The Moorish Whore by Rebekah Scott

Author:Rebekah Scott [Scott, Rebekah]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Peaceable Publishing
Published: 2012-05-27T00:00:00+00:00

Take thou a sailboat swifter than your wit,

And I will be

The ripple running astern of it.

Ride alone, with no one beside you anywhere!

And I will be

The strong wind tugging at you by the hair, —

You shall not go far from me.

But when at last your paradise is won,

the last long mile

(forgotten in our time) you then shall run,

With sword in hand, to pay your journey’s cost,

Paid in a smile,

Reclaiming wasted days and moments lost, —

I must then leave you for a while.

And while I remember these sweet poems, I also remember the bitterness of Ibn Ammar’s wit. He was not a great believer in religion, and looked with disdain on men of faith. One Friday on the way to the mosque for prayers, the vizier and the king saw the muezzin climbing the tower to call the city to prayer with the words of the Adán (ah, writing this fills my own heart with homesick longing!) Mu´tamid the king was inspired to throw out a line of poetry for his friend to complete:

Hark, to the hour of prayer the muezzin cries, he said. He looked to Ibn Ammar to continue the refrain with a witty reply.

Trusting that God forgives his many lies, Ibn Ammar said, mocking. The king was not pleased. He came to the holy man’s defense, saying

May he be blessed, since by him the truth is sung,

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