Somali Poetry

They Pounced at Dawn

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Honestly, my wife, not one of my forefathers Nor I have ever once traded with money. Our ancestors always had camels, And I got my share from the camel raids. Only once I ventured where my father never went. I loaded the camels; it took four nights to reach the village. The minute I got to the gate of Burco with my goods, The brokers pounced as if they knew I was coming. As dawn broke, the sheepsellers set upon us. Godless men gathered against us. I was struck dumb when they prodded the sheep. 'It's worth this much', 'No it isn't', they haggled bluntly. Their squabbling distressed me. I trusted the man with the squint but he cheated me. They tried to placate me with less than four shillings, While I watched the hands that swindled me. As for the sheep you're all asking about, they are now with men Who deserve to be strung up on thorns by their heels. All I was left with was rags and a stick. Some men know more about money than me. Ask them!
by Ismaciil Mire

Soomaali Baan Ahay

a classic Somali song

Sinnaantaan la magac ahay San-ku-neefle ma oggoli Inuu iga sarreyn karo Anna garasho sogordahan Sooryo ruux ugama dhigo Soomaali baan ahay! I share names with equality A mortal I do not allow That he surpass me And allusive words and hints I confer not on anyone as gifts I am Somali Inkastoon sabool ahay Haddana waan sarriigtaa Sacabbada ma hoorsado Saaxiib nimaan nahay Cadowgayga lama simo Soomaali baan ahay Though impoverished I am Yet my hardships I endure And my palms I do not extend A man with whom I am friends

With my enemy I do not rival I am Somali Nabaddaan u sahanshaa Colaaddaan ka salalaa Soomajeesto goobaha Ninka nabarka soo sida Gacantiisa kama sugo Soomaai baan ahay I am in a quest for peace And from enmity I am terrified But [from the battlefield] I flee not And the man who brings wounds From his hands I await not [I launch assault] I am Somali Nin I sigay ma nabad galo Nin isugeyna maba jiro Libta weli ma sii deyn Gardarrada ma saacido Nin xaq lehna cid lama simo Soomaali baan ahay! A man who endangers me lives not in peace And there isnt a man who did wait for me Gratitude I have not yet abandoned Nor do I support not any transgression And a wronged man I compare not with others I am Somali Ninkaan taydu soli karin Uma yeelo suu rabo Sida dunida qaarkeed Sandulleynta ma oggoli

Ninna kabaha uma sido Soomaali baan ahay To whom my ways do not appeal As he wishes I do not comply with Like some parts of the world Coercion I do not accept Nor do I carry any mans shoes I am Somali Ninka Iga sed roonow Siintaada magaca leh Ogow kaama sugayee Hana oran sasabo badaw Dareen seexda ma lihiye Somaali baan ahay O you who is wealthier than I Your offerings for names sake Know that I expect them not Say not, too, persuade the ignorant For I have not a conscious that sleeps I am Somali Ninna madax salaaxiyo Kama yeelo seetada Sasabo ma qaayibo Sirta waxaan iraahdaa Saab aan biyaha celin Soomaali baan ahay Neither mans stroking of my head Nor his lace on my legs [duplicity] do I accept Persuasion I do not approve As for secrets [about me] I say

A Saab [vessel] that hold no water I am Somali Dabayshaan la socod ahay Salfudeydna uma kaco Waabay sunaan ahay Marna samawadaan ahay Samir baan hagoogtaa Soomaali baan ahay I am of a step with the wind And on impulse I do not act I am like fangs of poison [when provoked] And at times, the bearer of good [when dealt with peace] I am swathed in patience I am Somali Nin I sigay ma nabad galo Nin isugeyna maba jiro Libta weli ma sii deyn Gardarrada ma saacido Nin xaq lehna cid lama simo Soomaali baan ahay! A man who endangers me lives not in peace And there isnt a man who did wait for me Gratitude I have not yet abandoned Nor do I support not any transgression And a wronged man I compare not with others I am Somali Saan la kala jaraan ahay Summadi ay ku wada taal, Rag baa beri I saanyaday Anoo xoolo soofsada,

Xil midnimo anaa sida, Soomaali baan ahay I am like Saan [hide] split into two That still bears the credentials Some men once disintegrated me Whilst I tended to my flocks [But] the obligation of unity I [still] carry I am Somali

Maxamed Ibraahim Warsame 'Hadraawi' Mother The world certainly Would never have left night Light not been found People not have trekked To a star over the Hawd*1 Would not have flown Like birds of prey To the moon in the clouds Not have sent rockets That appear like waves in the sky Nor reached into space Oh Mother, you've guided The servants of God To where they are today With numbers I cannot Calculate or count The number of great people You carried on your back That you suckled That you nourished From your breast When you bear a man With support of his kin Whose camels men fear to raid A steadfast hero Mother, you are commemorated for it When you bear a generous man
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*Note: the Hawd is a major grazing area in eastern Ethiopia inhabited by Somalis.

Who says 'Please, take this.' Who when a visitor Arrives with nothing Gives of his wealth Coming closer to God A man people wish Would never die Mother, you are commemorated for it. When you bear a man Who in his intention Follows a straight path When he meets one wave Then deals with the next Who guides his dependents Whom all wish to emulate Mother, you are commemorated for it. When you bear a man who stands Against disaster and war Who understands the law Deliberates on the truth Dampens conflict and danger When it's set alight Who prevents bloodshed Gives order to the people Leads them all Mother, you are commemorated for it. When you bear a famous poet Who knows the construction and decoration The composition and the tuneful chant Tightly forming the words of poetry Which God has given as a gift The artist who shapes all this Mother, you are commemorated for it.

Women are desired in life The ones sought after Like a forest of fresh leaves Men are hungry, and what They set their eyes on

Are those young women of yours When marriage is discussed It is a girl, a tall heego cloud Like ripe fruit, rich In strength, maturity and beauty, It's Hira, that one marries Mother, you are commemorated for it. Oh Mother, without you Language would not be learnt Oh Mother, without you Speech would be impossible There is no one in the world You did not bring up To whom you haven't sung, Haven't calmed with lullabies, Not one who lacked you efforts In reaching maturity That compassion has not covered In the house of love. Oh Mother, through you Peace is made certain Oh Mother, on your lap The child falls to sleep Oh Mother, by your hem Shelter is found
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Oh Mother, the infants Benefit from your teaching You gladden the camel calf You, the rain cloud that cools You, the essential sleeping mat You, the clean shelter You, a heritage all journey towards. Mother, while you live I anoint you with congratulations Greetings and wealth I cover you with respect and esteem Mother, your death Is my disaster In both body and mind I hold your memory I sing still for you Above your grave I wear the mourning cloth Knowing that better than here Where the birds fly The animals roam Where all creation lives By the gift of God Better than all this Is the hereafter.

Raage Ugaas
Night Has Fallen
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Night had fallen and behind closed doors everyone was sleeping Thunder called out with a clamour of rain like shots from a thousand rifles So was my wailing heard that they thought it a lion approaching For men the spine and ribsides are the body's central support I am shut away now from the eyes through which I used to see Only God knows the source of my lamentations The vulture with an injury to his shoulder cannot fly The horse who has lost his spine cannot gallop The man injured in eye and ribs cannot seek revenge A man whose heart aches cannot take a bride home When the camels are thirsty their outcries increase Like a small girl whose mother now lives in the hereafter Whose father has brought another woman to sleep in the aqal*2 I grieve constantly from the sorrow deep in my belly I'm the man whose fiance has been given to another I'm the man who sees springs but whose thirst remains unquenched I'm the man whose brother is clan leader and yet is accused I am that silent man who sits, slowly patting his mouth again and again

An aqal is a nomadic hut used by the Somalis.

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Maxamed Xaashi Dhamac 'Gaarriye' Evening Cloud

Setting sun you're slipping From the fading day Heading for your hole Hey! Are you a coward? What's the hurry? Is it the flurry of light, Shining spears, an ambush Waiting, burning news From the house where You will spend the night? Or is it this young woman A billow, a breeze in spring That lifts the filmy shawl, A rain cloud in the evening? You glimpsed each other Your brilliance dimmed, do you Retreat for fear that she Outshines you, or to tell The moon of her before it rises So it won't stumble like you? The swirling cirrus-waves Slow-marched with swaying limbs, An elegance unique to them; The ceremonious ranks of clouds Surrounded you, and the bullets You loosed and arrows you aimed
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Pierced their chests, they turned To red, their blood dripped; On all other days you splashed The mares' tails with colour What made them shy away today From shouldering their arms? Do they grieve for you? Or do they hold back from The aura of this noble girl From the missiles of love And ardour her eyes Released and planted in them? All that may be so. What I still recall is her, Plucking ripe fruit, Her dress and gareys*3 Tied round her waist, Not expecting the glance Of a youth from anywhere. The aroused wind realized The feelings inside me And surprised her, Revealed her belly and breasts. I recall her haste in holding The clothes to herself Modestly turning her face, A gazelle dipping her head; The shyness of virginity.

A gareys is a type of shawl made of thin, brightly coloured material which women wear on their upper body over a dress.

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Xasan Sheekh Muumin Good Sense [from Shabeelnaagood] The ostrich places Her young in the open Where the hawk kills But the small bird marries And beds her young In a nest that's safe Different in size, the two In manners, wisdom And sense are opposite See how good sense Is superior to strength And think on it. The elephant with large tusks Grazes at night in land Where the enemy hunts him But the termite builds The mound we see Protects himself within it. Different in size, the two In manners, wisdom And sense are opposite See how good sense Is superior to strength And think on it. Do you know the dikdik? She digs at the dust Buries her droppings But does the lion conceal his?
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The path to the watering hole He stains with his dung. Different in size, the two In manners, wisdom And sense are opposite See how good sense Is superior to strength And think on it.

A volume of poetry coming from Somalia at this time of chaotic turbulence in that country should be as welcome as it is surprising. Such indeed is An
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Anthology of Somali Poetry, consisting of forty-one poems representing twenty-two poets, including, among others, such popular figures as Raage Ugaas, Maxamed Cabdille Xasan, Ismaadil Mire, Cilmi Bowndheri, Maxamed Ibraahim "Hadraawi," and Muuse Xaaji Ismaaciil Galaal. The translator, B. W. Andrezejewski, is a distinguished authority on Cushitic languages and literatures. The poems included in the volume were composed well before the onset of the triple bane of famine, civil war, and political anarchy that have afflicted, and still bedevil, this unfortunate country. They belong in an oral tradition which, hardly going back beyond two hundred years as far as Somali memory serves, has flourished until very recent times. Somali poetry, as the translator points out, remained "an entirely oral art" until 1972, when "an official system of writing [was] established." Coming as they do from a country lauded by Western travelers as a nation of poets and poetry lovers, the poems gathered here are rich in the social and didactic virtues of oral poetry in general. Never attempting the lofty imaginative flights of first-rate verse, the Somali Muse nevertheless offers in these poems a rich blend of robust, ifingenuous, subjectivity and a high degree of social relevance in a manner that highlights their value simultaneously as personal utterances and sociological documents. The topics dealt with in these poems reveal considerable variety, ranging as they do over such themes as love, marriage, friendship, betrayal, revenge, life's evanescence, old age, death, and, most notably, the Somali's love for his animals, which, in its emotional depth and intimacy, rivals the
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Bedouin's proverbial passion for his camel and his horse. In fact, the Somali poet addressing his horse or his camel uses terms ofendearment no different from those he employs in addressing his human kin or sweetheart. Thus, Raage Ugaas in "A Horse Beyond Compare" sings: "Through him I can restore the wholeness of my heart. / Is he not like a son given you by God / Or like a brother, blood of your parents' blood?" And Maxamed Cabdille Xasan in "A Fine War Horse" asks: "Is he not the means of reaching Paradise? . . . Is he not my very heart? . . . Is he not an awesome invocation of the omnipotence of God?" The poet's love for his horse leaps up in vaulting hyperboles that all but deify his equine soulmate. The Somali's love for his camel is no less ardent, as can be seen in the assertion of Cumar Xuseen that camels "Are as the sinews of your spine to you" and that "There are losses to which men can resign themselves, / But no man will ever submit to the loss of his camels" ("Ostreeliya"). The poems treating of death manage to maintain a wise balance between emotional outburst and submission to the will of God. Of the two elegies in the book, one is on the death of a friend and the other on the death of a nephew. In "The Death of a Friend" Cali Jaamac Haabiil resents his loss--"I have been burning with resentment / Over the loss of this magnificent man"--yet, without raging "against the dying of the light" (Dylan Thomas), he concludes his lament with: "I accept your will, O God, that is forever just." A more remarkable elegy is Ismaaciil Mire's "Listen, O Truck," in which the poet, replacing the traditional and indigenous camel/horse with the imported truck, bids the latter be the bearer of his grief to his sister, who has lost her son. Of his nephew he says: "O God, to me he is the feet I walk
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on, he is my head / O God, he is the heart that beats inside me, and my right hand / O God, he is the hips that lift me and my long limb-bones / O God, he is my short ribs and the tendons of my spine!" Where else can poetry tell so touchingly of the throes of bereavement, without the highbrow indirections of "modernity"? Like the two poems on death, the two on old age included here are possessed of a characteristic simplicity that conceals a quiet strength. Plaintive (but by no means pathetic) lamentations about the infirmities of old age, these poems, with no Yeatsian craving for immortality and with no compensatory soul-bravura against the body's growing decrepitude, succeed in making the body speak for itself on its own unassuming terms. Of the love poems in the volume, the most moving are those by Cilmi Bowndheri, which have a poignancy that derives from his own personal heartbreak as a lover. Having loved and lost the beautiful Hodon--his Laura, his Beatrice--he touches the heart of his listeners with "the pageant of his bleeding heart" as he beseeches the "winds that possess the power of speech" to "Tell her that stone houses and walls would have felt the pain / Tell her that termite hills would have sprouted green grass / If they had but heard these words of mine!" There are poems here that verge, however tenuously, on the metaphysical and the philosophical. "Bitter Sweet" by Axmed Ismaaciil Diiriye "Qaasim," is an honest serf-analysis by a man self-consciously caught between piety and iniquity, whereas in "The Snake" by Muuse Xaaji Ismaaciil Galaal the wise serpent, after berating the human
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race for its duplicities and perversities, eventually reveals itself as "Fate, the Leveller" and benignly exonerates man on the ground that "Each time it was the pattern, not you yourself / That forced you to do whatever you did." Here indeed is a Somali version of the Skinnerian doctrine of environmental determinism! Rich in facile similes that bear the populist aural resonance characteristic of folkpoetry, the poems in An Anthology of Somali Poetry are apt to present the reader with the occasional spectacle of a brilliant metaphor such as the following, in which the poet depicts the foaming mouth of his speeding war horse: "His mouth is a pool of water cleft in two / And the bit that makes it whole again / Must be put in deftly." All in all, the anthology provides ample proof that poetry of a high order, though not of the highest, can flourish in an oral tradition.

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