Al-Zahawi's Revolt in Hell (Part I)

The thawra of Jamil Sidqi al-Zahawi

Jamil Sidqi al-Zahawi (1863-1936) was an Iraqi poet, critical figure in the development of Arabic literary modernism, and a scholarly and outspoken contributor to political and social debates during the early part of the twentieth century. Zahawi envisaged a revolutionary role for poetry, transforming the purpose of verse into a utility by which contemporary social critiques could be posed. This is evident in his staunch support for women’s rights, his involvement in the politics of the Ottoman Empire until the constitution of 1908, his affiliation with the Young Turks, as well as his avid observation of the political currents in Europe. In certain of his poems, such as his 1931 long poem thawra fi al-jahim (Revolt in Hell), one can observe overtly political messages that demonstrate his awareness of global politics and affinity for radical politics. Yet Zahawi’s writings seldom contained acute political directives, and rarely endorsed political ideologies. Instead, his poetry is of a predominantly humanist nature; one that seeks truth in expression, but expands to encompass contemporary themes. This is exemplified, to a large extent, in Revolt in Hell, which merits closer attention than it has hitherto received and is presented here in its first English translation by the present author.

The poem is cast in the framework of a dream, although that is only revealed in the closing verses. The poet dreams he is dead and buried, and describes his encounter with Munkar and Nakeer, two angels whose duty it is to interrogate the dead by asking a series of specific questions. From a theological perspective, Munkar and Nakeer can be seen as superfluous, as doubtless their interrogative roles have no effect on the final state of bliss or punishment, which is already determined for the dead. Their roles in the poem, however, as with other characters from the Qur’an, are pivotal to Zahawi’s portrayal of a highly superficial and mythologized Islam, to which the poet was obviously exposed. This is primarily evident in the conversations that take place between Zahawi and the angels, who bombard the poet with a barrage of questions that are explicitly concerned with the intricate details of Islamic practices. Gradually, Zahawi starts to become impatient with the irrelevance of the questions, and begins to enumerate his accomplishments in his lifetime, like his ceaseless promotion of humanist ideals and his support for women’s rights. Yet verses that illustrate Zahawi’s egoism are as abundant as those that typify his self-pity. The general temper of the poem is that of an elitist irony, where intellectualism is victimized, religious superstition is prevalent, and revolution against the inhabitants of paradise is the only recourse.

The satirical zenith of the poem lies in Zahawi’s description of paradise, once he is taken there by the two angels to give him a glimpse of the absolute ecstasy that he has been denied. The description is highly dependant on Qur’anic imagery but not devoid of Zahawi’s humorous tone in listing the inventory of scrumptious food items and vintage wines that are provided for the inhabitants of heaven, not to mention the overt sexuality of the houri maidens, as well as the divinity and youthful beauty of the ghulman boy servants, which implies an acceptable homoeroticism in the afterlife. Zahawi’s description of hell, on the other hand, while continuing to borrow from the similes of the Qur’an, serves as the ontological dimension of the poem, with the poet employing a concise, yet forceful style in order to express his philosophy of rationalism, and his passionate belief in the ideal of reason.

While in hell, Zahawi is met by Leila, a character with recurring roles in many of the poet’s other works, who symbolises persecuted womanhood, and alludes to the oppressed state of the nation. Also, traces of his appreciation of Sufi philosophy can be read in a number of verses, specifically those that narrate Mansur al-Hallaj’s post-martyrdom self-elegy. Zahawi is then met by a number of notable poets, scientists, and philosophers, who have contributed to the development of humankind; Socrates, Dante, Shakespeare, Umar al-Khayyam, Mutanabbi, Ibn Sina, Voltaire, and Darwin, to name a few. After a few scattered conversations that the poet holds with the characters, a triumphant revolt against the angels is planned and led by poet Abu al-‘Ala’ al-Ma’arri, despite his blindness. The ironic sequel to the vividly illustrated revolt is a deliberately designed anti-climax that reveals itself as the abrupt awakening of Zahawi from a bad dream, one which he blames on his indulgence of watercress before going to sleep.

Revisiting this poem in its translated form can hopefully accomplish a number of objectives. Firstly, it introduces this seminal Iraqi poet to a wider readership, since Revolt in Hell can serve as an autobiographical account in which we sense Zahawi’s background in theology, his comprehension of the detailed depiction of death and the afterlife in Islam, his critique of the dogma in his society, and his audacious atheism. Secondly, it reminds those familiar with the poet of the significance of his innovations and his influence on later generations of authors; Zahawi’s effect on poetry is clearly observable in the work of many Arab authors of the 1950s, especially shu’ara’ al-rafd, or the poets of dissent. It is vital, however, to realize that the importance of the poem extends beyond its position in the history of Arabic literature. Its humanist dimension is timeless and universal. Reading this poem in light of the 2011 political uprisings in various Arab countries, for example, confirms the importance of critical engagement with expressions of the dogma, fundamentalism, corruption, and violence of authoritarian regimes. In the end, there’s not much that such critical engagement can do without instigating a revolt; a revolt against the angels of interrogation, who seem more like brutish state security agents than winged spiritual beings; a revolt against paradise, a palatial compound built on the blood and toil of the people, and stands as the place of eternal salvation only for the most decadent and oppressive; a revolt that only be born from hell and lead by the lame and the blind who inhabit the prisons, its interrogation rooms and its torture chambers. It is perhaps there that those seeking justice will recite this poem again and again until they finally triumph.

* * *

1. Zahawi was fluent in Kurdish, Arabic, Persian and Turkish. His attempts to learn the English language were hindered by his involvement in philosophical studies, as he had stated. Moreover, Zahawi’s exposure to European literature had been determined by his limited accessibility to works that had been translated into the languages that he understood. During most of his life, major European novels, and philosophical and sociological studies had been translated to either Farsi or Turkish, with a very small collection of Arabic translations, and an almost nonexistent collection of Kurdish translations. See Hilal Naji, Al-Diwan al-mafqud lil-Zahawi (Zahawi’s Lost Diwan) (Cairo: Dar al-Bustani, 1963) p. 27. 

2. The poem is also referred to as thawrat ahl al-jahim or thawra jahannamiyya.

3. To my knowledge, the only translation of this poem to a European language is that of G. Widmer, who translated Revolt in Hell to German in 1935 and had also translated dozens of Zahawi’s poems and quatrains. See G. Widmer, and G. Kampffmeyer, “Ubertragungen aus der neuarabischen Literatur. II. Der ‘iraqische Dichter Gamil Sidqi az-Zahawi aus Baghdad”, in Die Welt des Islams, Bd. 17, H. 1/2. (1935).

4. Jane Idleman Smith, and Yvonne Yazbeck Haddad, The Islamic Understanding of Death and Resurrection (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1981) p. 42.

5. Possible allusions to Hallaj’s martyrdom can also be detected in Zahawi’s poem “We Are Both Strangers Here”. See M. M. Badawi, A Critical Introduction to Modern Arabic Poetry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975) p. 53. For an English translation of the poem, cf. Salma Khadra Jayyusi, Modern Arabic Poetry: An Anthology (New York: Columbia University Press, 1987) p. 109. 

6. The Arabic original can be read here.

Jamil Sidqi al-Zahawi’s “Revolt in Hell”

(Part I)

I.    Munkar and Nakeer ^[1]

Past my demise,

Encased in earth, 

Came to me Munkar,

And Nakeer,

Angels,

Both were,

Adept to appear,

Clueless I,

How and why they appeared,

Wickedness nesting,

Two faces scowling,

Each with a nose,

Wide,

Like a striking horn,

With pride,

With a jaw akin to a lion’s,

Tusks I saw,

Serpents around their arms,

Snaking,

Terrifying,

Fiery eyes vilifying,

Dormant in my grave I was,

Until awakened,

Sensation returned,

Reality realized,

My tomb taut,

Beneath the earth it seems,

Lays the home of the ambitious,

A pit for the fallen and the seditious,

But for the victor a garden and a stream?

Bluntly they inquired,

Reawakened and writhing I was,

Of what things I committed,

When I walked the earth,

They stared me in the eye,

They screamed,

Then banter followed,

I,

Answering to them,

Like a bird stands to an eagle,

I waned,

And never have I waned before,

For hardship I had bore,

No perils from my doubts,

With courage in my core,

For a free poet, duplicity is sin,

Treachery insufferable,

Solace for my conscience,

Scourge for my soul,

Clamor in my casket,

Gloom,

That disturbed the other tombs.

II.   A conversation between the angel and the dead

“Who are you?”

Said the angel wrathfully,

“Nay but a buried old man”

Said I,

“What craft had you in life?”

Said he,

“All that I have brought was absurd,

Never have I taken a chance”

Said I,

“Name your specialty”

Said he,

“Poetry was my salvation,

Through it I poeticised,

I prophecised,

And fed the imagination”

Said I,

“What religion did you follow in your days?”

Said he,

“Islam was my religion,

Worthy of respect and recognition”

Said I,

“Who did you worship then?”

Said he,

“Allah my sire,

The hearer, the seer”

Said I,

“What had you done in life,

During your days as a free roamer?”

Said he,

“Do not ask about a life,

Devoid of joy and liberty,

A slave I was,

Ordained and restricted,

Deprived of choice,

Without a will or a voice,

Lesser than a bead,

Which does not follow,

And does not plead.”

“Have you not been disobedient?”

Said he,

“Had I disobeyed,

Then God is the forgiver,

Uttering what no one else did,

Made me a sinner,

Ensconced in illusions they were,

Disgruntled with freedom,

What I said was always novel,

And never did I borrow,

Unalike are the fruits of the croft,

Some are kernels,

Barks and shells,

Some are barley,

While the rest are spelt,

The naïf follows the path of his kind,

Like the blind man follows the blind.”

“Had you faith in the prophets,

Their message believed by you, without arrogance,

And the word of God,

Delivered to you by the auspicious?”

Said he,

“My soul elevates with the holy writ,

God given deliverer,

For it is the luminous lantern.”

Positively I replied to the question,

Because of fear and trepidation,

“Had you in prayer devotion?”

Said he,

“Never had I been tepid in prayer,

Not for the chaste women in the heavens,

As praying for rewards seems an erroneous of an affair.”

Said I,

“Had you fasted during Ramadan?”

Said he,

“Certain was my fasting,

Delightful my feasting.”

Said I,

“Had you practiced almsgiving?”

Said he,

“Never was I late in providing alms.”

Said I,

“And your concern with pilgrimage?”

Said he,

“In pilgrimage I knew pleasure.”

Said I,

“Were you tepid in jihad?”

Said he,

“Never,

For in jihad laid my pride.”

“Had you faith in resurrection?”

Said he,

“My lord in resurrection is adroit,

His wish is the command of the world.”

Said I,

“Then what is your say of the Day of Judgment,

However grueling the questions may be,

No matter what atrium you have to enter?

And the heavens,

Gardens flowing with fir honey,

Chaste maidens,

Milk teeming,

Joy and blissfulness,

Copious urns and wine,

Pomegranate,

Dates and vines,

Birds singing on twigs of Acacia,

No wounds or pitfalls,

No sun and no wind.

And the abyss,

Fires ravaging,

Torturous are its waters,

Eternally,

Boiling and savaging,

Infernal are its winds,

Criminals disciplined,

Heretics in abysm,

Eternal in their grief,

In its fires burning,

In iciness freezing.”

Said he,

In a daze I replied,

“Stop,

Importunate angel,

Stop,

For what you bring is unrelenting,

For my faith was ample in my youth,

Free of neglect,

But doubts erupted in me,

I found myself unsettled,

Then faith returned,

Until unsheathed by Satan,

Then I believed,

Then I blasphemed,

Uncertain and vacillating I was,

Until I bolstered my heresy,

Like a stalwart ironclad,

Thoroughly I studied,

An audacious scholar I became,

My fear of you however,

Made me uncertain again.”

III. Al-Sirat

^[2]

Rather composed,

I still was,

But,

Ahead of me lies the overpass,

Above the scorching abyss,

Narrow like the edge of a sword,

Or slim as a hair,

How can one pass?

Do not forego,

A bridge old as millennia,

Ascending,

Leveled forgiveness,

Descending,

A distressing journey indeed,

Passable only by an oxen’s breed,

Perhaps those who have slaughtered a sacrifice,

Face an effortless journey on this overpass,

Perhaps had I been a slayer of cattle,

Driven I may have been on this chattel,

And had I ridden a horse’s saddle,

Verily over this bridge I could paddle,

God forbid I should plunge,

For it would be dire,

Unpleasant it is to live in fire,

Immortality undue,

My sire,

Do not subject us to torment,

Austere is your punishment,

My sire,

Have mercy on us the feeble,

We are meek,

But you able.

IV. Questions on Angels, Demons, and the Jinn

“What have thou seen in the angels?

Some evil, some pure,

And in Gabriel,

Between the Lord and the Prophet,

An ambassador,

And in those who surround the throne?

A throne so mellifluous,

Resounding across the firmament,

Loud as a beehive,

Flows the chant of the angels,

And what have thou seen in the slanderer?

Who fills the people’s souls with greed,

And the demons below him,

Naked and bare,

Giving every creature a scare,

And the tempters,

Who lead worshipers astray.”

He asked,

“God owns the earth and the skies,

And all that they encompass,

Though I ponder,

What limits reason?

No mistake existed in the book,

What is untrue is the interpretation.”

V.             Questions on Sufur and Hijab

“Is there gain in Sufur?”

He asked,

“It is better to uncover than to veil,

It is in veiling that nations ail,

In Sufur lies life and development,

How can people emerge,

Half of it from its other in concealment?

No people can prevail,

With no equality between male and female,

Alas the splendor of the morning is men,

With nothing in their eyes but night and gloom.”

VI. Questions on God

“What is God?”

He asked,

“God is beyond reason,

He is the sublime,

The majestic,

Boundless nature,

His book aligned,

World is for God an ancient passage,

Seasons as episodes,

Creatures as rows,

He has been described as the world,

As the mountains, the soil and, the sea,

As the light of the heavens and the earth,

As everything that is needed for one to be,

As the desirer,

The creator,

For without Him,

No face would exist,

He is the necessary,

His unwavering throne in the skies,

His resolute command,

Shaken by disobedience,

Like a bed shakes at sunrise,

If he orders something to be,

It becomes,

At once,

With that I have been educated,

But doubt had my heart eradicated.”

VII.          The plea of the dead

“I said what I have said,

And you remain mislead,

As to whether what I have told,

Was true or invalid,

I see derision in describing God,

But how will I be castigated,

If my destiny was predestined?

No choice have I had,

For I was in life intimidated,

If faith and dissent,

From God had dawned on me,

Then abstruse is my penalty,

For mirth?

God is not mirthful,

Or for cruelty?

God is not cruel,

Is it righteous to spawn Satan?

Torturous and with evil,

Laden,

Himself spawning doubts amongst souls,

Irrefutable are those qualms,

A knower surely has to suffer,

And the firmament is no absolver,

For some misery and torment,

For some delight and pleasure.”

VIII.         God is the ether

“What is God’s self?”

Said he,

With a negligent tongue I replied:

“I know nothing of the self,

For it has been veiled and curtained,

Albeit I know that God is,

And that he does not perish,

One God for the universe,

He is the ether,

Ether and God,

Two words and one sense,

Surely were you rational,

You would reach that inference.”

IX. The dead withholding his answers

“If I deny you my answers,

Then I am excused,

Do you deem it painless to change,

For my heart in my old age?”

Said I,

“Tongue in cheek I sense from thee,

Are you orating scornfully?”

Said he,

“He who dies does not scorn,

But it is the tyrannical that I fear,

My mind conceals my thoughts,

For if a doubter revealed his candor,

Then a rapier he shall encounter,

Do not be callous in my grave,

For I am an elder worthy of compassion.”

X.  Leave me be

“What you say to me is unlawful,

Leave me be,

For in this ditch I am comfortable,

The din in life had made me bitter,

Days have tired me,

Once I breathed,

Today I long for the silence,

Leave me be,

And do not pester,

Your visit has left me frantic as ever,

Leave me be,

Do not swell my agony,

With you intrusive query,

Even the graves are weakened by your crudity,

How have you entered my crypt?

Are its stones and rocks that meek?

Once I collapsed into this pit,

I saw goodness in banishment,

In this firm tomb,

I found solitude,

Now I see the anguish in this crypt,

Indeed what follows the weak is crisis,

At every time,

At all places.”

XI. The angels chastise the dead

“Absurd are you to think,

That your protest will alter your fate”

Said he,

My reply,

A lump in my throat,

“Then do with me what you desire,

Torment me here if you wish,

Or in fire,

I was ignorant once I walked the earth,

Oblivious to life`s condemnations,

To hell I shall march,

Against my will,

But behind me,

A crowd,

That spills like a brook,

You have asked of my beliefs,

Extraneous are your questions,

You ought to ask about my conscience,

My virtues in my youth,

How I have toiled for the rights of others,

Making me famed amongst sisters and brothers,

You ought to ask about my devotion to my nation,

About my loyalty and dedication,

You ought to ask about my war against injustice,

How I have defended women,

Against men they were defenseless,

You ought to ask about the poetry I have written,

For it is with poetry that a people ascends,

A ladder towards the heavens,

In poetry lies true deliverance,

A lullaby,

A piece of advice,

You ought to ask about truth,

For truth is the foundation,

On which souls are built,

You ought to ask about art,

How I have guarded it from a dreadful end,

Or are you silent on what matters,

And only ask about the irrelevant?”

XII.          The angels badger the dead with more questions

“Everything you have bestowed is sordid,

Worthless old man,

We only question your relation to creed,

And your appreciation,

Tell us what you see of Jabal al-Qaf,^[3]

Myth is it or reality?

A mountain of emerald with dwellers,

Half of whom have faith,

Half are blasphemers,

Blinded you become if you gaze,

With Yajuj and Majuj,^[4]

And the dam,

Denying all of this is arrogance,

With Harut and Marut,^[5]

And magic,

And forbidden occults.”

Said he,

“I have not known any of that,

My mind in apostasy had dwelt,

I was once alive,

Then I died,

Death is righteous,

To that attest the sepulchers,

I walked above the soil yesterday,

Today beneath it,

My head I lay,

That is death,

God’s eternal way.”

XIII.         The final conversation

“Enough with that,

And tell at once,

Who your God is,

Or you shall face intolerance.”

Said he,

“Have patience with me,

For you have frightened me,

Do not be brutal in your demand,

For I am nay but a pitiable man,

My belief was that God was the ether,

Generous,

Giving,

Forgiving,

And deliverer,

That was my conviction until,

My sensations crumbled in this cell,

Today you alone are my lord,

By your grace I remain or corrode,

You are the magnificent,

Under your crown resides the crypt.”

XIV.        Torment in the crypt

“You have nothing but irreverence,

Your soul,

Contaminated with arrogance,

Morbidly punished are your likes.”

Approaching my forehead they were,

And both with once voice thundered:

“Savour,

For you are a philosopher.”

Said he,

“Amnesty I appeal,

Amnesty,

For my philosophy reflects,

A mind that works poorly,

Declaring you as my God,

Was ludicrous surely,

My daring speeches indeed,

Have harmed and not redeemed,

I have been wrongly expressive,

And God is my lord,

To him I am submissive.”

Roaring at me they replied,

“You are adjourned,

For punishment be prepared,

You shall bleed from your back and belly,

For there is no use for faith after heresy.”

With a whip I was lashed brutally,

From the pain I collapsed horrifically,

For them no place for pity or leniency,

For me a bloody chest and eyes teary,

Breathing out a whimper,

Seeking a savior,

But who is to save me,

With boiling tar poured over my head,

My face boiling and blistered,

Heat overcame my casket,

Like fuel burns beneath an iron pot,

In my torment they delighted,

Then consciousness I lost,

Sensation deserting my body,

Then I awoke,

To see myself tied with rope.

XV.          Taking the dead to the heavens for a provocative glance

They fluttered upwards pulling me,

Towards the heavens taking me,

To tempt my conscience,

Both whispering to Radwan,^[6]

Allowing passage through the gates,

At once my face had felt,

The touch of a sublime scent,

Then a magnificent scene I witnessed,

Making me wonder,

Whether I was spellbound,

Or inebriated,

Paradise,

Broad as the skies,

Boastful of all that is beautiful,

Food and drink,

Soothing and delightful,

Fried is the fish,

Grilled is the quail,

Along with glasses full,

Wines and ale,

And a lofty tree,

Shadowing with felicity,

Its branches swaying and swinging,

Beneath them rivers of honey,

Vintage wines streaming,

Ginger and camphor,

Delicious is the milk,

And divine the water,

Pearls and rubies,

Diamonds that glimmer,

Everything desired,

Permissible forever,

Nubile virgins,

Beds and mattresses,

Warm and comfortable,

Inviting are the houris above them,

Ornamented with jewelry,

Blessed are the maidens,

For they do not fear disgrace,

Even if the bed shook beneath them,

Each who had prayed and bequeathed,

Fortunate with maidens he shall become,

Seventy virgins he may be given,

Draped in silk and linen,

Fair like a pearl,

Beauty on a pedestal,

That mystifies even the soothsayer,

And with waists that are slender,

The virgins tire,

For ample are their buttocks,

And the youngsters dispersed like pearls,

Amongst the believers they roam,

Obtain what you wish for,

And do not fear,

For in heaven every wish is,

Fair.

With forests boasting the song of birds,

With everything that the soul requests,

For if you hunger after a quail,

Then grilled from its branch it plummets,

With mud as succulent as butter,

The heavens are forever full of flavor,

And if you wish for a fig to become a rooster,

Then in front of you a fig shall flutter,

And if you wish for gravel to become gold,

Then in front of you gravel shall glimmer,

The heavens bestow every wish,

That cannot be granted by elixir,

No death or abomination,

No sun or icy winter,

No seasons making you bound,

Do you now see that the earth is not round?

Heaven on top of heaven in levels,

Jubilation in its gardens and palaces,

And mist that nourishes its flowers,

All of this and beyond,

For those who enter its ground,

Like silver enters a bracelet,

And for those who enter,

A blessing after the other,

And happiness and pleasure.

Thirsty,

I sought a sip from a spring,

Placing my hand in the stream,

Then saw the water fleeing,

As if it were commanded to secede,

The I recalled that I was brought,

Only to be tempted with reward,

What right do I have to obtain my drink,

After it was proven that I was damned?

I said to the angels:

“Return me to my place,

For this heaven makes me anxious,

In the tomb I have found a home,

Its dusk identical to its dawn,

Oh tomb,

Have mercy on my old self,

In my desolation I seek thee.”

 [Translated from the Arabic by Firas Massouh. You can read the Arabic original here]