V is for...Voices...and...Vegetal

is for a no-show

Just like P, there is no V in Arabic! And yet Vega is the name of a star which has come from Arabic roots, go figure!

It’s a contraction of the original Arabic name An Nasr Al Waqi (the Falling/Diving Eagle).  When the name was transliterated into Latin maybe couple millennia ago, the W got replaced with a V, because Latin did not possess any W until the Middle Ages. Fun fact, yeah? Okay, now for the serious bit -

Voices – I witnessed some come out of the Arab Spring that year of 2011. Note that the first two are practically unknown, independent bands/artistes creating these powerful protest songs with minimal resources and massive dedication. Both of these bands existed before 2011, but shot to prominence through the Egyptian Revolution, Cairokee particularly so with this number which had more than a million views in a few days after they uploaded it to YouTube. Ana Mawgood (I exist) and Sout al Horreya (The Voice of Freedom) are especial favourites of mine. 

The Arab Spring, whatever its merits or flaws, or outcomes, spiked so much creativity in so many ways, it’s given rise to a cultural bonanza – in street art and music and theatre and photography, perhaps in fine arts and literature as well.  And it broke the taboo on the arts being used for social and political activism for that period.

Mohammed Mounir is an established artiste of some three decades' solid standing, known as ‘The King’ after his film ‘El Malik Huwa El Malik’ (The King is the King). Here is his Ezzay? (How come?) 

And, last but not the least, Vegetal designs – because  Islam forbade the depiction of the human form as idolatrous, Arab designers came up with new ways of decorating stuff, a set of motifs culled from preceding cultures and re-purposed to suit Islamic principles, based on flowers and vines and trees. These are called Vegetal designs.

Detail of vegetal design. Nasrid Palace. 
14th century. Alhambra, Granada, Spain.

They also developed a highly refined set of designs based on the geometry of the circle. These started off with a central shape and radiated out, and could be repeated infinitely to cover a surface no matter how large. I can tell you there were some serious Maths nerds among the early Arab scholars, and their formidable grasp of the subject must have kept the designing rolling along pretty nicely.

Vegetal designs at the back entrance of Al Azhar Mosque,
10th century. Cairo.

These styles of decorations were known as Arabesques, their origins made plain in the term itself, though now the word is largely outdated. 

Antique style gramophone horn with vegetal motifs. Coppersmiths'
market. 2012. Sharia Muizz. Khan el Khalili. Cairo.

Vegetal designs around rim of basin. Central fountain (sabil)
in the Barquq Complex. 14th century. Cairo.

Detail of design on the inside of an arch.
Al-Ghuri Mosque. 16th century. Cairo.

Detail of ceramic tile inset on contemporary
building facade, combining geometric and 
vegetal elements. 2014. Nizwa. Oman.

Detail of design carved on old wooden door shutters. 2016. National 
Museum, Manama, Bahrain.

These motifs remain part of the Arab design portfolio, many contemporary buildings also use them suitably updated.  Have you seen any  - on buildings, or book covers, coffee mugs, photo frames, where you are? 

Posted for the A-Z Challenge 2017 

T is for Tanoura....and....Tops....

Welcome to the last week of the A-Z Challenge! Home stretch! The Week of the Tough Cookies - from U to Z one after another, relentless! Personally, it's going to be an intense week - there is also a local poetry event on the 29th, and I'm participating...what? only the blog was supposed to be poetry-free in April, offline it's the same old same old...can't banish poetry from real life, are you kidding me? :) anyways time for

which is for

Tanoura!

There are many sects within Islam, and Sufism is a mystical, introspective sect. Some of the Sufis whirl as a spiritual act of submission, they are known as the whirling dervishes. In Egypt, the Sufi whirling has evolved in a particular trajectory all its own.  Some dance scholars feel that they blend remnants of ancient Egyptian ritual dances and folk traditions with the Sufi performance. Also, the Egyptian Sufis dress in colourful skirts, and the word for the skirt gives the name to the performance – Tanoura.

Vibrant skirts! they give the name to the performance. The colours 
represent the various Sufi orders. Each skirt weighs around 5 kg. 
A dervish may wear two skirts for the whirling ceremony. 

Starts off with individual musicians introducing their instruments through 

solo recitals. Here finger cymbals called 'sagat' are being played.

The percussion instruments. The lead is the goblet drum called
'darbouka' in Arabic, the tambourines are called 'riqq,' as you know.

The philosophy of the performance is based on the belief that the world moves in circles, begins and comes back to the same point, and therefore the Sufis spin, mimicking that motion.  They whirl anticlockwise, as pilgrims do in the Kaaba, Islam’s holiest shrine. 

The 'sagat' 'speaks' to the 'darbouka' in a call-and-response duet,
the finger cymbals ask a question and the drum answers.

Apart from the saqat and darbouka, reed flutes (ney) and
lutes (rabab) are the other instruments accompanying.

The Tanoura performance is split in three parts.  The first is a warm up - an introduction to the various musical instruments accompanying the Sufis, followed by the presentation performance, more spiritual in its execution. And the last part is pure magic, the music revs up, three dancers come on stage, the whole atmosphere is electrifying. 

The solo performer discards a black jacket, whirls with
these 'mute' tambourines, and by the end has discarded 
both the skirts he started off with.  

Each action, each gesture of the arm and hand, each discarded item – jacket or skirt or the tambourine or the banner that the main performer holds, has a spiritual significance. 

Traditionally, the Tanoura is performed at Moulids, the celebration

of a Sufi Saint's Day, 

But this be the thing, you don’t have to know the least bit about them, or about Sufism, or spirituality or anything, to enjoy this colourful, lively, folksy, quasi-religious and amazing performing art! 

Three performers set the stage alight with their energy, vibrancy 

and colours. 

Eye-contact and an engaging connect with the audience.

While the solo Tanoura is more about spirituality this is pure

showmanship and consummate skill.

     

The skirt is spun vertically, horizontally, 

and on every possible plane. 

A thumping good time guaranteed, it'll make you want to stand up and take a few twirls yourself. Just go watch it if you are in Cairo. 

This part lasts for around 45 minutes, roughly 
the same as the first.

And the final step, the skirt is loosened and removed. Show over!

And here is a number called El Tanoura – the skirt, by popular singer Fares Karam from Lebanon. Arab pop numbers make great music for dancing along. I’m not so sure I’m quite comfortable with the message of the video/lyrics, uff, uff, uff!! When will media portrayals of women stop being all about their skirt lengths and see-through Tops, how much more Time will it freaking Take?? but let’s leave the heavy stuff out and just enjoy the beats.

Posted for the A-Z Challenge 2017 

S is for Stars....of Several kinds

is for

Shukran gazeelan!

Probably the most well-known bit of Arabic among non-native speakers  - it means ‘thank you very much!’ The g can be pronounced either hard as in 'go' or as in 'jet' depending on the regional dialect. Whichever way you say it, you'll be understood.     

Singer Yousra El Hawary with El Soor - the Wall - a song about a wall built to keep out protesters during the Egyptian Revolution. One of the loveliest voices to come out of the Arab Spring.

More of her music at her own Site. 

Also, Samira Said, a Moroccan-Egyptian and a much awarded and successful singer, can't not mention her!

Stars 

Why do so many star names sound so abstruse? I mean, Achernar, Betelgeuse, Deneb Algedi, Rasalased, seriously? Where did these even come from? They don’t sound anything like Greek or Latin, the two languages on which most Western nomenclature is based. Well, star names don’t sound like Greek or Latin because they aren’t Greek or Latin, simple.  Those are actually, yup, you knew this was coming, didn't you? Arabic.

Betelgeuse derives from Ibt al Jauza or the Armpit of the Giant (the Giant being Orion) or more likely Yad al Jauza (the Hand of the Giant). How did Yad become Bet? That’s because a careless transcriber/translator missed a dot. The letter for B in Arabic is the exact same as Y, except that B has one dot below it, while Y has two.  Somewhere along the line someone misread or miswrote Y and B and voila - Betelgeuse! A case of Arabic whispers, only written not verbal. Achernar is Akhir an Nahr (End of the River in Arabic), Rasalased is from Ras al Assad (Head of the Lion) and so on.

The nomads named their visible stars in antiquity, no-one knows when exactly, maybe 2-3000 years ago.  These names themselves were built from the ancient legends and myths of Sumer, Babylon  and Mesopotamia. 

The Egyptian-Greek, Claudius Ptolemy (100-170 CE), lived in Alexandria and wrote three monumental works of importance (in Koine Greek) – one each on astronomy, astrology and geography.  In his treatise on astronomy called Almagest now (it went by a different, more complex moniker at the time of writing), he catalogued all the known stars, among other things. Ptolemy catalogued around 48 star constellations, it became the definitive text from which all astronomers worked for centuries after, though the original Greek version was lost, preserved only in translation.

The Almagest in due course was translated into Arabic. The star names from Almagest were converted to Arabic and some more of their own Arab names added, the ones handed down to them by their nomad ancestors, from the ancient civilisations of the Middle East.

Al Sufi, known in the west as Azophi (10th century), carried out extensive observations in Persia, in Yemen, in Iraq, and published the first critique to Ptolemy’s Almagest, which was by then many centuries old.  In it, he refined some of Ptolemy’s observations and also added his own.  This ground breaking book, in which the names of the stars were obviously in Arabic, was called Kitab Suwar al Kawakib al Thabitha (The Book of Fixed Stars) and went onto become a classic. Many of these Arabic star names were later on transmitted to Latin during the Middle Ages and down the years to modern times.








Courage, brother, do not Stumble
Though thy path be dark as night,
There's a Star to guide the humble,
Trust in God and do the right.
Let the road be rough and dreary
And it's end far out of Sight,
Foot it bravely; Strong or weary
Trust in God and do the right...

~ Norman Macleod, 1867

The Spirit always flags a bit by the time the A-Z gets into it's last third, and this time is no different. It becomes more of a Struggle to keep up the visits, the reading, the returns, and the comments, and it doesn't help that my weekends don't match up with the A-Z's Sabbath. And it's compounded by the fact the toughest letters are Strategically concentrated in a Series of obstacles in this last bit. But I'll rally, I know I will, can't Stop now! 

Talking about devotionals, are you aware of the Stereotype about Arabs avoiding any music apart from religious music? Music is supposed to be unIslamic. I don't know if that's right or wrong, no comment.  But I can't help pointing out that I do hear a massive amount of Secular, - traditional and popular and alternative music being Sung and listened to all around me in Arablands. And the largest Arabic record label - Rotana? it's based out of Saudi, Supposedly the nation of the Strictest interpretation of Islam, go figure! 

Posted for the A-Z Challenge 2017 

Foreign lyrics

 

 

Who will teach me to understand? to recite
the poetry of languages I don’t know?
I feel the songs glowing in the darkness
the voice of raindrops falls into the night
a catch in my throat, and I can just guess
snatch at half meanings of what I can’t follow.

 

Someone plucks a tune from one single string

and softly croons as he goes by unseen
hidden by fuzzy lines of fields and slopes;
far away an urban amplifier is pulsing
a different message of loneliness and hope
and I’m caught, yanked baffled in between.

 

Tell me if you’ll come and ferry me there

across the hazy stone edge of those schisms
thick tree canopies meet raging dust storms
the wind whistles unconcerned, unaware
of flying sand patterns, seconds’ sculpted forms
flash out like lightning, forked but lissom.








Wish I'd learnt Punjabi while I had the chance.  And French. Spanish. Italian. And of course, Arabic.  A couple of numbers that I love but can't follow:

Another contemporary Arabic one

 

The vapours of your words rise up

The vapours of your words rise up, steam in what I read,

In every lively music, every crumbling manuscript of loss
In every hand raised in protest, every newsfeed.
Wherever I turn a page, however far I travel across.
All convoluted streets wherever they may lead
Smiling in malicious glee as their numbers close
About me in tightening circles, unwilling to concede
A single needle-point of space for anything I compose,
They bring me back again and again to that same old place
Where the puddles shimmered with the faint reflections of your face.

There are no codes that anyone can make or call their own.

Even the ones that came before and wrote what they did
The point to all their myriad points seems only to be drawn
When you finally speared your pieces, their bodies slim, heads lucid.
All the tyre-treads etched in asphalt, every cobblestone
That thuds down the steep tumbles of alleys, every ruined pyramid
Leads me back to the labyrinth of hilltops in the dawn
Back into the chequerboard fields, the fizzy paddy green grid,
Laid out like torn pages of the poems I once saw you write
The letters a bit blotched by the rain, the meanings heaving upright.