasts. Signifi- cantly al-Bayati's Sufi poems attempt to capture his vision of a better world described above.

But a close reading of these poems has disappointed, or at least confused, many critics in the Arab world. Fadil Thamir, a well-known Iraqi critic, believes that in his use of the Sufi master as a mask, al-Bayati's own voice and portrait both occur at the expense of his characterization of the Sufi master, as, for example, with the case of al-Khayyam in Alladhi Ya'ti wa la Ya'ti.20 The prominent Egyptian critic Ghali Shukri argues that the entire poem of Alladhi Ya'ti wa ld Ya'ti is a sharp contrast to al-Khayyam's spiritual life.2' However, Samih al-Rawashidah defends al-Bayati's use of historical figures

19 Al-Bayati, Yandbi' al-Shams, 166-67. Translations from the Arabic in this study are mine except where otherwise noted.

20 Fadil Thamir, Ma'dlim Jadidah min Adabina al-Mu'asir (Baghdad: Wizarat al-I'lam al- Iraqiyyah, 1975), 267.

21 Ghali Shukri, Shi'rund al-Hadith ila Ayn? (Cairo: Dar al-Ma'arif, 1968), 97-8.

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as masks and argues that al-Bayati aspires to be original and creative.22 But a careful reading of such poems as "'Adh&b al-Hallaj," "'Ayn al-Shams, aw Tahawwulat Muhyi al-Din ibn 'Arabi," "Rasa'il ila al-Imam al-Sh&fi'i," (Epistles to the Imam al-Shafi'i), "Qira'ah fi Diwan al-Tawasin lil-Hallaj" (A Reading in the Diwan al-Tawasin of al-Hallaj), "Maqati' min 'Adhabat Farid al-Din al-'Attdr" (Short Poems from the Passions of Farid al-Din al-'Attar), "Suirah lil-Suhrawardi fi Shababih" (A Portrait of al-Suhrawardi as a Young Man) and "Qira'ah fi Diwan 'Shams Tabriz' li-Jalal al-Din al-Rumi"' (A Reading in the Diwan "Shams Tabriz" of Jalil al-Din al-Rfmi) reveals that they do not live up to their elegant and enticing titles.

"'Adhab al-Hallaj" (The Passion of Al-Hallaj) (1964), for example, is composed of five sections titled "Al-Murid" (The Sufi Novice), "Rihlah hawla al-Kalimat " (A Journey Around the Words), "Fusayfisa"" (Mosaics), "Al-Muh.kamah," (The Trial), "Al-Salb" (The Crucifixion), and "Ramad fi al-Rih" (Ashes in the Wind). The sections are set up as dramatic peaks in al-Hallaj's spiritual and political transformations, leading to the day of his crucifixion by the Baghdad authorities in 309/922. Yet, what the poem de- scribes in quick staccato images is a reduced al-Hallaj, or a flat al-Hallaj, who is robbed of the complexity and inner drama that lead him ultimately to declare a war of liberation theology against Abbasid corruption. It seems to me that al-Bayati's al-Hallaj is crucified by the three unreconciled, con- flicting passions in al-Bayati, namely, Marxism, Sufism, and existentialism. Though I do believe that Marxism, Sufism and existentialism overlap in some of their tenets and can be synthesized, al-Bayati's synthesis is not effectively balanced, primarily because he fails to allow the speaker of the poem, al-Hallaj, to develop as an independent character. Too eager to appeal to several audiences at once, al-Bayati ultimately loses his al-Hallaj.23 In this poem, al-Hallaj is a political observer with some revolutionary sen- timents but with al-Bayati's face, voice, and utilitarian concerns. One assumes that an effective use of a larger-than-life and legendary figure such as al- Hallaj for a poetic and dramatic persona should at least add new dimensions to the historical figure. Otherwise the mask will become gravely anticlimac- tic, producing a caricature instead of a tragic figure as in "'Adhab al-Hallaj."

Critics such as Issa J. Boullata and Salma Khadra Jayyusi have pointed out aesthetic and structural problems in "'Adhab al-Hallaj." In his "The Masks

22 Al-Rawashidah, Shi'r 'Abd al-Wahhhab al-Baydti, 30-31. 23 Salma Khadra Jayyusi observes this tendency in al-Bayati in her Trends and Movements

in Modern Arabic Poetry, 2 vols. (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1977). She remarks that: "some of the defects of al-Bayati's poetry probably arise from his wish to convey a universal message of love, faith and courage to the largest audience, which leaves him sometimes lacking in respect towards a more rigorous and sophisticated technique" (2:702).

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of 'Abd al-Wahhab al-Bayati," which appears in this issue, Boullata aptly perceives that "the lack of the narrative sequence and the focusing on situ- ational analysis and on symbols in this poem necessitate dependence on the section titles and calling on al-Hallaj's teachings in order to understand it."24 Jayyusi points to two defects in the poem that ultimately render it less effective. One is that "in a serious poem like "Adhab al-Hallaj' the tragedy is inartistically diluted by the extreme fluidity of words and by the persistent and elaborate use of rhyme." The other defect, according to both Boullata and Jayyusi, lies in al-Bayati's tendency to "inappropriate use of images" in his poetry in general.25 Probably these defects are symptoms of a larger problem: the incongruity of al-Bayati's vision of al-Hallaj, and other Sufi masters, and his insufficient artistic creativity. Al-Bayati's talent for characterization, action, and dialogue do not seem to help him in rendering his vision into a poetic drama. This deficiency becomes very evident when we submit "'Adhab al-Hallaj" to a more stringent textual analysis. When we read Part One of the poem, titled "Al-Murid," we immediately assume, because of the poem's title, that the speaker in this section is either al-Hallaj in his early stage of Sufism, or one of his disciples. But neither the tone, the diction or the theme support any of these assumptions, and we are frus- trated from the very beginning. Whoever the speaker is, he clearly is chastising someone, but this person's identity is not clear either:

You have fallen in the darkness and the void Your soul has been soiled with (dirty) stains You have drunk from their wells And you have suffered from vertigo Your hands have been smeared with ink and with dust 5 And now I see you bent on the ash of this fire Your silence is a cobweb and your crown is cactus You who have slain his she-camel for his neighbor You knocked at my door after the singer had slept After the lyre had broken 10 How can I (begin) while you are being revealed in (divine) Presence And where can I end while you are already at the beginning of the end Our rendezvous is Doomsday, so do not break the seal of the wind's words

over water And do not touch the udder of this scabby goat For the interior of things 15 Is their appearance... then think as you wish How can I (help) and their fire in the eternal desert Danced and disappeared

24 J. Boullata, "The Masks of 'Abd al-Wahhab al-Bayati," this issue, p. 111. 25 Jayyusi, Trends and Movements in Modern Arabic Poetry, 2:701.

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And now I see you in the supplication of weeping Immersed and silent in the temple of light, speaking to the evening26 [I]

In this section there are four characters: the speaker, the addressee or the listener, the singer, and those whose fire danced and disappeared in the desert. Because of the vagueness of characterization, it becomes difficult to understand who is who in the dramatis personae. Boullata believes that in this section al-Hallaj is the speaker and he is disciplining the poet, the novice in Sufism.27 But lines 11-12 complicate Boullatta's reading because the speaker in these two lines seems to look up to the poet as an advanced master in Sufism who has already reached the beginning of the end of the path to the union with the divine. Also lines 8-9 the two metaphors "your silence is a cobweb" and "your crown is cactus" are usually associated with the prophets Muhammad and Jesus Christ respectively as sacred symbols of their divine manifestations. It does not seem credible at all to have al-Hallaj, the speaker, endow the poet, a Sufi novice, with two divine seals immediately after he has rebuked him for his worldly sins. Another critic, Madani Salih, believes that the speaker in this section is al-Hallaj, who is not speaking to the poet but to himself after he has fallen into sin.28 In this case the entire section is al-Hallaj's internal monologue. This reading makes sense until we get to line 8, when it breaks down. If this is al-Hallaj, talking to himself about his sin and penitence, who is then the slayer of the she-camel for his neighbor? And who is knocking at al-Hallaj's door after the singer had slept and the lyre had been destroyed? Salih's reading of this section requires al-Hallaj to be so schizophrenic that in the first seven lines he is the exact opposite of himself in the rest of the section.

More problematic than these two readings is al-Bayati's characterization. "'Adhab al-Hallaj" promises to be a narrative poem with intense dramatic scenes that utilizes lyricism as the appropriate medium for depicting the passions of al-Hallaj in his internal and external drama. Yet al-Bayati, perhaps for lack of narrative skills, uses al-Hallaj as a lyrical mask for his own voice, without allowing the historical al-Hallaj to emerge as an independent character who speaks for al-Bayati's contemporary political and spiritual concerns. In his treatment of Adunis's mask poem, "Mihyar al-Dimashqi," as one of the most successful mask poems in modem Arabic poetry, Jabir 'Usffr identifies the basic elements of the mask:

26 Al-Bayati, Al-A'mdl al-Kdmilah, vol. 2. Further references to this edition of Al-Bayati's poetry appear in the text. Roman numerals [I] are keyed to the Appendix of Arabic Texts.

27 Boullata, "The Masks of 'Abd al-Wahhab al-Bayati," p. 110. 28 Madani Salih, Hddhd Huwa al-Bdyati (Baghdad: Dar al-Shu'fn al-Thaqafiyyah al-

'Ammah, 1986, 41-42.

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"The mask" is a symbol used by the modem Arab poet in order for the poet to assume a more objective tone, an almost neutral tone, that helps him to avoid the effusive flow of his own feelings, without preventing the poet from expressing his own thought and views of the world. Usually the mask is a person who is not the poet, and the poem represents his voice, in a way that characterizes him as a distinct character, revealing its world through depiction of its attitudes, thoughts, meditations and its relations with others. Throughout the mask poem, this character, being the speaker, dominates the entire poem to the point that we even hear his voice. But gradually we realize that the speaker is merely a mask through which the poet is speaking. Yet the speaker's voice identifies with the poet's voice in an effective way that reveals for us the meaning of the mask in the poem.29

Accordingly, the mask poem is by definition a narrative poem that requires basic elements of narration such as characterization, voice (or point of view), internal and external conflicts, temporal and physical settings, tone, diction and even mythmaking.30 However, it seems that al-Bayati, in em- ploying al-Hallaj as a mask, thinks that he can create a literary character, and a complex and highly dynamic one such as al-Hallaj, in a dramatic poem merely by using a historical name, a few slogans, and some Sufi diction. Without effective delineation of characters and their main concerns, there can be no dramatic action conceivable. If we delete the title of the poem and the subtitles of the six parts, there remains no textual evidence indicating that this poem depicts the great passions of al-Hallaj, notwithstanding the cliches of traditional Sufi diction such as "O you who made me drunk with his love/And who made me more perplexed the closer you come to me" (lines 8-9, Part Two titled "Rihlah hawla al-Kalimat"). Granted, ambiguity is an aspect of poetry, but it should not happen at the expense of the artistic effectiveness that it is supposed to enhance. "'Adhab al-Hallaj" is actually six poems linked superficially with a transparent mask of an al- Hallaj who does not come alive at all but who remains throughout the six sections confused and confusing. Taking al-Hallaj out of the poem would probably make it better, but would not save it because of the endemic rhyme that renders a large section into a monotonous rhythm that seriously ob- scures any possible coherence and precludes any development of imagery, let alone characterization:

Muharriju al-Sultdn Kdna wa yd md kain Fi sdlifi al-azmdn

29 'Usfuir, "Aqni'at al-Shi'r al-Mu'asir," p. 123. 30 On al-Bayati's art of mythmaking in creating 'A'ishah, see Aida Azouqa's "Al-Bayati

and W. B. Yeats a Mythmakers: A Comparative Study," Journal of Arabic literature, 31 no. 3 (1999), pp. 258-89.

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Yudd'ibu al-'awtdr, yamshi fawqa huddi al-sayfi wa al-dukhdn Yarqusu fawqa al-habli, ya'kulu al-zujdja, yanthani mughanniyan sakran Uqallidu al-sa'ddn Yarkubu fawqa dhahrihi al-'atfMlu fi al-bustdn

The sultan's clown once upon a time in the old days he used to fiddle his strings, walk on the sword's edge and on smoke and dance on the rope, eat glass, and suddenly sway singing, very drunk imitating the monkey Children ride on his back in the orchard

(lines 1-7, Part Three "al-Fusayfisa"')

One might argue that this silly rhythm is used as a tool for characterizing the clown, accentuating his foolishness and clumsiness. But when we come to the next part, "Al-Muhikamah" (The Trial), which is supposed to be a dramatization of a very tragic moment, we encounter the same meter and the same prancing rhythm, even the same rhyme:

Buhtu bi kilmatayni lil-Sultdn Qultu lahu: jaban Qultu li-kalbi al-saydi kilmatayn Wa nimtu laylatayn Halimtu fthimi bi'anni lam a'ud lafzayn

I revealed two words to the Sultan I told him: you are a coward And I told the hunting dog two words Then I slept two nights During which I dreamt I was no longer just two words

(lines 1-5)

Here, as elsewhere in the poem, meter and rhythm do not seem to echo the tragic situation, and al-Hallaj's voice is by no means distinguished from the voice of the clown in the previous part. Further, it is very hard to imagine al-Hallaj, this highly spiritual man, stooping to the brawling language in the first two lines, thus reducing his existential quarrel with worldly power to a personal fight. Within the broad context of al-Bayati's poetry, with or without a literary persona, the speaker's voice in "'Adhab al-Hallaj" sounds similar to al-Bayati's voice. Moreover, the basic themes and concerns in the poem, despite its Sufi diction, betray al-Bayati's quarrels with governments and literary rivals and his advocacy of the poor and the oppressed. Though it is quite legitimate for al-Bayati to perceive his personal tragedy to be similar to that of al-Hallaj, the use of a literary persona or a mask or a myth or a fantasy requires stringent narrative credibility to be effective, even in its most bizarre moments. When Franz Kafka uses a cockroach as a literary

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persona, or a mask, in his Metamorphosis (1915), he succeeds in making us empathize profoundly with the cockroach primarily because of his powerful suspension of disbelief and his relentless pursuit of details that ultimately establish narrative credibility. However, what happens in "'Adhab al-Hallaj" is that while al-Bayati (or the speaker) is narrating his own concerns and feelings, he systematically prevents al-Hallaj from leaving the title and entering the poem as a character.

It is interesting to examine at this point al-Bayati's concept of the literary persona or al-qtnd'a ('the mask') as he defines it in his 1968 Tajribati al-Shi'riyyah (My Experience of Poetry) against his execution of the mask as a poetic technique:

And the mask is the name through which the poet speaks, getting rid of his ego. Which means that the poet attempts to create a character or a figure that is independent from himself, thus avoiding the spheres of lyricism and roman- ticism into which most Arabic poetry has deteriorated. Here the initial feelings [of the artistic process] no longer constitute the poem's form or content; rather they become the means for an independent artistic creation. The poem in this case is a world independent of the poet-although he is its author-, yet free of the distortions, screams, and personal psychological problems that characterize egoistic lyrical poetry.3'

This broad definition of the mask is widely accepted by literary critics.32 But it is usually more easily said in prose than achieved in creative writing, as many of the mask poems by al-Bayati and other poets demonstrate. The capability to "negate" or suspend the self or the ego in order to create a consistent, credible persona, invented or based on a historical figure, requires, as John Keats insightfully observes, a talent for negative capability.33 The

literary persona in "'Adhab al-.Hallaj" in terms of voice, point of view, and characterization seems indistinguishable from al-Bayati's personal voice in his poems without the mask.

In "'Ayn al-Shams, aw Tahawwulat Muhyi al-Din Ibn 'Arabi fi Tarjumin al-Ashwaq," the speaker, presumably Ibn 'Arabi, is more consistent and is more independent of the poet than is al-Hallaj as a speaker. Written about seven years after the publication of "'Adhab al-Hallaj" and published in the 1971 collection Qasd'id Hubb 'ald Bawwdabt al-'Alam al-Sab' (Love Poems at the Seven Gates of the World), the poem does not ostensibly promise to

31 'Abd al-Wahhab al-Bayati. Tajribati al-Shi'riyyah (Beirut: Munshfrat Nizar Qabbani, 1968), 35.

32 Jabir 'Usffir would think al-Bayati's definition of the mask represents just one aspect of its functions. See note 5 above.

33 John Keats's "Letter to Benjamin Bailey," "Letter to George and Thomas Keats," and "Letter to John Taylor," in Hazard Adams, ed. Critical Theory since Plato (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1971), 472-74.

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employ the historical Ibn 'Arabi as a mask. Rather, the title announces a reading of one book by Ibn 'Arabi (560/1165-638/1240), al-shaykh al-akbar (The Great Master) of Islamic mysticism, whose work has had tremendous influence on generations of Sufis. In this poem al-Bayati chooses one crucial moment from Ibn 'Arabi's many transformations, namely, the literary persona Ibn 'Arabi used in his Tarjumdn al-Ashwdq (Interpreter of De- sires),34 a short diwan of love poetry of mystical lyricism. The very occa- sion of the writing of the diwan is highly symbolic of Ibn 'Arabi's life and doctrine of love. According to his biographers, in "597/ 1200, a vision told him to go to the East. In 599/1202 he performed the pilgrimage at Mecca and became acquainted with a shaykh from Isfahan, whose beautiful and spiritually accomplished daughter ['Ayn al-Shams] became, like Dante's Beatrice, his inspiration in the composition of Tarjumdn al-Ashwdq."35 In this episode Ibn 'Arabi's dominant passions are metaphorically captured: Mysticism as reflected in its highest form in his Perfect Man, Muhammad, the holy site, Mecca, women as manifestations of divine beauty, and poetry as illumination of human passions.36

Al-Bayati's poem is composed of eight short sections, numbered but without titles, and the speaker is Ibn 'Arabi as understood by al-Bayati. The voice in the poem flows in smooth lyricism studded with essential symbols, such as 'Ayn al-Shams ('the eye of the sun'), which is the name of Ibn 'Arabi's beloved, Qasyfin, the mountain in Damascus, a gazelle, and Sahib al-Jalalah (His Majesty). Some of these symbols, especially the gazelle, are effectively developed; others remain static metaphors, not enhancing the dramatic interaction between major characters such as the speaker/mask and the beloved 'Ayn al-Shams. Part One introduces the speaker in his highest moment of confidence, celebrating his centrality in wahdat al-wujud ('the interactive unity of existence'),37 an essential doctrine in Ibn 'Arabi's pan- theistic philosophy:

I carry Qasyun A gazelle running behind the green moon in the dark, A rose thrown on the steed of the lover, A bleating lamb, An alphabet

34 See Muhyi al-Din Ibn 'Arabi, The Tarjumdn Al-Ashwdq: A Collection of Mystical Odes, ed. and trans. R. A. Nicholson (London: Royal Asiatic Society, 1911).

3S William C. Chittick, "Ibn Arabi and His School," in Seyyed Hossein Nasr, ed., Islamic Spirituality: Manifestations (New York: Crossroad, 1991), 49-50.

36 See Annemarie Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions of Islam (Chapel Hill, N.C.: The University of North Carolina Press, 1975), 271-73.

37 I am indebted to Schimmel in my understanding of Ibn 'Arabi's concept of wahdat al- wujfid. See especially page 267 in Mystical Dimensions of Islam.

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I transform it into a poem So Damascus will fall into its arms A necklace made of light. I carry Qasyun An apple I bite A picture I clutch Under my wool shirt. I speak to the birds And to Barada the enchanted Whatever name I mention is her name I am calling Every house I lament in the morning is her house. The one is unified with the all The shadow with the shadow The world was born before me And will remain after me.38

[trans. Frangieh] [II]

The lyrical tone, which is missing in the translation, conveys the speaker's gusto in celebrating the beauty of the universe. This harmony with the universe seems to enable him and other creatures to communicate and pas- sionately interact. No wonder that this animating vision generates lyrical intensity and rhythm that fit the speaker's emotional embrace of the universe. However, in the middle of that rhythmical celebration the structure of the imagery is twisted to serve the flow of the poem. It is hard to conceive, for example, the imagery in the first two lines, where the metaphors rapidly generate metaphors: "I carry Qasyun/ a gazelle running behind the green moon in the dark." How can we envision the speaker's movement: he car- ries Qasyun like a gazelle that is running behind the moon. The speaker must be running while carrying the gazelle while it is running. One might say logical reasoning should not apply to the world of imagination, and a Sufi imagination at that. As readers, however, we expect to be challenged and we strive to understand and enjoy the fruitful strife. Within the context of Ibn 'Arabi's doctrine of eternal transformation of mawjuiidat (things found by our consciousness), we appreciate the elegant transformations of Qasyun from a mountain to a gazelle, to a flower for the beloved, to a bleating lamb, to an alphabet and ultimately to a poem into which Damascus throws itself like a necklace of light.

In the next part, the gazelle, a conventional Arabic symbol of the female beloved, gets complicated in lines 4 and 5:

The Lord, the lover, and the slave, The lightning and the cloud, The master and the disciple spoke to me.

38 Bassam K. Frangieh, Abdul Wahhab Al-Bayati, Love, Death, and Exile: Poems Translated from Arabic (Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 1991), 53-60.

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And the almighty, After lifting the clouds Gave me a gazelle

[trans. Frangieh] [II]

According to Bassam Frangieh in his Abdul Wahhab Al-Bayati, Love, Death and Exile: Poems Translated from Arabic (1991), he translated the poems, including the one under discussion, in consultation with al-Bayati.39 How- ever, his translation of the Arabic phrase "sahib al-jaldlah" (His Majesty) as "the almighty," while it salvages the general meaning in Part Two, it damages it in Part Seven and complicates the entire dramatis pesonae of the poem. If "almighty" refers to God, who unveils for the speaker Ibn 'Arabi and favors him with the gazelle, 'Ayn al-Shams, how is it possible for the dead, who are the enemies of love and life, to manipulate God and arouse His anger against the speaker, whom God has already privileged with unveiling?

I returned to Damascus after death Carrying Qasyun Returning it to her [Damascus] Kissing her hands. For this land, bound by sky and desert, By sky and sea, Its dead chased me And locked the tomb's door on me Besieging Damascus. They turned the almighty against me After he lifted the clouds and they slaughtered the gazelle. But I escaped their siege and returned.4

[trans. Frangieh] [IV]

There is a serious problem with the characterization of "almighty" who is, like the God of the Sufi, capable of unveiling and inspiring love in Part Two, but unlike the Sufi God, is credulous and by no means omnipresent in Part Eight. Actually, in the Arabic original the phrase sahib al-jaldlah conveys very negative connotations both in al-Bayati's poetry in general and in the discourse of Arab intelligentsia, since it is associated with the Arab Kings and their tyranny. Though the terms sound very close, sdhib al-jaldlah, a royal title and jalla jaldlah (may His majesty be ever glorified),41 an expres- sion of faith usually uttered after the name of Allah, are evidently different.

What further hampers characterization in these poems of the mask and consequently impedes the dramatic action is the nature of the imagery. It

39 Ibid., See Preface, p. ix. 40 Ibid., p. 58. 41 See Regis Blachere et al., Dictionnaire arabe-francais-anglais (Langue classique et mo-

derne) (Paris: G. P. Maisonneuve et Larose, 1976).

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frequently operates against characterization and theme, preventing the delineation of characters and the theme from taking shape. One example of dys- functional imagery is that of death in this poem. In a poem that promises to depict dramatic Sufi transformations towards the ultimate union with God, even death by mutilation becomes a beginning of a higher life: "Strangers hunted her ['Ayn al-Shams, the gazelle] in the meadows of the lost nation/ and skinned her alive/From her skin they made a rebak and a lute string/I pluck/In the night the trees sprout leaves/The nightingale of the wind weeps/With the Lovers of Barada the enchanted/And the Lord crucified upon the wall."42 In a powerful image, after her death 'Ayn al-Shams turns into music that inspires life. Similarly the speaker challenges the forces of death by saying in Part Eight "I returned to Damascus after death/Carrying Qasyun." Yet in the same part, the speaker wails: "Who will stop the bleed- ing?/All that we love departs or dies? 0 ships of silence, books of water, handfuls of winds/We will meet in another birth, in a new era/When from my face and your facef/The shadow and the mask will fall/and the walls will collapse."43 The inconsistency that occurs here, disturbing characterization and theme, is caused by the first line in this part: "I returned to Damascus after death." If the speaker has experienced death and has learned that death is a passage to a new and better, probably eternal, life, why does he then wail: "All that we love departs and dies"? It is human nature, even among those who firmly believe in the Afterlife, to fear death and separation. Yet, this is not conveyed in the images of death. Also earlier in Part Five the speaker invites death to take care of everything he considers detrimental to this life: "O land of putrid flesh of horses and women and/The corpses of ideas/O lean ears of grain/this is the time of death and harvest."44 Evidently there are several concepts of death operating in the poem, but the haziness of images does not allow for their emergence and full development.

It is probably useful at this point to quote from al-Bayati's own account of his experience with forging images during the moment of writing:

The idea and the image are like the nucleus and the electron. They are con- nected but revolving until they get merged in my imagination, when the complete image is born. The congruence becomes so serious that I stop thinking of images and meanings or words. Instead a conflict continues inside myself, a conflict between the things in this world and language, between the things on the one hand and images, words, and meaning on the other. The scene is similar to a massacre that is revealed at the moment when light takes over. Then I find that all things have unified in poetic sentences that pour into my

42 Frangieh, p. 54. 43 Ibid., p. 56. 44 Ibid., p. 56.

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mind and I write them. Sometimes I consciously intrude to adjust the flow of things, to adjust the poetic flow of the poem, when I feel that the movement of the birth of the poem is deviating from the concealed yet designed aim.45

Conceivably it is easier to talk about poetry itself than about the artistic process that produces it, as the above statement seems to suggest. The lit- mus test for a good poem, al-Bayati continues, seems to occur "when I become linked to the music of the universe, or the music of the cosmic system. When this connection with the music of the universe is over, the poem ends or it is almost complete."46 Accordingly, rhythm is the paramount indi- cator that the poem is successful. Hence, imagery, characterization, and theme become subordinate. This conception of poetry seems also to indicate that rhythm produces situation, not the other way around. Then where does the rhythm come from? The poet indicates that it comes primarily from his connection with the music of the spheres, which empirically means his own reflection of the cosmic music in the poem. However, a study of meter and rhythm in their interactions with the production of imagery, theme, characterization in al-Bayati's poetry is beyond the scope of this paper.

I think that al-Bayati's mask poems would read better as personal meditations in lofty lyric and mystical images without the highly enticing and promising titles with the great names of Sufism. But as Muhsin J. al-Musawi has shown in his recent article "Dedications as Poetic Intersections," "al- Bayati's persona negotiates an impossible settlement at a textual intersec- tion, keenly recovered in his poems of dedications."47 Most of al-Bayati's poems are dedicated to prominent figures or titled with reference to great Sufi thinkers. The intimate connection in his work between dedications and masks reveals that the masks really function as no more than dedications. This obsession with great names makes one wonder about the politics behind it. Yet it is interesting to read some of the poems that are free of dedications and masks of great figures, poems such as "Al-Hijrah min al- Dhat" (Migration from the Self) and "Al-Ma'budah" (Adored Woman).48 Free from the imposition of the mask and the pursuit of rhymes and partic- ular meters, these poems, like many others, flow naturally in their genuine rhythm and imagery. Al-Bayati's poetry, it seems to me, reads at its best when it is lyrical, mystical, and without masks or dedications. The major problem with his use of the mask is that he cannot hide himself, nor can he

45 Al-Bayati, Sirah Dhitiyyah, 32-33. 46 Ibid. 47 Muhsin J. al-Musawi, "Dedications as Poetic Intersections," Journal of Arabic Literature,

31, no. 1 (2000), 12. 4 Al-Bayati, Al-A'mal al-Kdmilah, vol. 2, "Al-Hijra min al-Dhat," pp. 555-56; and "Al-

Ma'bfidah," pp. 306-12.

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establish the psychic detachment between himself and his dramatic persona. A related problem is that al-Bayati's characterization is, in most cases, flat, without the depth that is necessary to reveal the complexity and the dynamic reality of his characters. In addition, the brevity of his poems naturally does not allow adequate narrative space for character development and dramatic interaction. Another issue, which needs careful examination, is the nature of al-Bayati's audience. The overwhelming number of dedications and title references to great thinkers, poets, philosophers, and mystical figures seems to betray al-Bayati's profound anxiety to appeal to as wide and diverse an audience as possible. This desire to cater to all possible critics and to belong to all literary movements at once ultimately happens at the expense of

integrity of the poem.49

Grinnell College SAADI A. SIMAWE

49 On the issue of the audience in al-Bayati's poetry, see Jayyusi's observation in note 17. However, long before Jayyusi, Iraqi critic Fadil Thamir, whom I met in Hilla prison in 1964 in Iraq, argued, in one of the prison's evening literary activities, in a lecture on modern Iraqi poetry, that al-Bayati, who was in Moscow at the time, loses clarity and intensity in his poetry as a result of his attempt to write for an international audience, making his poetry as trans- latable as possible.

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APPENDIX

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THE LIVES OF THE SUFI MASTERS 141

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