Ever since I was a child, I have been fond of poetry. I had a passion for great poems. I used to approach poetry with awe and respect. But although I was a devoted reader, I never dared to write a single line of my own, until I happened, in high school, to meet an English teacher who wrote poetry. He was truly gifted and prolific, indeed a rare talent, but he always shunned publicity. Knowledgeable in both English and Arabic, he was widely read in both languages and well acquainted with the great poetic achievements of both cultures. He translated English poetry, including some Shakespearean plays, into Arabic and translated Arabic poetry into English. I really liked him, and became one of his favorite students. As I was eager to invoke the Muse of poetry I summoned the courage one day to ask him how one may become a poet.
"First of all," he replied, "you should know that writing poetry, like any other creative pursuit, proceeds from talent, which may be polished and developed by studying, reading and gaining experience. But basically it is an innate gift, not a man-made product. The raw material of the poet is language. You have to master Arabic very well. Study the grammar of the language, and try to learn its metaphorical and rhetorical intricacies, and its rich vocabulary to the best of your ability."
"Follow an independent reading program, in which the core texts would be the Holy Quran, the inimitable example of classical Arabic, and hadith (compilation of the sayings attributed to Prophet Mohamed, peace be upon him), the most rarified example of human speech in Arabic. Then, read as much prose and verse as you can from different ages of Arabic literature, from the ancients like Omro' Al-Qais, Al-A'sha, Kaab and Hassan, to the moderns like Nagi, Al-Shabbi, Abu Risha and Al-Jawahri."
"You will have to learn and study the works of such great poets as Al-Mutanabbi, Abu Tammam, Al-Farazdaq, Ibn Zaidoun, Al-Baroudi, Shawqi, Ilya Abu Madi and Qabbani. As you read, try to learn the lines by heart and try to identify with the experience, with the feelings they express."
"You will realize that a poet must be knowledgeable. If you look carefully at Shawqi's Complete Poems, you will see how a real poet is never confined to the literature of his native language only, but draws also on other branches of human knowledge like religion, science, medicine, history, politics, sociology and various aspects of human experience like love, war
and even sports, and, of course, foreign literature."
"A real poet interacts with people, experiences the ups and downs of life, feels its pains and enjoys its gifts. A poem that you may feel confident enough to offer as your premiere work will not be your first attempt to write verse. Try your hand at poetry, write as many drafts as you feel necessary, introduce as many changes as you like, omit whatever you do not like, and do not shrink from consulting authorities on the subject. Keep revising your poem until you feel personally satisfied with it, and ready to face the audience."
For a quarter of a century, I have tried to follow the advice of my dedicated teacher-poet, but I have not been able to produce a single satisfactory line. Then, I fell on the so-called modernist poetry, whose authors are acknowledged "poets" in current literary circles. It was an ironically laughable and lamentable discovery at one and the same time, which made me reconsider my definition of poetry. To answer the question I had posed to my teacher a quarter of a century ago,
in current language, I can venture to say that talent is not so important.
What kind of talent is there in the works of modern male and female album and video-clip singers, or of actors and actresses of bad commercial films and similar stuff? Those are the living proof that material interest and connections outweigh talent and diligent study - a modern version of the proverbial small measure of luck which outweighs great industriousness. Many
people with no real talent are now rising to fame in this way. The classical Arabic of Sibawaih and Al-Jahiz seems outdated since it has been replaced by a Madonna-Jackson culture and a video-clip language, the ultimate examples of modernist poetry. Neither does there seem to be a need for the Quran or Sunnah unless one plans to be a mosque imam. So, let them be the property of people with beards and turbans.
Grammar, poetics and prosody have become the tools of those who insist on following set models. They no longer fit the tendency to go against the rules, and disregard metrics, rhyme and music. The masters whose works my former teacher advised me to read carefully are
no longer considered poets, but only professional craftsmen and courtly clerics. Modern writers seem to have no intention of following their example, and frankly they would not be able to if they wanted to.
As for reading to gain knowledge and perspective, this is something that people need to do only if they have to discuss complicated issues and produce readable works. But poetry now is full of vagueness and enigmatic utterances that pretend to be philosophical. For example, the following is the kind of stuff now produced by 'cultured minds':
Tulips, daisies and prophets
hanged on a ragged ghostly sail,
lost among the wailing of the gods,
who crawl in dark alleys
with spiders swinging on beaches
of azure non-entity
and an infinite dream of eternity.
You do not need wide reading or encyclopedic knowledge to write like that, do you?
In the light of such modern standards, I discovered that I no longer have any problem writing poetry. To write a poem is even easier than a primary school composition. As soon as I decided to write modernist poems, I was able to fill a whole notebook overnight. I was pleased with this "first volume" of mine. But when I came to write a dedication and an introduction, my hand trembled with the memory of the first piece of advice of my former teacher. I remembered him reciting two lines of poetry which roughly mean:
Writers are mortals,
But not so their works;
They remain forever.
So, write only that which
You may be proud of hereafter.
I had forgotten or ignored these lines for a while. But on second thoughts, I turned to the notebook and tore it to pieces without even revising what I had written, then I set fire to the torn pieces of paper. As I sat looking at my 'poems' turning into smouldering ashes, I murmured:
"May God forgive you, master Ahmed. For the second time you have prevented me from becoming a poet!"
