UNIVERSITY OF BUCHAREST CENTER FOR ARAB STUDIES ROMANO-ARABICA New Series No 12 55 Years of Arab Studies in Romania EDITURA UNIVERSITĂŢII DIN BUCUREŞTI – 2012 – Editors: George Grigore Laura Sitaru Advisory Board: Ramzi Baalbaki (Beirut) Michael G. Carter (Sidney) Jean-Patrick Guillaume (Paris) Giuliano Mion (Pescara) Luminiţa Munteanu (Bucharest) Stephan Procházka (Vienna) John O. Voll (Washington D.C.) Cover Designer and Technical Editor Gabriel Biţună Published by: © Center for Arab Studies Pitar Moş Street no 11, Sector 1, 010451 Bucharest, Romania http://araba.lls.unibuc.ro/ e-mail: gmgrigore@yahoo.com; laurasitaru@yahoo.it gabrielbituna@gmail.com © Editura Universităţii din Bucureşti Şos. Panduri, 90-92, Bucureşti – 050663; Telefon/Fax: 0040-21-410.23.84 E-mail: editura@unibuc.ro Internet: www.editura.unibuc.ro ISSN 1582-6953 CONTENTS Jordi Aguadé, Verbs Reflecting Classical Arabic Form IV Patterns in Moroccan Dialects……...………………………………………………………………………… Iulia Anamaria Alexandru, Some Aspects of Negation in The Lebanese Series 'Ajyāl……….. Andrei A. Avram, On the Functions of fi in The Verbal System of Arabic Pidgin.. Gabriel Biţună, Politeness in The Spoken Arabic of Baghdad. A Pragmatic Approach Andra Ramona Dodiţă, Limitations of Automatic Translations: Google Translate.. Yehudit Dror, Classification of The Independent Personal Pronoun in The Qur’ān.. Ioana Feodorov, Ifranğī / Firanğī: What Language Was Paul of Aleppo Referring to in His Travel Notes?............................................................................................... George Grigore, Quelques graphèmes latins polyfonctionnels qui notent les consonnes du parler arabe de Siirt dans une collection de proverbes………………. Jairo Guerrero, Zanka Flow: Rap en árabe marroquí……………...………….. Pierre Larcher, Un cas de tératologie dérivationnelle en arabe ? Le verbe istakāna Giuliano Mion, La Zabbūbiyya de ‘Abd ar-Raḥmān al-Kāfī. Un poème obscène de l’époque du protectorat en Tunisie…………………………………………………... Luminiţa Munteanu, Topographie sacrée et légitimation symbolique dans l’hagiographie de Hacı Bektaş Vel…………….…………………………………….. Georgiana Nicoarea, Cultural Interactions in The Graffiti Subculture of The Arab World. Between Globalization and Cosmopolitanism……………………………….. Corina Postolache, Some Considerations on The Translation of The Term of Address ’ustād in Naguib Mahfouz’s Novels………………………………………… Ruzana Pskhu, The Problem of Sufi Arabic Texts Translation…………………….. Laura Sitaru, Stereotypes About Islam and Media Commentators’ Discourse After 9/11. Grete Tartler, Sounds and Silence in Ibn Sīnā’s Rasā’il al-mašriqiyya…………… Irina Vainovski-Mihai, Cross-Cultural Awareness and Readability: Teaching Mawsim al-hijra ilā al-šamāl………………………………………………………… Book reviews A Festschrift for Nadia Anghelescu, edited by Andrei A. Avram, Anca Focşeneanu, and George Grigore. Bucharest: Editura Universităţii din Bucureşti, 2011, pp. 576. (Daniela Rodica Firănescu)......................................................................................... Laura Sitaru, Gândirea politică arabă. Concepte-cheie între tradiţie şi inovaţie (Arab Political Thought. Key concepts between tradition and innovation). Iaşi: Polirom, 2009, pp. 320. (George Grigore)………………………………………….. 7 17 35 59 71 83 105 117 125 159 169 187 205 215 225 235 261 267 277 285 VERBS REFLECTING CLASSICAL ARABIC FORM IV PATTERNS IN MOROCCAN DIALECTS Jordi Aguadé University of Cádiz Abstract. The causative/factitive verbal form IV in Classical Arabic is semantically not clearly defined and often redundant with the meaning of the form II. For this reason, almost all modern Arabic dialects have replaced it with form II, a shift stimulated by vocalic changes. From a diachronic point of view there are many verbs in North-African dialects in which we can easily recognize verbs of former IV form. This article gives a list of such verbs in Moroccan Arabic dialects. Verbs are divided into two different groups. The first group is comprised of those whose causative/factitive meaning clearly indicate their origin from a former IV form. The second group is exclusively comprised of verb doublets reflecting ancient I and IV forms and, for this reason, shows semantic as well as morphological opposition. Keywords: Moroccan Arabic, morphology, verbs, verbal form IV, causative, factitive. It is a well-known fact that the causative/factitive verbal pattern ʔafʕala ~ yufʕilu (form IV) in Classical Arabic is semantically not clearly defined and often redundant with the meaning of the pattern faʕʕala ~ yufaʕʕilu (form II)1. For this reason, almost all modern Arabic dialects have replaced it with form II, a shift stimulated by vocalic changes and the loss of the phoneme /ʔ/2. As regarding form IV in North-African dialects, authors frequently assert that the pattern has completely disappeared 3: this is correct from a synchronic point of view as, in the Maghreb, forms IV have been regularly replaced by II forms. From a diachronic point of view, however, there are many verbs in which we can easily recognize former IV forms 4. Further below, I will give a list of such verbs in Moroccan Arabic dialects. My data are mainly based on the entries gleaned from two dictionaries: 1 This article has been written under the auspicious of the Spanish research project FFI201126782-C02-02 “Dialectos y sociolectos emergentes en el Magreb occidental”. In quotations from other authors I have adapted their transcriptions to my own system. 2 Brockelmann 1908: 523; Fischer / Jastrow1980: 46; Holes 1995: 113. This change is already documented in Arabic papyri from the IX-X centuries (Hopkins 1984: 73). 3 Harrell 1962: 29, 34; Grand’Henry 1972: 59 (“Il n’en subsiste pas de traces notables dans le parler de Cherchell. Le fait es commun à l’ensemble des dialectes du Maghreb”); Marçais 1977: 55-56; Aguadé / Elyaacoubi 1995: 53. 4 Durand 1994: 66; Heath 2002: 338-339 (Heath gives a small list of such verbs). 7 Dictionnaire arabe français by A. L. de Prémare (from here onwards abridged as DAF)5 and A dictionary of Moroccan Arabic: Moroccan English by R. S. Harrell (abridged as ME). DAF is the most comprehensive dictionary of Moroccan Arabic dialects and is, on the whole, comprised of entries collected over decades by the French dialectologist Georges Séraphin Colin. ME contains data gathered in the sixties of the last century by the American dialectologist Richard Slade Harrell and is based on the speech of educated Moroccans from the cities of Casablanca, Rabat and Fez. Occasionally, other less comprehensive dictionaries or glossaries are as well cited in my article. Certainly, not all the verbs reflecting ancient forms IV are now equally as common in Morocco; some of them occur only in a single dialect. For more details regarding the geographic distribution of a verb, the reader can access the DAF. For practical reasons verbs are divided into two different groups. The first group is comprised of those whose causative/factitive meaning clearly indicate their origin from a former form IV. The second group is exclusively comprised of verb doublets reflecting ancient forms I and IV and, for this reason, show semantic as well as morphological opposition (respectively a/u ≠ –i and ū ≠ ī in the imperfective of defective and hollow verbs). Verbal roots are in this study arranged according to the Arabic alphabet. Group 1. gza (yĭgzi)/dza (yĭdzi) “to suffice”6 < ʔağzā (yuğzī) “to suffice, to replace”. h}s}a (yăh}s}i) “to count, to enumerate”7 < ʔ h}s}ā (yuh}s}ī) “to count”. h}āt} (yh}īt}) “to close in from all sides, to encircle”8 < ʔah}āt}a (yuh}īt}u) “to enclose, to encircle”. xbər} (yəxbər}): “to tell, to inform, to let know”9 < ʔaxbara (yuxbiru) “” the I stem xabara means “to try, text, to have experienced”. 5 In spite of its title, it is a dictionary of Moroccan Arabic. DAF 2: 187-189 (wāh}əd lə-qd}ər} lli yĭdzīni “une somme d’argent qui suffise à ma subsistance”). Verb not quoted by ME. 7 DAF 3: 140; ME 248 (h}s}a băʕda lə-ġnəm “he’s already counted the sheep”); DAM 78. 8 DAF 3: 273-274 (h}āt}ət b-əl-ʕădyān nāqma “une catastrophe a entouré les ennemis de tous côtés”); not quoted by ME and DAM. 9 ME 213 (xbər}thŭm bīn b}b}āhŭm ža “I informed them that their father has arrived”, xbər}ni fuq-āš gād yži “let me know when he’s coming”); DAM 159 (xəbr}u b-lli ġədda l-ʕīd “le informaron de que mañana es la fiesta del cordero”). 6 8 drək (yĭdrək) “to obtain, to get; to reach, to arrive at”10 < ʔadraka (yudriku) “to attai, to reach” dla (yĭdli) “to present, to offer (evidence, document)”11 < ʔadlā (yudlī) “to deliver, adduce, present”. dməž (yĭdməž) “to insert, to mix”12 < ʔadmağa (yudmiğu) “to insert, annex, intercalate”. dār (ydīr) “to do, to put”13 < ʔadāra (yudīru) “to turn, rotate, revolve; to direct, to set in motion”. rsəl (yĭrsəl) “to send”14 < ʔarsala (yursilu) “to send”. s}āb (ys}īb) “to find, to meet”15 < ʔas}āba (yus}ību) “to attain, to reach”. d}āf (yd}īf) “to add”16 < ʔad}āfa (yud}īfu) “to add”. ʕžəb (yăʕžəb) “to please, to like”17 < ʔaʕğaba (yŭʕğibu) “to please, to delight”. ʕda (yăʕdi) “to contaminate, to infect”18 < ʔaʕdā (yuʕdī) “to infect”. ʕt}a (yăʕt}i) “to give”19 < ʔaʕt}ā (yuʕt}ī) “to give”. ʕān (yʕīn) “to help, to aid”20 < ʔaʕāna (yuʕīnu) “to help, to assist”. ʕār (yʕīr) “to lend, to loan”21 < ʔaʕāra (yuʕīru) “to lend, to loan”. ʕya (yăʕya) “to get tired, fatigued”22 < ʔaʕyā (yuʕyī) “to be or become tired”. ġāt (yġīt) “to come to the aid of, to save” 23 < ʔaġāṯa (yuġīṯu) “to help”. fqəd (yĭfqəd) “to cause to lose, to deprive” 24 < ʔafqada (yufqidu) “to cause to lose DAF 4: 264; ME 23 (l-mūrād} dyālha dərkəttu “she reached her goal”); DAM 44. DAF 4: 328 (“présenter, apporter [preuve, document])”. Verb not quoted by ME and DAM. 12 DAF 4: 330 “mélanger, insérer”. Verb not quoted by ME and DAM. 13 DAF 4: 401-402; ME 18 (āš kān ka-ydīr təmma? “what he was doing there?”); DAM 40 (āš ka-ydīru n-nās? “¿qué hace la gente?”). 14 DAF 5: 110 (rsəl l “envoyer un message à qqn.”); ME 127 (rsəlt l-bārəh} risāla l-l-Məġrīb “I sent a letter to Morocco yesterday”); DAM 122. 15 DAF 8: 138-139; ME 143(fayn s}əbti lə-ktāb? “where did you find the book?”); TAR 2: 436437; DAM 137. 16 Verb quoted only by DAF 8: 227(“ajouter, adjoindre, inclure”) and DAM 46 (“añadir, incluir”). 17 DAF 9: 25-26; ME 268 (ka-yăʕžəbni nfīq s}-s}bāh} bəkri “I like to get up early in the morning”); DAM 182. 18 DAF 9: 52; ME 254. 19 DAF 9: 152-153; ME 264-265 (ʕt}īni žūž kīlu d-lə-bt}āt}a! “give me two kilos of potatoes!”); DAM 181. 20 DAF 9: 292-293; ME 253 (ʕīnna, ʕăl l}l}āh! “help us, for the love of God!”). 21 DAF 9: 300 (ʕīr li səlhāmək “prête-moi ton burnous”). 22 DAF 9: 323 (ʕyīt “je suis fatigué”); ME 266; DAM 181. 23 DAF 9: 443 (l}l}a yġītna b-əš-šta “que Dieu nous aide en nous envoyant la pluie”); ME 46; TAR 2: 585; DAM 60. 10 11 9 or miss”. fāq (yfīq) “to wake up”25 < ʔafāqa (yufīqu) “to recover, to wake up”. qāl (yqīl) “to leave alone; to grant a cancellation of sale; to fire, to dismiss” 26 < ʔaqāla (yuqīlu) “to cancel, to dismiss; to free, to release”. kra (yĭkri) “to rent”27 < ʔakrā (yukrī) “to rent, to lease”. lhəm (yĭlhəm) “to inspire, to give inspiration to”28 < ʔalhama (yulhimu) “to make swallow; to inspire”. mla (yĭmli) “to dictate”29 < ʔamlā (yumlī) “to dictate”. ngəs (yĭngəs) / ndəs (yĭndəs) “to make unclean, to soil” 30 < ʔanğasa (yunğisu) “to soil, to pollute”. nšəd (yĭnšəd) “to sing, to recite”31 < ʔanšada (yunšidi) “to sing, to recite”. nša (yĭnši) “to build, to raise; to start”32 < ʔanšaʔa (yunšiʔu) “to build, to start”. ns}əf (yĭns}əf) “to be just. to treat with justice” 33 < ʔans}afa (yuns}ifu) “to be just”. nfəq (yĭnfəq) “to buy food or provisions, to provide” 34 < ʔanfaqa (yunfiqu) “to spend (money); to provide”. hlək (yĭhlək) “to cause much harm to, to endanger, to ruin” 35 < ʔahlaka (yuhliku) “to ruin, to destroy”. hməl (yĭhməl) “to neglect, to give the cold shoulder to”36 < ʔahmala (yuhmilu) “to neglect, to omit, to disregard”. 24 DAF 10: 130-132 (“faire perdre; manquer à qqn.”); TAR 2: 602. ME (37) quotes only fqəd “to lose” (< faqada, form I). 25 DAF 10: 198; ME 32. TAR 2: 615-616 (“ce verb est la forme IVe classique ‫ أفاق‬qui, ayant perdu l’alif hamzé initial, est devenu en tout point une Ière forme dialectale avec les dérivés et composés correspondants à cette première forme”); DAM 51. 26 DAF 10: 485; ME 108 (qālūh mən l-məns}ĭb dyālu “they dismissed him from his position”); TAR 2: 683 DAM 85. 27 DAF 10: 571; ME 64 (l-bārəh} kra dāk d}-d}ār l-xāy “yesterday he rented that house to my brother”). 28 DAF 11: 93; ME 70 (r}əbbi ləhmu h}ətta dāz mən hād ž-žīh “God gave him the inspiration to come this way”). 29 DAF 11: 253; ME 81 (āži l}l}āh yxăllīk mli ʕlĭyya hād əl-qīt}ʕa “please dictate this excerpt to me”). 30 DAF 11: 317 (“polluer, salir”); ME 101 (quotes only ngəs). Regarding the shift ğ > d/g in Moroccan Arabic cf. Cantineau 1960: 61; Heath 2002: 136-138; Aguadé 2003: 70 and 84. 31 DAF 11: 363; ME 104. 32 DAF 11: 370; ME 104 (transcribes nšəʔ, with final hamza); TAR 2: 773. 33 DAF 11: 381 (hād l-h}ākəm ka-yĭns{əf bīn n-nās “ce chef est equitable envers les gens”). 34 DAF 11: 431; ME 100 (nhār} s-səbt ka-nnəfqu l-l-ʔŭsbūʕ kāməl “on Saturdays we buy food for the whole week”); DAM 109. 35 DAF 12: 72-73; ME 54 (hlək r}ās}u “to put oneself in a dangerous situation”); DAM 67. 36 DAF 12: 83; ME 54; DAM 67. 10 Group 2. h}ma (yăh}ma) “to get very warm or very < h}amiya (yah}mā) “to be or become hot”. hot” ≠ h}ma (yăh}mi) “to heat, to make hot”37 < h}ya (yăh}ya) “to live, to come back to < life (as from a grave illness)” ≠ h}ya (yăh}yi) “to bring back to life, to < revive, to resurrect”38 ʔah}mā (yuh}mī) “to make hot, heat”. h}ayiya (yah}yā) “to live”. ʔah}yā (yuh}yī) “to lend life, to endow with life”. xt}a (yəxt}a) “to miss (a target); to make < a mistake, to err” ≠ xt}a (yəxt}i) “to not speak to, ignore; xt}a < f- “to swear or curse at”39 xat}iʔa (yaxt}aʔu) “to be mistaken; to commit an error, make a mistake; to sin”. ʔaxt}aʔa (yuxt}iʔu) “to commit a in error, be at fault (fī in); to be wrong (fī about, in)”. xfa (yəxfa) “to disappear, to be gone < (somewhere)” ≠ xfa (yəxfi) “to hide to conceal (as < information)”40 xafiya (yaxfā) “to be hidden, be concealed”. xla (yəxla) “to empty, to become < empty” ≠ < xla (yəxli) “to empty”41 xalā (yaxlū) “to be empty, to be vacant”. r}da} (yər}da } ) “to accept, to be satisfied < with” ≠ radi} ya (yardā} ) “to be satisfied, to be content”. 37 ʔaxfā (yuxfī) “to hide, conceal”. ʔaxlā (yuxlī) “to empty, to vacate”. DAF 3: 239-240 (h}māw l- h}ămmām “on a allumé la chaufferie du hammam”); ME 244; DAM 76. 38 DAF 3: 299-300 (hād š-ši ka-yăh}yi l-qəlb“ceci ravigote”), ME 250; DAM 79. DAF 4: 96-97; ME 221; DAM 164. 40 DAF 4: 117; ME 214-215; DAM 162. 41 DAF 4: 139-140 (l-wāba xlāt əl-blād “la peste a dépeuplé la ville”); ME 215; TAR 2: 248-249; DAM 162. 39 11 r}da} (yər}di} ) “to satisfy, to content”42 < ʔaṛdā} (yŭrdī} ) “to satisfy, to please”. r}wa (yər}wa) “to be or get watered or < irrigated” ≠ r}wa (yər}wi) “to water, to irrigate; to < recite”43 rawiya (yarwā) “to be irrigated”. šqa (yĭšqa) “to get tired, to become < fatigued; to take the trouble, to bother” ≠ šqa (yĭšqi) “to tire, to fatigue; to cause < some trouble or bother”45 šaqiya (yašqā) “to be unhappy, to have trouble”. s}fa (yəs}fa) “to be or become clear, < s}afā (yas}fū) “to be or to become clear, limpid” limpid”. ≠ s}fa (yəs}fi) “to make clear”46 d}wa (yəd}wa) “to shine” ≠ d}wa (yəd}wi) “to light, to illuminate”47 ʔarwā (yurwī) “to give to drink, to water; to tell, to relate”44. ʔašqā (yŭšqī) “to make unhappy”. < ʔas}fā (yus}fī) “to filter, to clarify”. < dā} ʔa (yadū} ʔu) “to shine”. < ʔadā} ʔa (yudī} ʔu) illuminate”. “to light, < t}fa (yət}fa) “to go out (light, fire)” ≠ t}fa (yət}fi) “to put out, to stifle (fire), to < switch off, to turn off (light)” 48 t}afiʔa (yat}faʔu) “to go out (light)”. ʕfa (yăʕfu) “to pardon, to give a pardon < ʕafā (yaʕfū) “to forgive”. to ʔatf} aʔa (yut}fiʔu) “to switch off (light)”. to” ≠ ʕfa (yăʕfi) “to protect, to save, to < ʔafʕā (yuʕfī) “to heal, protect, save”.” DAF 5: 132-135; ME 124 (l}l}āh yər}d}i ʕlīk “may God bless you”); DAM 119. DAF 5: 252-253; ME 129. 44 In this case r}wa (yər}wi) could reflect as well Classical Arabic rawā (yarwī) “to bring water, to give to drink”. 45 DAF 7: 143; ME 156. 46 DAF 8: 80; according to DAF, s}fa (yəs}fi) is used only in poetry. 47 DAF 8: 220-221. ME (31) quotes only d}wa (yəd}wi). 48 DAF 8: 310; ME 196 (nsīti ma-t}fīti-š d}-d}ŭw “you forgot to turn out the light”); DAM 152. 42 43 12 release, to let responsability )49” go (from job, ʕma (yăʕma) “to be or become blind” < ʕamiya (yaʕmā) “to be blind”. ≠ ʕma (yăʕmi) “to blind, to render blind”50 < ʔaʕmā (yuʕmī) “to blind, to render ʕād (yʕūd) “to return, to come back” < ʕāda (yaʕūdu) “to return, to come ≠ ʕād (yʕīd) “to bring back, to return”51 < back”. ʔaʕāda (yuʕīdu) “to cause to return, to bring back”. blind”. < ġna (yəġna) “to be rich, wealthy” ≠ ġna (yəġni) “to make rich, to make < wealthy”52 ġaniya (yaġnā) “to be rich”. fta (yĭfta) “to become tender (foot)” ≠ fta (yĭfti) “to dictate, to give a fatwā”53 < fatiya (yaftā) “to be youthful, young”. < ʔaftā (yuftī) “to give a fatwā”. ʔaġnā (yuġni) “to make rich”. fna (yĭfna) “to come to an end, to < perish” ≠ fna (yĭfni) “to destroy, to exterminate”54 < faniya (yafnā) “to perish, to pass away”. qām (yqūm) “to get up, to arise” < ≠ qām (yqīm) “to prepare (tea), to < furnish”55 qāma (yaqūmu) “to get up, to stand up”. lġa (yĭlġa) “to talk, to babble (baby); to < chirp” laġiya (yalġa) and laġā (yalġū) “to talk nonsense”. ʔafnā (yufnī) “to annihilate, to destroy”. ʔaqāma (yuqīmu) “to set up, to make rise, to start”. DAF 9: 164; ME 255. ʕfa yăʕfu is one of the few Moroccan verbs with imperfect in –u. DAF 9: 249-250; ME 259; DAM 179. 51 DAF 9: 274-275 “ramener, faire revenir”. 52 DAF 9: 431 “fournir les moyens de se passer de, suffire à (qqn), rendre riche, enrichir”. 53 DAF 10: 22-23; ME 40. 54 DAF 10: 172; ME 36-37. 55 DAF 10: 462-463, 489; ME 109; TAR 2: 675-676; DAM 113. 49 50 13 ≠ lġa (yĭlġi) “to invalidate, to abolish, to < do away”56 ʔalġā (yulġī) “to abolish, to do away”. lqa (yĭlqa) “to find, to meet” ≠ lqa (yĭlqi) “to throw”57 < laqiya (yalqā) “to encounter, to meet”. < ʔalqā (yulqī) “to throw”. mda} (yĭmda } ) “to be sharp; to get lost” ≠ md}a (yĭmd}i) “to sign; to get lost”58 < madā} (yamdī} ) “to be sharp; to go away”. ʔamd}ā (yūmd}ī) “to spend, to pass; to undersign, to sign”. mla (yĭmla) “to be or become filled, full” ≠ mla (yĭmli) “to fill”59 < maliʔa (yamlaʔu) “to be full”. < ʔamlaʔa (yumliʔu) “to fill”. < hān (yhūn) “to be easy; to be or become < despicable” ≠ hān (yhīn) “to despise, to have a low < opinion of”60 hāna (yahūnu) “to be easy; to be despicable”. ʔahāna (yuhīnu) “to despise”. As a final remark, I would like to underline that all verbs quoted here belong to the traditional Moroccan vocabulary. Interviews with educated speakers clearly show that the increasing influence of modern written Arabic in Moroccan dialects has no influence as regarding the number of form IV verbs: not a single example quoted by my informants could be identified as a contemporary borrowing. Bibliography Aguadé, Jordi. 2003. “Estudio descriptivo y comparativo de los fonemas del árabe dialectal marroquí”. Estudios de dialectología norteafricana y andalusí, 3. Aguadé, Jordi / Benyahia, Laila. 2005. Diccionario de árabe marroquí. Árabe marroquí-español / 56 DAF 11: 60-62; for lġa (yĭlġa) “to babble, to chirp” DAF gives also the variant lġa yĭlġi. ME (70) mentions only lġa (yĭlġi) “to babble, to chirp”. 57 DAF 11: 73-74; ME 71 (quotes only lqa, yĭlqa “to find”); TAR 2: 746-747. 58 DAF 11: 219-220; ME 78. 59 DAF 11: 237. 60 DAF 12: 106-107; ME 52 (quotes only hān, yhīn “to despise”). 14 español-árabe marroquí. Cádiz: Quorum Editores. Aguadé, Jordi / Elyaacoubi, Mohammad. El dialecto árabe de Skūra (Marruecos). Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas. Brockelmann, Carl. 1908. Grundriß der vergleichenden Grammatik der semitischen Sprachen. Band 1: Laut- und Formenlehre. Berlin: Verlag von Reuther & Reichard. Brunot, Louis. 1952. Textes arabes de Rabat. 2, Glossaire. Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner. Cantineau, Jean. 1960. Cours de phonétique arabe. Paris: Librairie C. Klinsieck. DAF = see de Prémare 1993-1999. DAM = see Aguadé / Benyahia 2005. De Prémare, Alfred Louis. 1993-1999. Dictionnaire arabe français. Établi sur la base de fichiers, ouvrages, enquêtes, études et documents divers par A. L. de Prémare et collaborateurs. 12 vols. Paris: Éditions l’Harmattan. Durand, Olivier. 1994. Profilo di arabo marocchino. Varietà urbane centro-meridionali. Roma: Università degli Studi “La Sapienza”. Fischer, Wolfdietrich / Jastrow, Otto (eds.). 1980. Handbuch der arabischen Dialekte. Mit Beiträgen von P. Behnstedt, H. Grotzfeld, B. Ingham, A. Sabuni, P. Schaebert, H.-RSinger, L. Tsotskhadze und M. Woidich. Bearbeitet und herausgegeben von Wolfdietrich Fischer und Otto Jastrow. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Grand’Henry, Jacques. 1972. Le parler arabe de Cherchell (Algérie). Louvain-la-Neuve: Institut Orientaliste. Harrell, Richard Slade. 1962. A short reference grammar of Moroccan Arabic. Washington: Georgetown University Press. Harrell, Richard Slade. 1966. A dictionary of Moroccan Arabic: Moroccan English. Washington: Georgetown University Press. Heath, Jeffrey. 2002. Jewish and Muslim dialects of Moroccan Arabic. London, New York: Routledge Curzon. Holes, Clive. 1995. Modern Arabic. Structures, functions and varieties. London, New York: Longman. Hopkins, Simon. 1984. Studies in the Grammar of early Arabic. Based upon papyri datable to before 300 A.H / 912 A.D. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Marçais, Philippe. 1954. Le parler arabe de Djidjelli (Nord constantinois, Algérie). Paris: Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient Adrien Maisonneuve. Marçais, Philippe. 1977. Esquisse grammaticale de l’arabe maghrèbin. Paris: Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient Adrien Maisonneuve. ME = see Harrell 1966. TAR = see Brunot 1952. 15 16 SOME ASPECTS OF NEGATION IN THE LEBANESE SERIES 'AJYĀL Iulia Anamaria Alexandru University of Bucharest Abstract. The Lebanese dialect has certain regional particularities, especially in what regards the pronunciation and grammar. The negation can be a tricky matter, as the ways of expressing it in the spoken dialects are very different than the forms we might encounter in more elevated forms of Arabic. Along with a brief description of what we call the Lebanese dialect, the purpose of this paper is to present some aspects of the Lebanese negation as it appears in the consulted works, which will then be compared in the second part of our study with our remarks on the negation based on a Lebanese series, and finally in a third part we will compare the results of our research with the ways of rendering the negation used by a native Lebanese speaker. Keywords: lebanese, dialect, negation, Bizri, Feghali, el-Hajje, particles. 1. Foreword The Lebanese dialect, along with the Syrian, Palestinian, Jordanian dialects belong to the so called oriental dialects. Fida Bizri goes beyond by saying that it’s actually “the same language”, with small differences based on the region or the environment where it’s actually being talked and she calls this language Levantine Arabic. She goes on explaining that this dialectal family first appeared as a consequence of the contact between the Arabic dialect introduced by the Muslim conquerors in the 7th century and between the Syriac language 1, which was spoken in the moment of the Muslim conquest in the region of the Levant. Subsequently, these dialects have continued to evolve, especially regarding the vocabulary, under the influence of Persian, Italian, Turkish, but also French and English. (Bizri, 2010: 15) In his turn, Hassan el-Hajje points out that the dialects belonging to the Levantine Arabic have certain similarities. Among these similarities, some of the most spectacular remain the pronunciation of the voiceless unaspirated uvular consonant qaf as a glottal stop, the decrease in intensity of h, that may lead to its 1 The influence of the Syriac language on the Lebanese dialect is still strong today, especially regarding the pronunciation and the grammar. Furthermore, certain developments of the Syriac language can still be heard in some Syrian or Lebanese villages, among the communities that still follow the Syriac rite, but also in the Maronite community, for which the Syriac represent a sacred language. (Bizri, 2010: 15) 17 total disappearance in the affixes pronouns –ha and –hon, the absence of the feminine plural in the pronoun and verb categories, borrowing from Aramaic the suffix –kon for the second person plural, the independent personal pronoun hənna and the suffix pronoun –hon for the third person plural. (el-Hajje, 1954: 7) The Lebanese dialect has certain regional particularities, especially in what regards the pronunciation and grammar. Thus, referring to these local traits, the Lebanese „accents” may be divided based on various regions, among them: the north region, which includes Bcharré, Ehden, Hasrun; the region of Batrûn and Jbeil, the region of Beirut, the region of Mount Lebanon, the region of Chouf, the region of Saïda and its surroundings, the south of Lebanon and Bekaa. However, these differences don’t represent an obstacle for mutual understanding. (Bizri, 2010: 15) Besides the diversity of the regional accents, Lebanon is known for the wide spreading of the multilingualism phenomenon. Thus, those who speak the Lebanese dialect, use in their daily language words borrowed from other languages, especially French and English, but also from Modern Standard Arabic. (Bizri, 2010: 16) After this brief description of what we call the Lebanese dialect, we would like to point out that the purpose of this paper is to present some aspects of the Lebanese negation as it appears in the consulted works, which will then be compared in the second part of our study with our remarks on the negation based on a Lebanese series. As we stated above, the Lebanese dialect is facing in the last decades the problem of multilingualism, which can occur by means of borrowed words from European languages, but also from the modern standard Arabic or from the other Arabic dialects, which Lebanese dialect speakers get in contact with, due to a variety of reasons, including tourism, the spreading of movies or series produced or translated in certain Arabic dialect, such as Egyptian, Gulf or Syrian or the popularity of certain artists or musicians that promote their own dialect in all the Arab world. 1. Some general remarks on the negation of the Arabic varieties spoken in Lebanon In the Lebanese dialect, with its diverse local varieties, the lan and lam particles, which are used in Modern Standard Arabic to negate the future or the past, have disappeared. And we can say, that usually the negation is made throughout the particles mā and lā that are used in the Lebanese Arabic, to negate both nominal and verbal clauses. (Feghali, 1928: 214) 18 1.1. Particle lā The particle lā is used with the imperative mood to form the negative imperative, but it may happen that the particle lā will appear, under the influence of Modern Standard Arabic, before an imperfective verb to negate a future action, an undetermined action or a usual, repeated action. Example: hâdā 'ámr lā yẹḥtaǧ lbẹrhân „this is a thing that doesn’t need to be proven” / ẹl mwái lā témrǫq (the more popular usuage is ma btémrǫq) ca cẹṭšân „water doesn’t flow before the thirsty one.” (Feghali, 1928: 214). The particle lā although in the Lebanese dialect was almost completely replaced by its synonym mā, it still appears in some expression that have entered the dialect directly from classical Arabic. (Feghali, 1928: 215). The particle lā can be found in both nominal clauses and verbal ones, where it can negate imperfective or perfective verbs. The particle lā usually appears in negative phrases, such as lā...wala, with the meaning “nor...nor”. (Bizri, 2010: 83) Examples of using particle lā to negate nominal clauses: uhâlẹn lā šáṷr ulā dastûr balléšt bẹl-cmâṛ. „And immediately, without any advice or authorisation, I started to build.” rékbu ṷtâhu lā 'ékl ulā šérb. „They mounted their horses and left without eating or drinking.” háįdẹ bacda bént laį (= lā hῑ) maḫṭûbé ṷla mǧaṷṷzé. „This is still a girl, she is not engaged, nor married.” láštā qācdin háṷné lā šáγlẹ ṷlā cámlé „Why are you staying here, without any occupation or job?” mánnu2 ṣâḥbẹ ṷlánni ṣâḥbu „He is not my friend, nor am I his.” (Feghali, 1928: 215). Examples of particle lā used to negate imperfective verbs: šáṷftu ḥẹrdân la byâkǫl ula byéšṛab „he seems unhappy: he doesn’t eat, nor drink.” mā lī náfs lā qûm ulā nâm ulā 'ecmęl ši „I am not in the mood to stand, nor to sleep, nor to do anything at all.” (Feghali, 1928: 216). Examples of ways of using particle lā to negate perfective verbs: la ḍṛábnā ḥáda ṷlā ḥádā ḍaṛábnā „We didn’t hit anyone, and no one hit us.” The first term of the negative phrase in this last example is not lā, but the particle mā followed by suffix pronoun. 2 19 'aš bkǫn ma ḥḍértu ṷla bcattū ḥádā maṭréḥkǫn „Why didn’t you come or didn’t you send someone at your place?” (Feghali, 1928: 216). Playing the same role of the repeated conjunction or preceding another particle, which expresses negation, lā can sometimes combine with personal pronouns. The personal pronouns can either be independent, preceded by particle lā, or can be suffix pronouns, which are attached to lā, throughout the particle ('ẹ)nn-. In this context, the particle lā3 expresses the meaning of the verb “to be”. Examples: mánni malzûm fíyẹ ulánnǫn malzūmìn fiyẹ „I am not responsible towards them, not they are towards me.” 'ánā ṷ'éntū fárd wâḥẹd lā 'ána γrîb cankǫn ulā 'entū γérbā cánné „Me and you (plural) are one person. I am not a stranger for you, nor are you strangers for me.” (Feghali, 1928: 216). When the particle lā is not repeated or accompanied by another negation it is used in Lebanon either as a way to negate some optative clauses, usually inherited as they are from the classical Arabic, or as an expletive element, which precedes verbs that express doubt or fear. Examples of using the lā particle in optative clauses: ráįtu cémru lā yérǧę „If he would just never return!” 'áḷḷā la įḥázznak būlâdęk „God never let you be sad because of your children.” nšáḷḷā la tšûf ẹl-hána – „Let’s hope you never get to feel happiness!” (Feghali, 1928: 217). Examples of the usage of particle lā as an expletive element: uṣâṛ fẹzcân la įkûn šéγlā zácbṛa cláįh „He started to fear, she might have made fun of him.” 'ánā ḫâyef la įṣîbu mṣîbẹ b'amârkā „I’m scared something might happen to him in America.” In the examples mentioned above, particle lā doesn’t represent other than an expletive element that cannot express in this context the negation by its own. Thus, in this context if we want to express a negative idea, lā must be accompanied by the negative particle mā, like in the following example: bḫâf lā mā yūṣálš bakkîr ta įšûf 'ébnu „I fear he won’t arrive in time to see his son.” (Feghali, 1928: 218). Particle lā is pretty often used in sentences along with another negative particle, with the purpose of strengthening the negation. This particular meaning of lā is rare to be found in Lebanon, where it has been replaced in this case by particle mā. (Feghali, 1928: 217). 3 20 Examples: láh ( = lā ) mā ḫabbértniš cánnu „No, you didn’t tell me anything about him.” lâh lâh mā qẹlnâ-lak mbâręḥ lâh „No, no we didn’t tell you yesterday. (Feghali, 1928: 218). In some cases, the particle lā doesn’t negate the nominal clauses that is preceding, but negates an action or something that already occurred. Examples: qālét-lé dáḫlak 'aḷḷā bīqāṣéṣnė qẹlt-éllā lā 'áḷḷa γfûr. „She told me: Do you think God will punish me? I told her: No, God is merciful.” ḫáįyak bacdu nâyęm lā qâm mẹn zmân. „Your brother is still sleeping? No, he woke up a while ago.” (Feghali, 1928: 219). 1.2. Particle mā The particle mā is very used in Lebanon, it can be heard both before an imperfective verb and before a perfective one. Thus, it can negate both a past action, a present one or a future one. Furthermore, the particle mā can be combined with suffix pronouns revealing quasi-verbal traits and expressing, in the Lebanese dialect, the verb “to be” at its negative form. But, contrary to the synonym particle lā, mā can never be joined directly to a pronoun. Subsenquently, we can say that mā is mainly a verbal particle, whilst lā is a nominal one. For this reason, the negative element š(i)4 , which is usually attached to a negated verb, cannot appear along with a verb preceded by the particle lā, the only exception to this being the verbs at the imperative mood: lā tǧîš “don’t come”. However, the particle lā in most modern dialects is replaced by mā, even in the case of a verb at the negative imperative. (Feghali, 1928: 220) As shown above, the particle mā precedes an imperfective or a perfective verb to negate the action expressed by it, the verb, in its turn, is sometimes followed by the adverb š(i): 'ánā mā cam bḥǟkîk. „I’m not speaking to you.” mā 'ékęl ḫόbz ulā tîn. „He doesn’t eat nor bread, nor figs.” mā šefnákš. „I didn’t see you for a while.” (Feghali, 1928: 221). Often, the first phonetic element of mā disappears as a consequence of a dissimilation, under the influence of another labial consonant, b or m: qâl 'a będduš iǧí. „It seemed like he didn’t want to come.” 4 Inhabitants of big cities, such as Beirut, along with most of the educated people avoid using the element š(i), that they find particularly vulgar and characteristic to the inhabitants of the mountain regions and for the fẹllâḥ. (Feghali, 1928: 221) 21 'a biṛúḥš maccé ṷlaṷ 'ašmā ṣâr iṣîr. „He won’t come with me, no matter what happens.” (Feghali, 1928: 221). Sometimes, the particle mā is used instead of lā to express an interdiction or the optative: mḥállnā dáiyęq ma idéq-lak cáiš. „Our house is small, may your life always be wealthy (may your life not deprive you of anything).” (Feghali, 1928: 222). In the Lebanese dialect, mā can also have an interrogatory meaning, similar to 'a mā in Modern Standard Arabic, and only based on the given context we can understand when it expresses a simple negation or when it gives the whole negative sentence an interrogatory meaning: mā qẹlt-ẹllûš ta iǧí. „You didn’t tell him to come?” 'ent cméltu 'a btẹstḥîš. „You did it, aren’t you ashamed?” (Feghali, 1928: 222). Based on the meaning shown above, particle mā appears more often, without being accompanied by the element š, as an affirmative particle, adding to the whole sentence more certitude and energy: mā byéswa tšûfnė γa(i)r máṛṛa. „you might as well see me another time.” ( „can’t you see me another time?”) mā bacd ẹz-zélm šǟrbîn. „The men are still drinking.” 'ana mā bácrfak ubacréfǫn. „I know you and I know them.” (Feghali, 1928: 223). Similar to particle lā, mā can be combined with personal pronouns, in order to express the verb “to be” at its negative form, with the help of the particle ('e)nn-. The resulted construction can be declined in gender and number, based on the subject and having the following forms: mánniš ( 1st pers. sing.), mannákš (2nd pers. masc. sing.), manníkš (2nd pers. fem. sing.), mánnuš (3rd pers. masc. sing.), mánnaš (3rd pers. fem. sing.), mannâš (1st pers. plur.), mannkόnš (2nd pers. plur. masc. și fem.), mannόnš (3rd pers. plur. masc. ș fem.). On the other hand, mā can be attached, without any intermediary particles, to the suffix pronouns of the 3rd pers. sing. masc. and fem., and thus obtaining the following forms maṷš and, respectively, maiš. These forms, in their turn, have been replaced lately with a unique particle māš. Examples: šéγlak máuš mǟkęn. „Your job isn’t a serious one.” hénnė máṷš/ māš cǟrfîn. „They don’t know.” néhnā máṷš/ māš cǟṷzînęk. „We don’t need you.” 'ébnak mánnuš γẹḷṭân. „Your son has done no wrong.” hal-bént mánnâš ḥélwė. „This girl is not pretty.” (Feghali, 1928: 224). 22 Recent studies have drawn attention to a new particle mīš5, with an unique form, used both in the Levantine Arabic dialects and in the North Africa ones to negate a nominal clause. Examples: ana méch hōn. „I am not here.” ḥanna méch rāyiḥ. „Ḥanna is not leaving.” (Fleyfel, 2010: 23). Furthermore, the particle mā can join other particles to form verbs, which express negative action, or rather said, verbal phrases with a negative meaning: mā clákš. „Don’t worry.” mā finâš clayǫn wáḥdnā. „We can’t compete with them, by ourselves.” mā léhaš céndi ší. „I don’t owe him anything.” mā bẹddîš. „I don’t want.” mā bénā šîš. „Nothing is wrong with us.” mā fíš ḥádā mẹrtâḥ b(h)ad=déné. „No one is happy in this world.” (Feghali, 1928: 224). Sometimes, especially in poetry, the verb “to be” at its negative form is expressed through the particle mā alone: mā mbáiyen claik ẹl-kébr. „You don’t seem old.” (Feghali, 1928: 225). The negative form of the verb “to be” can also be expressed throughout the particle γayr, in the case of the attributive constructions: ẹl-'mûr ẹl-γáir ǧaṷhrîyė lǟzẹm tébṭal. „The matters that are not essential must disappear.” (Feghali, 1928: 225). 2. Some aspects of negation based on a Lebanese series In this last part of this brief study, we will discuss some aspects of the negation, based on the observations made on the Lebanese series 'ajyāl. The series were lunched in Lebanon during Ramadan of year 2011. It gathered mostly Lebanese actors, but also other famous figures of the Arab cinematography. Our purpose is to analyze some examples of the negation in what the producers of these series call “the Lebanese dialect”, to compare it with what we found in the consulted bibliography and last but not least, to ask a Lebanese Arabic speaker to point out for us from the examples presented, what he wouldn’t use in his daily conversation with other Lebanese people. 5 Having as an alternative pronunciation mēš. 23 2.1. The particles of negation found in the Lebanese series 'ajyal During our study we have found that the following particles were used to render the negation in the analyzed series: lā / lā', mā, mīš / māš / mēš, mū (found in only one line). 2.1.1. Particle lā As pointed out in our brief theoretical presentation lā is usually used to render the negative imperative, but sometimes it appears also in other structures, under the influence of the Modern Standard Arabic. In our analyze we noticed that the characters of the series have completely replaced lā in forming the negative imperative with the synonym particle mā. However, we did find one single line, where lā is used by the character called Theo before an imperfective verb: lā btcərfī 'enti šū bḥebbik. “You don’t know how much I love you.” We have noticed that the particle lā appears very often in the lines of the characters in the negative phrase lā….wa-la6…, expressing the English construction “nor…nor”: Faraḥ : šu biddī caməl lā macu celulaire wa-lā bacrif ra'am ṣaḥbu wa-la ḥattā weyn beytu. “What I will do? He doesn’t have a cell phone and I don’t know the number of his friend, nor where his house is.” In this example lā is first used to negate possession lā macu celulaire “he doesn’t have a cell phone”, then to negate for two consecutive times the verb bacrif “I know”. It is interesting in this example to notice that we have three negations and that the character prefers to keep using the particle lā in all three of them, even though the subject of the first negated sentence is not the same with the subject of the other two sentences. Another example of the lā... wa-la... construction was found in a conversation between Theo and Faraḥ: mīš mətzawwaj, mā hēk? „You’re not married right?” lā. „No.” wa-lā ḫāṭib? „Nor engaged?” wa-lā mərtəbeṭ. „Nor with any obligation (in a relationship).” In this example we have three negations, all three of them made in nominal clauses. The first negation is made with particle mīš, while the other two with lā; mīš mətzawwaj... wa-lā ḫāṭib.... wa-lā mərtəbeṭ... “not married...nor engaged...nor in a relationship”. 6 The first negation in this construction, can also be mā or mīš, but the second term of the construction will be in most cases wa-la. 24 A last example with this construction comes from the character Faraḥ: 'anā lā bitḥaddā wa-lā bitšəjjar “I don’t provoke, nor argue.” We can see here that lā is used before two imperfective verbs: bitḥaddā “I provoke” bitšəjjar “I argue/ fight”. The particle lā can also render the pronominal adjective “any”, in sentences that we have a double negation: Serje: layla, il-'uṣṣa mīš hōn. “Layla, this is not the problem.” Layla: il-'uṣṣa mīš wu-lā maṭṛaḥ. “There isn’t any problem.” Another usage of lā, also found in Modern Standard Arabic, is lā used to negate species, denoting categorical negation: Layla: lā ḥada ġayry biycarif. “No one except me knows.” Particle lā also appears in sentences, in which we already have another particle of negation, but this other particle, doesn’t actually express a negation in this context, but adds an extra meaning to the sentence, for example in the next sentences it adds an interrogatory one: Šahīd: mīš lā btis'al hiye cannī 'awwalan? “Isn’t she the first not to ask about me?” 2.1.2. Particle mā The particle mā can precede an imperfective or a perfective verb to negate the action expressed by it. Examples: Negating a past action: Tamara: lā, hēk mā ittafa'nā. “No, this way we didn’t reach any agreement.” Negating a verb expressing the past continuous tense: Amelia: lā, c mā kēnū am biḥkū. “No, they weren’t talking.” Negating a present action: Tamara: mā bi'dir li-'annī bikrah ilkezəb. “I can’t, because I hate lies.” Negating a verb expressing the present continuous tense: Rola: mā c am bifham šū ṣār macī. “I am not understanding what happened to me.” Negating a future action: Faraḥ: mā laḥ iḫud həbūb. “I won’t take pills.” / Roger: mā raḥ7 ḫallīki truḥī ca-l-beyt hēk...maġlūbe. “I won’t let you go home like this...defeated.” 7 We can notice here a variation between the alveolar lateral approximant sound l and the alveolar trill r, thus resulting in two forms for the same particle that helps us render the future: laḥ / raḥ. 25 Negating a verb at the imperative mood: Māher: mā tḫāfī, māmā, kill šī mnīḥ. “Don’t worry mum, everything is alright.” Sometimes the particle mā is used to express the optative, as was also pointed out by Feghali (Feghali, 1928: 222): Inās: ya rabb, bi-daḫlak bass mā iṣīrlu šī. “Oh God, please just don’t let anything happen to him!”. We can see here mā in a sentence that expresses a wish, to not happen anything to her son. Some other meanings that the particle mā may carry and that were also found in the consulted works include mā that adds an interrogatory meaning to the whole phrase, mā that can get attached to suffix pronouns to express the negative of the verb “to be”, mā that helps form the negation in some stable verbal phrases. As stated before, (Feghali, 1928: 222), mā with an interrogatory meaning is similar to 'a mā from Modern Standard Arabic, and only based on the context one can tell when mā expresses a simple negation or when it adds to the whole sentence an interrogatory meaning: Faraḥ: bitḥəbbī tis'alī su'alēt ktīr, mā hēk? “You like to ask a lot of questions, isn’t it so?” Tamara: kamēn mā təġayyar 'īmēnak? “You still won’t change your belief?” Tamara: mā baddak tis'al can 'uḫtak, matalan? “You don’t want to ask of your sister, for example?” Layla: la-mīn l-ambulans? mā rita hōn8? “Whom is the ambulance for? Isn’t Rita here?” Based on the examples above, we can state that mā can add an interrogatory meaning to the phrase, either if it were a stable interrogatory expression like mā hēk “isn’t it so?”, or a normal negation, that has an interrogatory meaning. The particle mā can also get combined with personal pronouns to express the negation of the verb “to be”, throughout the particle ('a)nni-: (Bizri, 2010: 83) Faraḥ: anā mā bacrif la-weyn reyḥa wa-leyš mustacjle wa-mannī muwefa'a.”I don’t know where are you going, why are you in a hurry, and I don’t agree.” We can notice the usage of mā with a personal pronoun mannī “I am not”, in the last negation, preceding an active participle muwefa'a “agreeing”. Layla: bi-l-caks manna majnūne wu-lā nitfe.”On the contrary, she is not crazy at all.” 8 Although in the analyzed lines of the series, mā is hardly used to negate a nominal clause, we can see it being the particle prefered in this context due to it’s interrogatory meaning. 26 Tamara: mira halla' manna hōn. “Mira is not here now.” mā, in the last two examples, is joined to the suffix pronoun for the 3rd feminine singular, resulting in manna. Furthermore, the particle mā can be combined with other particles to form verbs that express negative actions, or rather, verbal expressions with a negative meaning. Examples: With particles that render possession: - cənd: Faraḥ: mā cəndī šī bi'ulu. I don’t have anything to say.” / ktīr mabsūṭa biḥayaty mā cəndī mašākəl. „I’m very happy with my life, I don’t have any problems.” / Rola: 'inta cārif mina l-'awwal 'anā wa-yek mā cannā musta'bal sawā. „You know from the beginning that me and you have no future together.” With particles that initially express a locative meaning, such as fī that can render both the verb “to be able to”: Faraḥ: ṣadd'īnī mā ba'a fiye. „Believe me, I can’t anymore.” / mā fiye unṭur. „I can’t wait.” / mā fiye tḥamal ḫəsara tenye'. „.I can’t stand a second loss.”, or the verb “to be”: Aḥmad: mā fī muškle. „No problem.” / 'iltilak mā fī məḫayyam. „I (already) told you, going to the camp is out of the question (lit. there is no camp).” With particles that initially carry an instrumental meaning, such as bi- : Theo: mā biha ši bass neset telefona cəndī. „Nothing is wrong with her; she only forgot her telephone at my place.” Abrīl: mā bi'a9 ši tante rita. “Nothing is wrong with Mrs. Rita.” Serje: mā bini šī. “Nothing is wrong with me”. With particles that express a wish, such as badd: kəzēb, huwe mā baddu walad. “Lier, he doesn’t want any child.” 2.1.3. Particle mīš As shown in the first part of our study, the particle mīš is the result of the particle mā that gets attached, without any intermediary particles, to the suffix pronouns of the 3rd pers. sing. masc. and fem., and thus obtaining the following forms maṷš and, respectively, maiš. Form which have been subsequently replaced 9 We can observe here the almost total dissappearance of –h, resulting in what may seem a glottal stop, as stated by Hassan el-Hajje. (el-Hajje, 1954: 7). 27 with a unique particle māš, that has recently evolved into mēš / mīš, under the influences of the Northern African dialects. (Feghali, 1928: 224). Usually the particle mīš is used to form the negation in a nominal clause, and can thus precede: Participles: Mira: mīš mac'ūl hēk. „This is not possible.” Amelia: 'anā b-ṣarāḫa tacbēnī wa-mīš jeye min jūnī, jeye min kanadā. „I’m really tired and I’m not coming from Jounieh, but from Canada.” Rita: 'anā l-yōm mīš məṭawwle birjac saca 'arbac. „I’m not going to be late today, I’m coming back at four o’clock.”, in the first example we can see a past participle mac'ūl “possible”, being negated, as for the other two examples we can see that the active participles mīš jeye “not coming” mīš məṭawwle “not going to be late” are being used instead of the verbs, thus the negation is formed with mīš, the particle used for nominal clauses, and not with mā, the particle that usually appears in verbal clauses. Adjectives: Maher: mīš ṭabīciye 'intū bi-ha-l-mujammaca. „You people in this community are not normal.” Šahīd: mīš ḥelū hēk, ktīr sacbe l-ḥayet. „This is not nice, life is very hard.” Nouns: Theo: lā, mīš il-māmā mīn cam biyḥkī? „No, this is not mum (on the telephone), who is speaking?” Rola: 'ana mīš il-mas'ūle. „I am not the ressponsible.” Abrīl: il-yōm mīš dawēmē. “Today it’s not my shift.” Serge: haydē 'akīd mīš nhiyār cāṣābī. „This is not a nervous breakdown for sure.” Pronouns: Faraḥ: mīš bass 'inta mišta' la-bayak. „You’re not the only one missing your father.” Ḥikma: mīš 'annī lli ṭalabt ḥabībī, haydā l-məḥtaṛam iṛ-ṛayyis, il-ex-jawze. „It’s not me who demanded, dear, but the boss, my ex husband.” Prepositions: Maher: mīš la-ilī. „It’s not (good) for me.” Amelia: yacnī iš-ši''a llī st'jirta, mīš la-ḥaḍartik? „You mean the flat that I rented is not yours (lit. for you)?”, in this case la- is used to denote possession. Rola: 'inta musta'balak mīš macī. „Your future is not with me.” Melissa: mīš bi-l-jizdēn. „It’s not in the purse.”, in this case bi- carries a locative meaning. 28 As seen above, mīš expressing the negation of the verb “to be” can precede many prepositions, with different meaning, la- “for” or expressing possession, mac “with”, bi- “in”. The particle mīš similar to the particle mā can sometimes add to the sentence an interrogatory meaning, as in the following examples: Mira: mīš məberiḥ sa'alt-lī hāda s-su'al? wa 'awwal məberiḥ? wa 'awwal 'awwal məberiḥ? „Didn’t you ask me the same thing yesterday? And the day before yesterday? And the day before that?” Serge: mīš 'inti llī cāyše maca ahla bi-l-qaṭaṛ? „Aren’t you the one who lives with her parents in Qatar?” Inās: mīš 'ilti-l-nā innu cam biyštiġil bi-'afri'iya? „Didn’t you tell us that he’s been working in Africa?”, in all the examples shown above mīš never actually expresses a negation, but actually has an interrogatory meaning. Although less often than the particle mā, mīš can also negate a verbal clause, usually when there is a present continuous verb, but not only: With a present continuous verb: Serge: mīš cam ṣaddi' šū cam biṣēr maci. “I can’t believe what is happening to me.” Layla: bint mitel l-'amaṛ comṛa tnēn wa cišrīn sene bidda rijēl akbar minna wa-mīš cam biy'bal?. „A very beautiful girl (lit. a girl like the moon), who is twenty two years wants a man that is older than her and he doesn’t accept?” With a verb that expresses a future action: Rola: mīš raḥ ridd ba'a cā telefonēt. „I won’t answer the phone anymore.” We’d like to draw attention that this last meaning of mīš, rendering the negation in a verbal clause, is not mentioned in the consulted resources, most of their authors point out that mīš is just a nominal particle. 2.1.4. Particle mū This particle, as we can see from the consulted works is not a particle characteristic of the Lebanese dialect, thus it only appeared in one line, in the analyzed episodes of the Lebanese series 'ajyāl. We may only assume that the particle appeared under the influence of another dialect, that the actor or the screenwriter is familiar to. In our only example mū appeared as a nominal particle: Theo: mū mumkin i'bal lā šī wu-lā ḥada yəsabib lī 'iḥbāṭ. “I can’t let anyone or anything affect me.” 29 2.1.5. Particle ba'a Although particle ba'a cannot render the negation by itself, we have considered wisely mentioning it at the end of our study, since it appears very often in our Lebanese series and has the role of strengthening the negation: Tamara: 'ilti-lak mā ba'a telfin, jaye. “I told not to call anymore, I’m coming.” Serge: ma ba'a fīnā bass nəfakkir bi-halla'. “We can’t think anymore just about the present.” 2.2. Comparing our results with the means of negation of a Lebanese speaker In this brief part of our study, we have asked a Lebanese speaker to confirm us which are the negations he usually uses in his daily conversations. We’d like to mention that the interviewed person is from the town Arjess, in the district of Zgharta, north of Lebanon. It’s a male subject, in his early thirties and has a university degree in computer science. The subject has rarely travelled outside of Lebanon, likes to watch the news and other political programs, which are often broadcasted in Modern Standard Arabic, he also attended during his university period some classes of Modern Standard Arabic. The subject clearly expressed a preference for the particle mā, at the expense of the particles lā and mīš. He stated that the particle lā, he almost never uses it, except in the construction la..wa-la “nor...nor”, and only for the second negation, thus becoming mā...wa-la. So he rephrased the following example: Faraḥ : šu biddī caməl lā macu celulaire wa-lā bacrif ra'am ṣaḥbu wa-la ḥattā weyn beytu. “What I will do? He doesn’t have a cell phone and I don’t know the number of his friend, nor where his house is.” Rephrased: šu biddī caməl mā macu celulaire wa-mā bacrif ra'am ṣaḥbu wa-la ḥattā weyn beytu. We can see however, even if he uses in his daily talk wala, in front of a verb he preferred to replace it with particle mā wa-mā bacrif, only the third negation still having lā as a means of being expressed. The preference of mā, to the detriment of lā can be seen also in the next example: Faraḥ: 'anā lā bitḥaddā wa-lā bitšəjjar “I don’t provoke, nor argue.” Rephrased: 'anā mā bitḥaddā wa-mā bitšəjjar, however the speaker had no problem using wa-la in front of nouns, thus he kept mīš mətzawwaj... wa-lā ḫāṭib.... wa-lā mərtəbeṭ... “not married...nor engaged...nor in a relationship”. On the other hand, he preferred to replace lā of negation of species from lā ḥada ġayry biycarif “no one except me knows” with mā, resulting in mā ḥada. 30 The conclusion can only be that in the construction lā/mā ...wa-la, lā usually still appears in front of the second negation, but can be replaced even there by mā, especially when the particle comes before a verb. As refered to mā he stated that he usually uses it in front of verbs, or with suffix pronouns in front of nouns. However he rephrased one example when mā precedes prepositions, forming the negation of verbal phrases. Thus he said mā finī ba'a instead of mā ba'a fiye “I can’t anymore” and ma finī bunṭur, at the place of ma fiye bunṭur. The subject also said that mīš or mūš is often heard now between the Lebanese speakers, but he personally prefers the equivalent construction formed from mā, the intermediate particle (a)nn- and the suffix pronouns. For example, he would prefer to say instead of mīš mac'ūl “it’s not possible”, mannu mac'ul, and instead of mīš jeye “I am not coming”, mannī jeye. But, although, he stated that most Lebanese speakers now use in their daily conversations mīš, he said it is not common in the Arabic of Arjess to use this specific particle in front of a verb, so he rephrased all the verbal clauses that had mīš as a mean of negation, for example: Serge: mīš cam ṣaddi' šū cam biṣēr maci. “I can’t believe what is happening to me.” Rephrased: mā cam ṣaddi' šū cam biṣēr maci. Layla: bint mitel l-'amaṛ comṛa tnēn wa cišrīn sene bidda rijēl akbar minna wa-mīš cam biy'bal?. „A very beautiful girl (lit. a girl like the moon), who is twenty two years wants a man that is older than her and he doesn’t accept?” Rephrased: bint mitel l-'amaṛ comṛa tnēn wa cišrīn sene bidda rijēl akbar minna wa-mā cam biy'bal? Rola: mīš raḥ ridd ba'a cā telefonēt. „I won’t answer the phone anymore.” Rephrased: mā raḥ ridd ba'a cā telefonēt. As for the particle mū, he added that it’s not a particle used in his area, and would replace it in our example with mīš: Theo: mū mumkin i'bal lā šī wu-lā ḥada yəsabib lī 'iḥbāṭ. “I can’t let anyone or anything affect me.” Rephrased: mīš mumkin i'bal lā šī wu-lā ḥada yəsabib lī 'iḥbāṭ. “I can’t let anyone or anything affect me. 3. Conclusions Based on our brief study, we can conclude that we have at least three different opinions about the means of expressing the negation in the Lebanese dialect. For example, the particle lā, that the consulted works say it still appears in 31 expressing the negative imperative and in the construction la...wa-la “nor....nor”, has been almost at all replaced by mā. Thus, all the imperatives in the episodes we analyzed have mā as a mean of expressing their negation, for example: Rola: Māher, mā tsakkər duġrī. “Maher, don’t close directly.” However, in the series lā still appears sometimes in the construction lā...wa-la “nor...nor”: Theo: bass mā carraftinī la ca jawzik wa-la ca wuledik. “But you didn’t introduce me, nor to your husband, nor to your children.” Another fact that caught our attention is the widespread use of particle mīš. Both from our consulted resources, from the analyzed episodes and from our interview we can conclude that mīš is usually used to express negation in nominal clauses, whilst mā negates verbal ones: Amelia: mā kēn lezim titrikī il partī. “You shouldn’t have left the party.” Tamara: l-'asmē bi-drama mīš ktīr mhimme. “The names in a drama (series) are not very important.” mā is also used along with prepositions, that form stable verbal constructions: Theo: ḫallīni ḍall ḥadik, ḫaṣṣatan innu mā ciltik cindik, mā cindik uḫtik. “Let me stay near you, especially your family isn’t with you, you don’t have your sister with you.” Rita: lēš mā bidda təẓbəṭ? “Why doesn’t it (pregnancy) want to go well?” And both mā and mīš can sometimes be used to add an interrogatory meaning to the sentence: Serge: mīš 'inti llī cāyše maca ahla bi-l-qaṭaṛ? „Aren’t you the one who lives with her parents in Qatar?” Faraḥ: bitḥəbbī tis'alī su'alēt ktīr, mā hēk? “You like to ask a lot of questions, isn’t it so?” On the other hand, less often than mā, mīš also appears in the series in verbal clauses, especially in front of a present continuous verb. Sometimes the same character uses the same verb, but with different particles of negation, as in the following example: Faraḥ: mīš cam bifham šī min šī. „I don’t understand anything.” mā cam bifham ha-l-ḥakīm. „I don’t understand this doctor.” The particle mū, was encountered in only one line of the character Theo, played by the Lebanese actor Youssef el Khal. We can only assumed it appeared under the influence of other neighbouring dialects, such as the Syrian one. Last, but not least, we also noticed a widespread usage in many negative clauses of the particle ba'a, which strengthens the negation: 32 Serge: ma ba'a fīnā bass nəfakkir bi-halla'. “We can’t think anymore just about the present. Bibliography Bizri, Fida. 2010. Parlons arabe libanais. Paris: L’Harmattan; El-Hajje, Hassan. 1954. Le parler arabe de Tripoli. Paris: Klincksieck; Feghali, Michel. 1928. Syntaxe des parlers arabes actuels du Liban. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale; Fleyfel, Antoine. 2010. Manuel de parler libanais. Paris: L’Harmattan; Sultani, Jinane Chaker & Milelli, Jean-Pierre. 2010. Dictionnaire français-libanais, libanaisfrançais. Paris: Milelli. 'ajyāl, season one, episodes one to ten. 2011. http://mtv.com.lb/Ajyal 33 34 ON THE FUNCTIONS OF FI IN THE VERBAL SYSTEM OF ARABIC PIDGINS Andrei A. Avram University of Bucharest Abstract. This paper examines the functions of fi in the verbal system of four Arabic-lexified pidgins: Pidgin Madam, Saudi Pidgin Arabic, Omani Pidgin Arabic and Qatari Pidgin Arabic. The analysis is based on a corpus of transcripts of interviews, answers to questionnaires, translations of test sentences, and various online sources. It is shown that fi occurs as an existential copula, in possessive have-constructions, as a predicative copula and as a locative copula. Also discussed are the influence of the substrate languages and the role of grammaticalization as factors accounting for the uses of fi in these varieties of pidginized Arabic. Keywords: fi, copula, existential, possessive, predicative, locative. 1. Introduction The present paper* looks at the role played by fi within the verbal system of four Arabic-lexified pidgins. The varieties considered are Pidgin Madam, Saudi Pidgin Arabic, Omani Pidgin Arabic and Qatari Pidgin Arabic. These varieties are frequently lumped together under the name of “Gulf Pidgin Arabic” (Smart 1990, Wiswall 2002, Næss 2008, Bakir 2010): for instance, Bakir (2010: 201) writes that the “reduced linguistic system in use in various countries of the western coast of the Arab Gulf and Saudi Arabia […] has been given the name Gulf Pidgin Arabic”. However, they are treated here as separate entities, a decision which is not without parallels in the literature on pidgin languages 1. A well-known typology (Mühlhäusler 1997: 5-6) distinguishes three developmental stages, on the basis of linguistic criteria: (i) pre-pidgins (also called jargons or minimal pidgins); (ii) stable pidgins; (iii) expanded (or extended) pidgins. Each of these stages is characterized by a specific set of phonological, morphological, syntactic and lexical diagnostic features (Mühlhäusler 1997: 128186, Siegel 2008: 2-3). Pidgin Madam exhibits the characteristics of a pre-pidgin, whereas Saudi Pidgin Arabic, Omani Pidgin Arabic and Qatari Pidgin Arabic may be undergoing stabilization. * The assistance of Fida Bizri (INALCO, Paris), who brought to my attention Al-Moaily (2008), is gratefully acknowledged. 1 Holm (1989), for example, uses “West African Pidgin English” as a cover term for a number of varieties, e.g. Nigerian Pidgin English, Cameroon Pidgin English (or Kamtok), Ghanaian Pidgin English, which are considered separately by other authors. 35 Pidgins have also been classified on the basis of social criteria. Bakker (1995: 27-28), for instance, classifies pidgins in terms of the social situation in which they are used. Four types are accordingly distinguished: (i) maritime pidgins; (ii) trade pidgins; (iii) interethnic contact languages; (iv) work force pidgins. All four varieties under consideration can be assigned to the category of work force pidgins. Sebba (1997: 26-33) suggests a typology according to the social context of the language‟s origins and identifies the following types: (i) military and police pidgins; (ii) seafaring and trade pidgins; (iii) plantation pidgins; (iv) mine and construction pidgins; (v) immigrants‟ pidgins; (vi) tourist pidgins; (vii) urban contact vernaculars. All four varieties qualify for the group of immigrants‟ pidgins. The corpus of empirical data is made up of both published and unpublished sources. The published sources include transcripts of interviews, answers to questionnaires, translations of test sentences designed to elicit specific data. The unpublished sources consist of online sources, such as internet discussion lists (between users with different mother tongues), songs, poems (see the list of online sources in the References section). It is perhaps worth noting that, to my knowledge, this type of source has not been tapped in any previous study of Arabic-lexified pidgins. Except for the data from Al-Moaily (2008), which are transliterated from the original version in Arabic script, all examples appear in the orthography or system of transcription used in the sources. The length of quotations has been kept to a reasonable minimum. Relevant items in quotations are in bold characters. All quotations are accompanied by glosses and their translation. Whenever known, examples also include the specification of the L1 of the speaker as well as the length of stay. 2. Pidgin Madam Pidgin Madam2 is spoken in Lebanon by Sri Lankan female domestic workers, with Sinhala as their L1, and their Arab employers. Sociolinguistic issues, such as the context in which this variety emerged, its status and functions, are discussed by Haraty et al. (2007) and, at great length, by Bizri (2010). Linguistic analyses of the pidgin can be found in two papers (Bizri 2005 and 2009) and in a monograph (Bizri 2010), from which the relevant data are taken. According to Bizri (2010: 127), Pidgin Madam “has Ø in the predicative and equative functions, and fī in the existential and locative positions”. This distribution is illustrated by the following examples given by Bizri (2010: 127128): 2 Also called “Pidgin Madame” (see e.g. Bizri 2010). 36 (1) (2) (3) (4) predicative sāmi Ø buk sīde Sami book new „Sami‟s book is new.‟ equative hayda Ø sāmi bābā DEM Sami father „This is Sami‟s father.‟ existential banadūra fi red FI „There are tomatoes.‟ locative Sāmi buk tawle haddik fi Sami book table near FI „Sami‟s book is near the table.‟ However, there appear to be quite a number of exceptions to these distributional patterns. Thus, contra Bizri (2010: 127), fi actually also occurs in equative copula structures. Consider the following examples: (5) a. Karuna (Sinhala; 10 years) þi hayda bado sərīre (Bizri 2010: 169) FI DEM still small „She is still young.‟ b. Gunawathie (Sinhala; Saudi Arabia, then Lebanon) þi kətīr gū māma (Bizri 2010: 198) FI much good mother „Madam was very good.‟ c. Chandrawathie (Sinhala) awwäl bēbi ana sīre, þi […] marida (Bizri 2010: 219) beginning child 1SG small FI sick „In the beginning, when my child was young, [I] was sick.‟ d. Chandrika (Sinhala; 17 years) ana ma þi merteha hone sogol (Bizri 2010: 227) 1SG NEG FI relaxed here work „I don‟t feel at ease with this job‟ Furthermore, Ø can mark location, contra Bizri (2010: 127): 37 (6) bēbi ana Ø māma bēt baby 1SG mother house „[As for] my son, he is at my mother‟s‟ (Bizri 2010: 134) According to Bizri (2010: 128), “Pidgin Madam expresses possession […] by means of a construction which consists in saying “at me X exists””. Actually, the preposition „at‟ does not occur3: (7) ana bēbi fi (Bizri 2010: 128) 1SG child FI „I have a child.‟ Finally, Bizri (2010: 124) writes that fi is “an indicator of state, it has the meaning of “to be in the situation of somebody who…”. The data, however, suggest that fi functions rather like a verbal predicate marker: (8) a. ana maþi ārip sogel (Bizri 2010: 124) 1SG NEG-FI know work „I didn‟t know how to work.‟ b. ana þi rūhi ubai4 (Bizri 2010: 125) 1SG FI go Dubai „Am mers în Dubai.‟ c. Karuna (10 years) ana ma þi dogre nēmit (Bizri 2010: 185) 1SG NEG FI immediately sleep „I immediately go to bed‟ d. Gunawathie (Saudi Arabia, then Lebanon) þi gūm, þi salli (Bizri 2010: 197) FI get up FI pray „I would get up [and] pray‟ As can be seen, fi is compatible with various classes of verbs, and permits a range of temporal and aspectual interpretations. To conclude, fi functions as a predicative, existential and locative copula. The predicative and locative uses of fi are subject to considerable variation. Fi is also used to express predicative possession (the have-construction pattern)5. The use of fi as a verbal predicate marker in Pidgin Madam is restricted to two 3 As mentioned by Bizri (2010: 130), “Pidgin Madam is […] characterized by the absence of the morphemes marking […] the locative”. 4 Where stands for a voiced retroflex stop. 5 See the classification of possessive constructions in Heine (1997a and 1997b). 38 subjects. Moreover, out of a total of 16 occurrences of fi as a verbal predicate marker (in Bizri 2010), 14 are attested in the speech of an informant who, prior to coming to Lebanon, had worked in Saudi Arabia. Under the circumstances, her use of fi as a verbal predicate marker may reflect the situation in Saudi Arabia Pidgin Arabic6. 3. Saudi Pidgin Arabic Al-Moaily (2008) describes the Saudi Pidgin Arabic spoken in the town of Alkharj. This variety is “used for communication between locals who speak a variety of non-standard Arabic known as Najdi Arabic and foreigners from the Indian subcontinent who come from various linguistics backgrounds like Urdu, Bengali, Pashtu and Punjabi” (Al-Moaily 2008: 3). In spite of the various first languages of its speakers, Al-Moaily (2008: 1) chooses, rather arbitrarily, to call it “Urdu Pidgin Arabic”. This decision is all the more surprising given that five of his six subjects have Punjabi, Pashto or Bengali as their L1 and only one has Urdu as his L1. Moreover, as specified by Al-Moaily (2008: 28), this particular interviewee “took three turns only” and “produced very little linguistics data”. Al-Moaily (2008) only discusses the use of fi as a copula. According to Al-Moaily (2008: 40), “in UPA [= Urdu Pidgin Arabic] the copula fi […] does not agree in tense, person, number, or gender with the subject” and it “occurs in the present tense only”. More specifically, Al-Moaly (2008: 40) claims that “in the past tense, which is expressed via lexical items like əwæl (first) […] and in the future tense, expressed by bæden (later) or bʊkrah (tomorrow), no copula is present”. This claim is illustrated with examples such as: (9) a. present fi nafar tani (Al-Moaily 2008: 40) FI person other „There is another person.‟ b. past awal Kharğ Ø mazbūt (Al-Moaily 2008: 40) first Kharğ good „Kharğ used to be good in the past.‟ However, whereas the interviews in Al-Moaily (2008) appear to include no occurrence of the copula fi in future tense sentences, a rather large number of examples illustrate its use in past tense sentences: (10) a. Abulbashar (Bengali; 11 years) hada kullu yōm ma fi (Al-Moaily 2008: 81) 6 See section 3. 39 all day NEG FI „this wasn‟t [the case] every day‟ Abdulhamid (Punjabi; 26 years) awwal ma fi tilifōn beginning NEG FI telephone „there were no telephones before‟ Shera (Pashto; 22 years) kahrabā ma fi gali electricity NEG FI expensive „electricty wasn‟t expensive‟ DEM b. c. (Al-Moaily 2008: 95) (Al-Moaily 2008: 133) Note that while in (10a) and (10c) it is the context which yields a past tense interpretation, sentence (10b) contains awwal, one of the lexical items which – according to Al-Moaily (2008: 40) – express the past tense. Al-Moaily (2008) does not distinguish among the types of structures containing the copula fi. An analysis of the interviews in Al-Moaily (2008) shows that fi occurs in several such constructions. The first series of examples illustrate the use of fi as a predicative copula: (11) a. Abulbashar (Bengali; 11 years) ana nafar fi ğadīd (Al-Moaily 2008: 80) 1SG person FI new „if I‟m a newcomer‟ b. Abdulhamid (Punjabi; 26 years) alhīn fi šabīh (Al-Moaily 2008: 86) now FI similar „it‟s similar now‟ c. Abdulmajid (Punjabi; 27 years) Riyād fi ba’īd (Al-Moaily 2008: 92) Riyadh FI far „Riyadh is far‟ d. Sameer (Bengali; 26 years) ma fi lāzim (Al-Moaily 2008: 108) NEG FI necessary „it‟s not necessary‟ e. Shera (Pashto; 22 years) fi ahsan (Al-Moaily 2008: 127) FI bun „it is alright‟ Fi as an equative copula also occurs, although rather rarely: 40 (12) a. Abulbashar (Bengali; 11 years) hāda fi haddād (Al-Moaily 2008: 70) DEM FI b. „[He] is a smith.‟ Abdulhamid (Punjabi; 26 years) huwa fi mīkānīki 3SG FI mechanic „he is a mechanic‟ (Al-Moaily 2008: 93) The most widely attested use is that of fi as an existential copula: (13) a. Abulbashar (Bengali; 11 years) fi itnēn bagala (Al-Moaily 2008: 68) FI two greengrocer „there are two greengrocers‟ b. Abdulhamid (Punjabi; 26 years) fi šuwaya bas ma fi katīr (Al-Moaily 2008: 86) FI a little but NEG FI much „there are a few, but not many‟ c. d. Sameer (Bengali; 26 years) ma fi luga tani NEG Fi language other „there is no other language‟ Shera (Pashto; 22 years) ana fi bas 1SG FI only „there was only me‟ (Al-Moaily 2008: 113) (Al-Moaily 2008: 126) Moreover, existential fi and mawǧūd „existing, existent‟ co-occur pleonastically, as in: (14) a. Abdulhamid (Punjabi; 26 years) fi Riyad fi mawǧūd (Al-Moaily 2008: 89) in Riyadh FI existing „there are in Riyadh‟ b. Sameer (Bengali; 26 years) Hindi fi mawǧūd Bengal (Al-Moaily 2008: 113) Hindi FI existing Bengal „Hindi is spoken in Bengal‟ Lit. „there is Hindi in Bengal‟ c. Shera (Pashto; 22 years) 41 lāzim kul šay fi mawǧūd necessary every thing FI existing „every thing must exist‟ (15) (16) (Al-Moaily 2008: 126) The least frequent is the use of fi with a locative function: Abulbashar (Bengali; 11 years) awwal fi hināk (Al-Moaily 2008: 72) first FI there „he was there before‟ Fi is also widely attested in have-constructions: a. Abulbashar (Bengali: 11 years) ana šugul ma fi 1SG work NEG FI „I don‟t have a job‟ b. Abdulmajid (Punjabi; 27 years) ana fi bēt tāni 1SG FI house other „I have another house‟ c. Sameer (Bengali; 26 years) ma fi wakt NEG FI time „I don‟t have time‟ (Al-Moaily 2008: 71) (Al-Moaily 2008: 98) (Al-Moaily 2008: 97) In addition, fi functions as a verbal predicate marker, associated with various temporal and aspectual interpretations, including the past tense, the future, the habitual aspect: (17) a. Abulbashar (Bengali, 11 years) nafar ziyāda fi irūh madrasa (Al-Moaily 2008: 81) person much FI go school „many people go to school‟ b. Abdulhamid (Punjabi, 26 years) ba’dēn ana fi iği sa’ūdiya (Al-Moaily 2008: 99) then 1SG FI come Saudi „then I came to Saudi [Arabia]‟ c. Sameer (Bengali, 26 years) hallāg fi isawwi seym-seym kida (Al-Moaily 2008: 84) barber FI do same like this „the barber does the same‟ d. Shera (Pashto, 22 years) 42 ana fi ya’ti bukra 1SG FI come tomorrow „I‟ll come tomorrow‟ (Al-Moaily 2008: 134) Al-Azraqi (2010) describes the variety of Saudi Pidgin Arabic spoken by Indians, Bangladeshis, Indonesians and Filipinos in Al-Ahsa county, in the eastern region of Saudi Arabia, on the coast of the Gulf. According to Al-Azraqi (2010: 163), the term “„Gulf pidgin‟ would be too broad and may subsume other potential pidgin varieties”. She therefore argues that “it will be useful to distinguish” the pidgin she analyzes “as an Asian variety” (Al-Azraqi 2010: 163). Such a distinction would be also called for since “recognizing that the pidgin is used by Asians is also important because a pidgin is heavily characterized by the speakers‟ mother languages [sic] that form the substrate” (Al-Azraqi 2010: 163). On the strength of these two arguments, Al-Azraqi (2010) calls this variety Gulf Asian Pidgin. The corpus consists of six hours of data from TV series, 15 hours of tape recorded spoken data and test sentences designed to elicit specific forms by focusing on word order and structural features (Al-Azraqi 2010: 164). With respect to fī Al-Azraqi (2010: 169) states that it “is found in different cases and is used to perform different syntactic functions in the sentence” and that “it denotes various meanings according to the context”. She refers to fī as a “particle since it functions differently in the sentences” (Al-Azraqi 2010: 169). The samples in Al-Azraqi (2010) illustrate several uses of fi. One such function is that of predicative copula: (18) a. Hada ma fī barid wājid. (Al-Azraqi 2010: 169) DEM NEG FI cold very „This is not very cold.‟ b. Hada rijāl fī za’lān. (Al-Azraqi 2010: 171) DEM man FI upset „This man is upset.‟ (19) Also attested, but far less frequently, is the locative use of fi: Bēbī ’ana fi bangaladiš. (Al-Azraqi 2010: 171) baby 1SG FI Bangladesh „My children are in Bangladesh.‟ Al-Azraqi (2010: 170) claims that the uses of fi include that “as a possessive pronoun”. In support of her claim she lists examples 7 such as: (20) a. ’anā fī šantā karbān (Al-Azraqi 2010: 170) 7 The translations are Al-Azraqi‟s. 43 1SG FI bag ruined „My bag is ruined.‟ b. c. ’inta fī bint hilu 2SG FI daughter beautiful „Your daughter is beautiful.‟ baba ’ana fī ’īn ta’bān father 1SG FI eye ill „My father‟s eye is ill [sic]‟ (Al-Azraqi 2010: 170) (Al-Azraqi 2010: 170) Three remarks are in order here. Firstly, by itself fī cannot be analyzed as a possessive pronoun: at the very best, the personal pronoun plus fī could be a pronominal possessive adjective. Secondly, attributive (or nominal) possession is expressed by juxtaposition of two noun phrases, with variable word order: possesse – possessor (21a) or, less frequently, possessor – possessee (21b): (21) a. hada walad ’ana (Al-Azraqi 2010: 166) DEM child 1SG „This is my son.‟ b. ’ana uxt fī zawāj ba’dēn (Al-Azraqi 2010: 166) 1SG sister FI marry later „My sister is getting married later.‟ Thirdly, sentences such as those under (20) actually illustrate the use of fi to express predicative possession (the have-construction). Al-Azraqi (2010: 169) herself writes that fi is used “in place of the verbs to be or have”. Finally, the sentences under (20) are structurally similar to those in (22), which illustrate precisely this statement, and in the translation of which Al-Azraqi uses the verb „have‟: (22) a. ’ana fī sadīk (Al-Azraqi 2010: 169) 1SG FI friend „I have a friend‟ b. Hiyya fī ša’ar tawīl. (Al-Azraqi 2010: 170) 3SG.F FI hair long „She has long hair.‟ (23) Finally, fi is a verbal predicate marker, in e.g. future or past tense contexts: a. Sadīg ’ana fī rūh itnēn šahar. (Al-Azraqi 2010: 166) friend 1SG FI go two month „A friend of mine is leaving in two months.‟ b. lēš ’inta ma fī warrī ’ana? (Al-Azraqi 2010: 171) 44 why 2SG NEG FI show 1SG „Why didn‟t you show [it] to me?‟ The same functions and uses of fi are amply illustrated in various online sources, such as internet discussion lists and forums, etc., with participanta from a wide range of L1 backgrounds. Consider first examples attesting to the use of fi as a predicative copula (24), as an equative copula (25) and as an existential copula (26): (24) a. English Lazem fi souraa (2006a) Necessary FI quick „It must be quick.‟ b. Javanese mafi kuwaiis (2009b) NEG-FI good „it‟s not good‟ c. Bengali (2009b) fi patient suayya FI patient a little „be patient a little‟ d. Tagalog Mapi quios… (2012b) NEG FI good „It‟s not good…‟ (25) Punjabi ana mafi sadiq?? (2012a) 1SG NEG FI friend „I‟m not a friend?!?‟ (26) a. Tagalog fi kathir nadafa rijal filipini (2009c) FI much cleaning man Filipino „There are many Filipino cleaning men‟ c. Tagalog malum fe wahed napar (2010a) know FI one person „[I ] know there is a person‟ d. Tagalog baden overtime mafi (2012b) then overtime NEG FI „then there is no overtime‟ 45 A large number of examples illustrate the use of fi in predicative possessive constructions. These include the following: (27) a. Tagalog elyom mafi wajid pulos (2006b) today NEG-FI much money „I don‟t have much money today.‟ b. Tagalog mapi mina-mina (2006d) NEG FI scholarship „I don‟t have a scholarship‟ c. d. e. (28) English baden mafi fulus then NEG-FI money „and I won‟t have money.‟ Tagalog ana mafi […] kafil 1SG NEG-FI sponsor „I don‟t have a sponsor‟ Tagalog Ana fi sadiki shogul Bahrain 1SG FI friend work Bahrain „I have a friend who works in Bahrain.‟ Also attested is the use of fi as a verbal predicate marker: a. English kalam ams masbut le mafi ro? b. c. d. (2008a) (2009d) (2011b) (2008a) speak yesterday good why NEG-FI go „Yesterday [you] said it was alright, [so] why didn‟t you come?‟ Tagalog ana ma fi malum Arabic (2008b) 1SG NEG FI know Arabic „I don‟t know Arabic.‟ Urdu kolo nafrat nom, enta ma fe nom? (2009a) all person sleep 1SG NEG FI sleep „All people are sleeping, aren‟t you sleeping?‟ Tagalog baden ana fi dugdug (2009c) 46 e. f. g then 1SG FI ring up „then I‟ll ring you up‟ Hindi ana fe gul inta taal bet 1SG FI say 2SG come house „I told you to come [to my] place.‟ Urdu Lesh ente kalam ana mafi like why 2SG speak 1SG NEG FI like „Why did you say [that] I didn‟t like [it]‟ Tagalog ana fee shukol dahin 1SG FI work now „I‟m working now‟ (2011c) (2012a) (2012b) To sum up, fi exhibits several functions in the verbal system of Saudi Pidgin Arabic. It functions as an existential copula, but it occurs less frequently and variably in predicative, equative or locative constructions. Fi expresses predicative possession (have-construction pattern). Also, fi is occasionally used a verbal predicate marker. 4. Omani Pidgin Arabic The only description of Omani Pidgin Arabic available is due to Næss (2008), who refers to it as “Gulf Pidgin Arabic” and who analyzes the variety spoken in the border town of Buraimi. The number of informants was 16, with the following breakdown per L1: Bengali (one speaker), Chavacano8 (one speaker), Javanese (one speaker), Malayalam (five speakers), Sinhala (three speakers, Tagalog (one speaker), Tamil (one speaker) and Urdu (three speakers). The data were obtained via interviews, amounting to some six hours of recorded speech Næss (2008) restricts the use of the term “copula” to predicative copulas. According to Næss (2008: 81), “unambiguous copula [= predicative copula] uses are rare” in her material. Some of these are listed below: (29) a. A2 (Urdu; 5 years) huwa fi bakistāni, ana fi hindi (Næss 2008: 81-82) 3SG FI Pakistani 1SG FI Indian „He is Pakistani, I am Indian.‟ b. B1 (Sinhala; 14 years) ma þi same-same banāt hāda, sah? (Næss 2008: 53) 8 The Spanish-lexified creole spoken in the Philippines. 47 same girl DEM true „the girls aren‟t like that, right?‟ C1 (Bengali; 7 years) aleyn hāda mafi mustamil now DEM NEG-FI used „Nowadays these aren‟t used.‟ C4 (Malayalam; 7 years) ana fi zeyn māl hindi 1SG FI good PREP India „I‟m well [when I‟m] in India.‟ C5 (Malayalam; 7 years) ’umān alhīn mafi ġāli Oman now NEG-FI expensive „Oman is not expensive now.‟ D1 (Javanese; 4 years) ana fi miskin 1SG FI poor „Poor me!” NEG FI c. d. e. f. (Næss 2008: 76) (Næss 2008: 66) (Næss 2008: 75) (Næss 2008: 82) Note that, according to Næss (2008: 81), in such sentences “the norm in GPA [= Gulf Pidgin Aabic] is to omit the copula”. Fi as an existential copula – considered to be a “syntactic expletive” by Næss (2008: 81) – is widely attested in the corpus: (30) a. B2 (Sinhala; 5 years) ana bilād pi hāda muškila akel, ma pi akel (Næss 2008: 60) 1SG country FI DEM problem food NEG FI food „In my country there‟s this problem with food, there‟s no food‟ b. c. d. C1 (Bengali; 7 years) dākel fi šay (Næss 2008: 35) inside FI thing „Inside there were some things.‟ D2 (Tamil; 12 years) fi muslim fi mafi muslim (Næss 2008: 77) FI Muslim FI NEG-FI Muslim „There are Muslims [and] there are non-Muslims.‟ D4 (Tagalog; 9 months) fi sahīr dukān (Næss 2008: 76) FI small shop „There was a small shop.‟ 48 Næss (2008: 80) notes “the use of fi to mean “to have” parallel to the usage of the Gulf Arabic preposition ‘ind”. Several occurrences of fi fall in this category: (31) a. b. c. B3 (Sinhala; 22 years) ana ma fi bēt 1SG NEG FI house „I don‟t have a house.‟ C1 (Bengali; 7 years) ma fi muškila ana NEG FI problem 1SG „I don‟t have a problem [with that]‟ D1 (Javanese; 4 years) fi riyāl bas ma fi arūs? FI man but NEG FI marriage „you have someone, but you‟re not married?‟ (Næss 2008: 73) (Næss 2008: 73) (Næss 2008: 76) Næss (2008: 88) also writes that “the continuous aspect appears to be a possible function of fi in my material”9. In her view, this function “may be derived from fi‟s basic meaning “there is”, as in “there is/was a state of (verbal action)” (Næss 2008: 88-89). As a marker of the continuous aspect, fi “is found in past, present and future meanings”, but “in all cases, the possible aspect marking appears to be optional” (Næss 2008: 89). The following examples illustrate the use of fi as a continuous aspect marker, in a present tense and in a future tense context respectively: (32) a. A2 (Urdu; 5 years) ana fi kalām mišan huwa (Næss 2008: 89) 1SG FI speak PREP 3SG „I‟m talking to him‟ b. C 2 (Malayalam; 8 years) sana hāda fi rūh madrasa (Næss 2008: 89) year DEM FI go school „in one year, he will be going to school‟ However, Næss (2008: 91) admits that “there are still examples which are not explained by this”. To account for such cases, Næss (2008: 91) considers two hypotheses: “fi either serves another grammatical purpose or else is inserted 9 Cf. Miller‟s (2002: 21) analysis of the samples of Gulf Pidgin Arabic in Smart (1990): fi is used for “the expression of progressive – ana fi sawm “I am fasting””. 49 randomly by speakers unsure of how to use it”. A more plausible analysis, however, would be that fi is in fact a verbal predicate marker, which is therefore compatible with a variety of temporal and aspectual interpretations. This appears to be confirmed by examples such as those listed below: (32) a. A1 (Urdu; 10 years) nafar mafi araf hāza (Næss 2008: 72) person NEG-FI know DEM „a person wouldn‟t know this‟ b. B3 (Sinhala; 22 years) arabi mapi hebbi (Næss 2008: 73) Arab NEG-FI love „Arabs don‟t like [them].‟ c. D1 (Javanese; 4 years) bāden ana mapi pakkar (Næss 2008: 72) then 1SG NEG-FI think „and I don‟t think [of it] anymore‟ d. D2 (Tamil; 12 years) wāhed fi šīl kūb gūl hāda kūb (Næss 2008: 89) one FI take cup say DEM cup „one would take a cup and say this is a cup‟ e. E1 (Malayalam; 17 years) ana awwal fi yijlis andel sandūg māl cash (Næss 2008: 65) 1SG beginning FI sit PREP box PREP cash „In the beginning I sat at the cashier‟s desk‟ f. E2 (Chavacano; 17 years) mafi hebb siyāda diyāy u laham (Næss 2008: 73) NEG-FI love much chicken and meat „He didn‟t like chicken and meat too much‟ Instances of fi with the same various functions can also be found in the samples of Omani Pidgin Arabic in online sources. The examples under (33) and (34) illustrate its use as a predicative copula and as an equative copula respectively: (33) a. Muslim ana ma fi hindus (Kumar 2011a) Muslim 1SG NEG FI Hindu „I‟m a Muslim, not a Hindu.‟ b. Hada nafar ma fi kuwayis (Kumar 2011b) DEM person NEG FI good „This man is not good.‟ (34) a. Insān ana ma fi hayawan (Kumar 2011a) 50 b. (35) human being 1SG NEG FI animal „I‟m a human being, not an animal.‟ ana insān, ma fi haywān, ya mudīr 1SG human being NEG FI animal PART director „I‟m a human being, not an animal, boss‟ (Kumar 2011b) Predicative possessive have-constructions are also formed with fi: a. ma fi fulūs ana faqīr (Kumar 2011a) NEG FI money 1SG poor „I don‟t have any money, I‟m poor.‟ b. ma fi akal, ana miskīn (Kumar 2012b) NEG FI food 1SG poor „I don‟t have any food, I‟m poor.‟ As shown below, fi can express a number of temporal and aspectual values. This again suggests that fi is a verbal predicate marker. (37) a. batn mal ana fee sawee same same usfoor (Mr. Verb 2002) belly POS 1SG FI make same bird „my belly is making [noises] like birds‟ b. Ma fi šuf ahli ana (Kumar 2011a) NEG FI see familie 1SG „I haven‟t seen my family.‟ c. ma fi ibġa sawa-sawa šuġl, ana fi irğa balad (Kumar 2011b) NEG FI want together work 1SG FI return country „I don‟t want to work together [with him], I‟m going back to my country.‟ In conclusion, fi is frequently used as an existential copula, and more rarely as a predicative and equative copula. Fi also occurs in predicative possessive have-constructions. Moreover, fi functions as a verbal predicate marker. Except for existential sentences, where the use of fi appears to be obligatory, in all other cases the use of fi is subject to variation. 5. Qatari Pidgin Arabic The verbal system of Qatari Pidgin Arabic is analyzed in detail by Bakir (2010), who uses the term “Gulf Pidgin Arabic”. The relevant data were obtained via interviews and conversations with 10 informants, with the following first language backgrounds: Bengali (3), Hindi (1), Malayalam (2), Sinhala (2), Tagalog (1) and Tamil (1). Bakir (2010: 215) writes that “one element that we frequently find in the verb phrase of GPA [= Gulf Pidgin Arabic] is fii” and that “in GPA fii has 51 developed a much wider range of uses than what it has in origin”, i.e. in the lexifier language (Qatari Arabic). According to Bakir (2010: 216), fi is “used in a similar manner to that of the English copulative verb „be‟”. The first series examples below illustrate what Bakir (2010: 215) refers to as the “common existential use” of fi: (38) a. B (Malayalam, 30 years) ?ašaan fii nafar iji (Bakir 2010: 215) because FI person come „Because there is someone coming.‟ b. C (Bengali, 30 years) fii muškil (Bakir 2010: 215) FI problem „There is a problem.‟ c. E (Sinhala, 4 years) fii nafar muut ?ašaan maafii šuuf filim (Bakir 2010: 219) FI person die because NEG FI see film „Is there a person who dies because he doesn‟t watch a movie?‟ (39) Also attested is the use of fi as a predicative copula a. B (Malayalam, 30 years) ?ašara fii kabiir ten FI big „Ten are big.‟ b. D (Tagalog, 5 years) ?inta fii majnuun 2SG.M FI crazy „Are you crazy? c. F (Tamil, 5 years) laa, maafii zaruuri no NEG FI necessary „No it is not necessary.‟ (Bakir 2010: 216) (Bakir 2010: 216) (Bakir 2010: 216) Note that the examples above are erroneously analyzed by Bakir (2010: 216) as showing that fi “is often used in equational sentences”. The samples in Bakir (2010) also contain one instance in which fi has the function of locative copula: (40) A (Bengali, 20 years) ?anaa fii hnii (Bakir 2010: 216) 1SG FI here „I am here.‟ 52 Bakir (2010: 218) claims that the instances of what he calls “extended use” of fi include cases in which “it seems to have assumed the role of the auxiliary „have‟”. In fact, these are predicative possessive structures: (30) a. B (Malayalam,30 years) ?anaa fii šugul, ?anaa maafii muškila (Bakir 2010: 218) 1SG FI work 1SG NEG FI problem „If I have work I don‟t have a problem.‟ b. D (Tagalog, 5 years) maafii ?uyuun ?inti (Bakir 2010: 217) NEG FI eyes 2SG.F „Don‟t‟ you have eyes?‟ c. G (Hindi, 10 years) sayyaara maafii betrool (Bakir 2010: 216) car NEG FI petrol „There is no petrol in the car.‟ Lit. „The car doesn‟t have petrol.‟ As noticed by Bakir (2010: 217), “fii may also be found in sentences containing main verbs, occupying a preverbal position”. Bakir (2010: 217) concludes that “it seems that fii, and its negative counterpart maafii, are playing the role of a predication marker”. Consider the following examples: (31) a. b. c. d. C (Bengali, 30 years) ?anaa maafii noom 1SG NEG FI sleep „I don‟t sleep.‟ D (Tagalog, 5 years) leeš maamaa maafii sawwi tabdiil why mother NEG FI do change „Why doesn‟t Madam make changes?‟ E (Sinhala, 4 years) ?inta fii yaskit 2SG FI be silent „You keep quiet.‟ F (Tamil, 5 years) ?inta fii saafir 2SG FI travel „Are you traveling?‟ 53 (Bakir 2010: 219) (Bakir 2010: 219) (Bakir 2010: 217) (Bakir 2010: 217) In sum, fi often functions as an existential copula and, less frequently, as a predicative and as a locative copula espectively. Fi also occurs in haveconstructions expressing predicative possession. Finally, fi is used as a verbal predicate marker. As mentioned by Bakir (2010: 219), “variation is inescapable” in all these cases. 6. Conclusions Fi functions as a copula in all the four Arabic-lexified pidgins at issue. The occurrence – including in the present tense – of the copula (of various types) is a feature less typical of pidgins. Evidence from the pidgins considered shows that it is more frequently attested than assumed by e.g. Ferguson (1971: 144), Romaine (1989: 29), Sebba (1997: 39). This confirms – once more – the relevance of Arabic-lexified varieties, which have not figured prominently in the literature on pidgins (see e.g. Miller 2002, Avram 2003), for the study of these languages. In the have-constructions used to express predicative possession, the syntactic structure is identical in all the four pidgins: the possessee is encoded as the subject, the possessor as a locative complement and the predicate is a locative copula. Like all Arabic-based pidgins (see Avram 1994 and 1995), none of the pidgins considered here has preserved the verbal morphology of Arabic. The use of fi as a verbal predicate marker seems to be specific to the Arabic-lexified pidgins spoken in the Arabic Gulf. This function of fi has not been reported for any of the varieties formerly or currently spoken outside this area, i.e. – in addition to Pidgin Madam – Turku (Tosco and Owens 1993), Ugandan Pidgin Arabic (Kaye and Tosco 1993) and Juba Arabic (Tosco 1995), Romanian Pidgin Arabic (Avram 1997, 2007, 2010). The emergence of fi as a copula appears to be due to a “conspiracy” of factors. Thus, the existential copula fī is found in Lebanese Arabic (Nasr 1966, McLoughlin 1982), Saudi Arabic (Omar 1975) and in the varieties of Gulf Arabic (Qafisheh 1970 and 1975, Holes 2010, Smart and Altorfer 2010). Moreover, an existential copula is found in the substrate languages as well. The extensions in the use of the copula may be due either to the influence of some of the substrate languages or to grammaticalization. Some of the substrate languages, e.g. Hindi and Urdu, also use the copula with a predicative and a locative function. On the other hand, equative fi may be the result of the grammaticalization process “COPULA, LOCATIVE > COPULA, EQUATIVE”, itself “presumably part of a more extended pathway, namely LOCATIVE > EXIST > COPULA” (Heine and Kuteva 2002: 99). As for fi in possessive structures, it most probably reflects the substratal input, given that most of the relevant languages draw on the Location Schema “Y 54 is located at X”10 in have-constructions expressing predicative possession. This use of fi may also have emerged as a result of the grammaticalization path “COPULA, LOCATIVE > H-POSSESSIVE”11 (Heine and Kuteva 2002: 101), given that the Location Schema is cross-linguistically one of the most frequent sources for have-constructions. The use of fi as a verbal predicate marker may be the outcome of two grammaticalization processes. A first grammaticalization chain is “COPULA, LOCATIVE > CONTINUOUS” (Heine and Kuteva 2002: 97). The second one is “CONTINUOUS > HABITUAL” (Heine and Kuteva 2002: 93). As noted by Bybee et al. (1994: 158), progressive markers may develop into presents and imperfectives, and the progressive extends to cover habitual functions, and “the result is a gram [= grammatical morpheme] of very general meaning”. In other words, the two grammaticalization processes are arguably part of a more extended chain, namely, locative copula > continuous > habitual > predicate marker. Differences in the frequency in the use of fi as a verbal predicate marker can be attributed to the influence of the substrate languages. Some of them, e.g. Hindi and Urdu, use the auxiliary verb „to be‟ both for the continuous and for the habitual aspect. This might account for the higher frequency of fi as a verbal predicate marker in Saudi Pidgin Arabic, Omani Pidgin Arabic and Qatari Pidgin Arabic – with a large number of Indian speakers – as opposed to Pidgin Madam. The latter is exclusively used by speakers of Sinhala, in which „to be‟ does not serve as an auxiliary for the continuous and/or the habitual aspect. Finally, the variation in the use of fi as a copula and as a verbal predicate marker accords well with the fact that none of the varieties at issue is as yet a stable pidgin. Bibliography Al-Azraqi, Munira. 2010. „Pidginization in the Eastern region of Saudi Arabia: Media presentation‟. R. Bassiouney (ed.), Arabic and the Media. Linguistic Analyses and Applications. Leiden: Brill. 159-174 Al-Moaily, Mohammad. 2008. A Data-based Description of Urdu Pidgin Arabic. MA dissertation, University of Newcastle. Avram, Andrei A. 1994. „On the morphology of Arabic pidgins and creoles‟. Revue roumaine de lingistique XXXIX (2). 121-129. 10 For the event schemas accounting for possessive constructions see Heine (1997a: 91 and 1997b: 46). The source schema “Y is located at X” develops into the target schema “X has, owns Y”. 11 Where H-possessive stands for a marker of predicative possession” (Heine and Kuteva 2002: 127, f.n. 20). 55 Avram, Andrei A. 1995. „Some structural characteristics of Arabic pidgins and creoles‟. Nadia Anghelescu and Andrei A. Avram (eds.), Proceedings of the Colloquium on Arabic Linguistics. Bucharest: Center for Arab Studies. 73-83 Avram, Andrei A. 1997. „Un jargon arab‟. Studii şi cercetări lingvistice XLVIII (1-4). 27-38. Avram, Andrei A. 2003. „Arabic pidgins and creoles from a comparative perspective‟. RomanoArabica III. 25-40. Avram, Andrei A. 2007. „Romanian Pidgin Arabic‟. Romano-Arabica VI-VII. 13-27. Avram, Andrei A. 2010. „An outline of Romanian Pidgin Arabic‟. Journal of Language Contact 3. 19-37. Bakir, Murtadha J. 2010. „Notes on the verbal system of Gulf Pidgin Arabic‟. Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 25 (2). 201-228. Bakker, Peter. 1995. „Pidgins‟. Jacques Arends, Pieter Muysken and Norval Smith (eds.), Pidgins and Creoles. An Introduction. Amsterdam / Philadelphia: John Benjamins. 25-39. Bizri, Fida. 2005. „Le Pidgin Madam un nouveau pidgin arabe‟. La linguistique 41 (2). 54-66. Bizri, Fida. 2009. „Sinhala in contact with Arabic: The birth of a new pidgin in the Middle East‟. Rajendra Singh (ed.), Annual Review of South Asian Languages and Linguistics, 135-148. Bizri, Fida. 2010. Pidgin Madame. Une grammaire de la servitude. Paris: Geuthner. Bybee, Joan L., Perkins, Revere and Pagliuca, William. 1994. The Evolution of Grammar. Tense, Aspect, and Modality in the Languages of the World. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Ferguson, Charles A. 1971. „Absence of copula and the notion of simplicity. A study of normal speech, baby talk, foreigner talk, and pidgins‟. A. Valdman (ed.), Pidginization and Creolization of Languages. Bloomington: Indian University Press. 99-125 Haraty, Nabelah, Oueini, Ahmad and Bahous, Rima. 2007. „Speaking to domestics in Lebanon: Power issues or misguided communication?‟. Journal of Intercultural Communication 14 (June). Heine, Bernd. 1997a. Cognitive Foundations of Grammar. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Heine, Bernd. 1997b. Possession. Cognitive Sources, Forces, and Grammaticalization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Heine, Bernd, Kuteva, Tania. 2002. World Lexicon of Grammaticalization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Holes, Clive. 2010. Colloquial Arabic of the Gulf. The Complete Course for Beginners. London: Routledge. Holm, John. 1989. Pidgins and Creoles, vol. II, Reference Survey. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kaye, Alan S. and Tosco, Mauro. 1993. Early East African Pidgin Arabic. Sprache und Geschichte in Afrika 14. 269-305. McLoughlin, Leslie J. 1982. Colloquial Arabic (Levantine). London, Boston and Henley: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Miller, Catherine. 2002. „The relevance of Arabic-based pidgin/creoles for Arabic linguistics‟. In G. Mansour, M. Doss (eds.), Contributions to Arabic Linguistics, 7-45. Cairo: Arab Research Centre. Mühlhäusler, Peter. 1997. Pidgin and Creole Linguistics, expanded and revised edition. London: University of Westminster Press. Nasr, Raja. T. 1966. Colloquial Arabic. An Oral Approach. Beirut: Librairie du Liban. Næss, Unn G. 2008. “Gulf Pidgin Arabic”: Individual Strategies or a Structured Variety? A Study of Some Features of the Linguistic Behaviour of Asian Migrants in the Gulf Countries. MA dissertation, University of Oslo.. 56 Omar, Margaret K. 1975. Saudi Arabic. Urban Hijazi Dialect. Basic Course. Washington, DC: Foreign Service Institute. Qafisheh, Hamdi A. 1970. Basic Gulf Arabic Based on Colloquial Abu Dhabi Dialect. Tucson: Arizona University. Qafisheh, Hamdi A. 1975. A Basic Course in Gulf Arabic. Tucson: Arizona University Press, Beirut: Librairie du Liban. Romaine, Suzanne. 1988. Pidgin & Creole Languages. London and New York: Longman. Sebba, Mark. 1997. Contact Languages. Pidgins and Creoles. London: Macmillan. Siegel, Jeff. 2008. The Emergence of Pidgin and Creole Languages. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Smart, Jack R. 1990. „Pidginization in Gulf Arabic: A first report‟. Anthropological Linguistics 32 (1-2). 83-119. Smart, Jack and Altorfer, Frances. 2010. Complete Spoken Arabic (of the Arabian Gulf). London: Hodder Education. Tosco, Mauro. 1995. „A pidgin verbal system: The case of Juba Arabic‟. Anthropological Linguistics 37 (4). 423-459. Tosco, Mauro and Owens, Jonathan. 1993. „Turku: A descriptive and comparative study‟. Sprache und Geschichte in Afrika 14. 177-268. Wiswall, Abdul-Qadir. 2002. „Gulf Pidgin: An expanded analysis‟. http://oak.cats.ohiou.edu/~aw321500. Online sources 2006a. http://BritishExpatDiscussionForum.htm. 2006b. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HagonoyInstitute_Batch92/message/15. 2006c. http://ThePublicSquare.htm. 2006d. http://www.bolanon.com/user.aspx?id=ansell_lin 2008a. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/PREX_BATCH_48/message/375. 2008b. http://www.thedigitalpinoy.org/thread/3/23/285. 2009a. http://www.haydoo.com/forum/showthread.php?p=1314279. 2009b. http://ic4love.multiply.com/journal/item/122/Pusi_Untuk_el......?&show_interstitial=1&u= %Fjournal% 2Fitem#. 2009c. http://missosology.info/forum/viewtopic.php?f=15&t=16815&start=30. 2009d. http://www.tristancafe.com/forum/17904#post_a_comment. 2010a. http://www.bolanon.com/forums_topic_view.aspx?tid=14229&fid=28. 2010b. http://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid. 2010c. http://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?=id=23424855996814&story_fbid=34374529018 458. 2010d. http://www.allthelyrics.com/forum/learning-arabic-language-and-mix-translations/107766miscellaneous -not-lyrics-arabic-english-translations-18.html. 2011a. http://www.allthelyrics.com/forum/learning-arabic-language-and-mix-translations/107766miscellaneous -not-lyrics-arabic-english-translations-18.html. 2011b. http://www.youtube.com/all_comments?v=cz_wuenkPNY&page=1. 2011c. http://ask_fm-HindiBoy.htm. 2012b. http://www.facebook-statistics.com/page/Baden/1054101. 57 Kumar. 2011a. Poem in Omani Pidgin Arabic. http://linguisticsoman.blogspot.com/2011/12/blogpost.html. Kumar. 2011b. Why this h̬alli walli?. http://linguisticsoman.blogspot.com/2011/12/blog-post.html. Mr. Verb. 2002. Poem in Pidgin Arabic. http://www.englishsabla.com/forum/showthread.php?5869-An-artgame/ p3&p=55 196#post55196. 58 POLITENESS IN THE SPOKEN ARABIC OF BAGHDAD A PRAGMATIC APPROACH Gabriel Biţună University of Bucharest Abstract. This paper attempts to carry out an analysis of speech samples recorded in the Spoken Arabic of Baghdad from a pragmatic point of view. The approach takes into consideration, the linguistic behavior manifested in verbal interactions, also known as speech acts. Another point of focus is represented by the elements associated with the cultural tradition, lifestyle and mentalities that predominate in the Baghdadi traditional society, expressed through the use of the various type of linguistic politeness. The theoretical framework revolves around the works of pragmatic researchers, while the transcription system and the dialectological approach is based on Baghdadi Arabic monographs and researches. Keywords: Spoken Arabic of Baghdad, Iraq, pragmatics, Arabic dialectology, linguistic politeness, inter-dialectal code-switching, communicational strategies, speech acts. Objectives This paper attempts to carry out an analysis of speech samples recorded in the Spoken Arabic of Baghdad (SAB , henceforth) from a pragmatic point of view. My approach takes into consideration, besides the linguistic behavior manifested in verbal interactions, the elements associated with the cultural tradition, lifestyle and mentalities that predominate in the Baghdadi traditional society. On account of the fact that every language has its own dialogue building system, with preferences for various communicational strategies, such a system allows the shaping of many intercultural misunderstandings. Whether the strategies are direct or indirect, explicit or implicit, for certain practical manifestations of the fundamental speech acts that depend on the different articulations of value systems (intimacy or distance, spontaneity or carefulness, etc.), misunderstandings are easily generated. The trespassing of the agreed means of dialogue building causes the obstruction of communicational channels. Data corpus In order to establish a data corpus, I have gathered oral texts in SAB through various methods: audio recordings of spontaneous conversations (using a 59 “hidden microphone”) between Baghdadi Arabs, field surveys through which I observed not only the linguistic competence of the speakers, but also their adaptive capacity for diverse situations, that is for the accomplishment of “speech in conformity with the circumstances” (Coseriu, 1994:136). Another source that I used was the Internet and phone conversations with or between people from Baghdad. Theoretical framework Studies on communicational strategies begin and develop within the last thirty years of the 20 th century. With the purpose of outlining a theoretical basis, after studying a series of works, I have chosen the books of: Geoffrey N. Leech (1983), H. Paul Grice (1989), E. Goffman (1967), P. Brown and S. Levinson (1978), Catherine Kerbrat-Orecchioni (1990, 1994, 1996), Liliana IonescuRuxăndoiu (1995), Eugenio Coseriu (1994) and Havertake (1994). As for the transliteration of the Iraqi data, I used a system based on the works of, McCarthy and Raffouli (1964, 1965), Woodhead and Beene (eds., 1967), Grigore (2010) and my own adaptations. Methodology The studies published so far on SAB use a phonological and uniform transcription, i.e. each phoneme of SAB is represented by a symbol, regardless of the possibility of having allophones in the speech act. The first step of my analysis was to make a phonetic transliteration of the conversational sequences as they were uttered (the specification of the precise phonetic realization of the speakers). I then started the analysis of the recordings by taking into account the features of the sender, the receiver and the communicational context (socio-cultural, spatiotemporal and psychological circumstances, etc.). The model taken into consideration in this paper is a fusion of the models suggested by Grice (1989), Leech (1983), Goffman (1967), Brown & Levinson (1978), Kerbrat-Orecchioni (1990, 1994, 1996), and Ruxăndoiu (1995). With regard to politeness as a social rule, there are two aspects set in gear: a positive one (kindness, respecting the need of each individual, enjoying the appreciation of others) and a negative one (respecting the territory of the other, avoiding the prejudice of the interlocutor‟s public image, mutually respecting the need for independence). Through/In this analysis I intend to highlight the cultural determinants of verbal exchange behavior. I also intend to emphasize the role that the verbal behavior holds in the addressing system, in shaping up interpersonal relations, in 60 uttering speech acts and in ritual exchange functions (greetings, conversation starters, etc.). Some remarks on SAB Iraq is located between two rivers, Tigris and Euphrates, in the region that the Greeks named Mesopotamia, which literally means ”between the rivers”. A large part of the country is covered by desert and plains, with the exception of some more fertile lands found in the meadows of the said rivers, the swamps (ahwār) in the south and mountains in the north. There are two main groups in the Iraqi Arabic dialect, that Haim Blanc (1964) has defined as gelet and qeltu, which are 1st person singular forms of the suffixal conjugation of the verb gāl/qāl “to say” (Blanc 1964: 5). Nonetheless, this key-verb appears transliterated as gilit in the works of Raffouli & McCarthy (1964, 1965) and the dictionary of Woodhead & Beene (eds., 1967). According to Jastrow (1978), the qəltu dialects represent the original language of Iraqi cities, with origins as far back as the times of the Abbasid Caliphate (750-1258), while the gələt dialects are much more recent and of Bedouin origin, introduced by the immigrants who had come from the Arabic Peninsula. Jastrow (1978) states that the qəltu dialects are spoken by the Muslims of Northern Iraq and by the Arab Jews and Christians throughout the country, while the gələt dialects are spoken by the majority of the Muslim population in the south. Abu-Haydar (2008:190) mentions that ”the members of the qəltu group talk to each other in the Arabic dialect with other members of the community, but in gələt with the rest, because [...] it is the lingua franca of Iraq”. Positive politeness Positive politeness is productionist in nature: it employs a valorizing speech act, either in the guise of a compliment, a gift or so on. Through a strategic behavior, the sender paves the way for a topic that might become a source of disagreement or even argument, starting the conversation by drawing the attention of the other to a neutral topic. Thus, two Iraqi men, with ages ranging between 25 and 30 years, meet on the street just in front of the house of one of them. The two are cousins (the matter dealt with lies in a traditional endogamous marriage), and one of them wants to find out how much the other has put aside for his wife‟s dowry. Knowing that the money problem might be a delicate matter to discuss, the sender tries to approach his interlocutor using the strategy of disagreement avoidance, by initiating a safe topic, perceived as a way of assert mutual territory before dealing with the main topic. 61 ānī fakkarit hwāye w hassa atruk hāy əš-šaġle wiyyā-l-kāsētāt w-ah}ut}t} mēz ‘ar-ras}īf w-abī‘ ğigāyīr. hādī h~ōš šarwa, aškur ’al}l}a. - bass imnēn tilgā mištiriyya?? - la-th~āf, hāy š-šaġle, ānī a‘ruf-hā zēn. w-inte, ba‘ad da- tištuġul ‘ala bāb ’al}l}a? - ē, ba‘ad, š-asawwi? bass l-iflūs tiği. - inte dakkarit l-iflūs. ma tu’āh~idnī. z}ammēt čām filis ‘ala mūd il-mahar ? - I thought about it a lot and now I‟ll drop the thing with the cassettes and I‟ll lay a table on the sidewalk and sell cigarettes. It is a good deal, thank God. - But where will you find buyers? - Don‟t worry, I know this job very well. How about you, do you still work at God’s gate1? - Yeah! What else could I do? Yet, there‟s money in. - You mentioned the money. Don‟t get me wrong but… have you saved some for the dowry? Avoiding disagreement through a pseudo-agreement. The two interlocutors, father and son (10 years old) discuss about the son‟s next day examination. The father has a tough attitude towards the child, which, according to Goffman, is like a face threatening act (Goffman, 1967:5), in case he flunks the examination. The boy tries to avoid the disagreement that might take place, slipping in another matter that, in its turn, threatens the face of the father, creating a pseudo-agreement situation. - bāčir ba‘ad ma tirsib bi-l-imtih}ān, sima‘it? - ānī t‘allamit wu ddākarit wiyyā ibin ‘ammī, ba‘ad ma arsib, w-al}l}a! bass inte yā bābā, ba‘ad ma tiz}rub ‘allāwī... h~at}īye. - Tomorrow you won‟t be flunking the exam, you hear? - I studied and my cousin and I helped each other to revise, I won‟t flunk it, really! But you, dad, don‟t beat little Ali… it‟s a pity… Another example of pseudo-agreement that I found in a dialogue between a mother and son, which, in exchange for agreeing over eating the food, introduces a demand (i.e. he asks her for a balloon), lowering the total agreement between the two at the rank of pseudo-agreement: - yištuġul ‘ala bāb al}l}a (literally, “he works at God‟s gate”) means „to do anything, randomly, as it was the given circumstance, of the man who sells cigarettes; other Iraqis are used to going at the market and wait there until someone asks them to help with any kind of job that implies mainly physical work. After gathering up a sum of money considered sufficient, they will return home, continuing with this style of work for a period of time that can often last their entire lifetime. 1 62 y-al}l}a y-umma, ukul!, ukuuuul! ākul, bass tištirīn l-ī fadd naffāh~a? Come on, mommy, eat! eaaaaat! I‟ll eat, of course, but will you buy me a balloon? The optimistic attitude, as a way of preventing rejection, is used in the following example by a woman that wishes to spend some time at one of her neighbors‟ place. The process basically consists of presenting a demand directly, without expressing any doubt in regard to its acceptance by the receiver and without elements of constraint attenuation. - az}ill ‘idkum tah}at fayy in-nabga nsōlif, niz}h}ak, w b-il-‘aša, rāh} arğa‘ ‘a-lbēt. - I will stay at your place, at the shadow of the nabga2, we‟ll chat, laugh and, at nightfall, I‟ll get back to my house. Another strategy found in my corpus is the inclusion of both the sender and the receiver in the activity that a phrase refers to, even if the matter concerns only one of the interlocutors. Knowing that the daughter-in-law is not taking care of her son, the mother-in-law talks to her, and shows her, through this strategy, indirectly and allusively, what she should be doing in order to properly take care of her husband. - hūwa čān hwāye yh}ibb yit}la‘ ib-dišdāše bēz}a yiftarr bi-l-madīne ka-lamīr. lāzim niġsil dašādīš-a niz}rub-hā ’ūtī h}attā niftih~ir bī-h lamma yit}la‘ min bāb il-h}ōš - He used to enjoy a lot to go out in his white dishdasha, to take a stroll in the city, like a prince. We must wash his dishdashas, iron them, so we could be proud of him when he goes out the door. ah}san nās (which is rendered ad-litteram by “the best folk”) is a collocation voided of meaning in colloquial speech, due to its frequent use. It is employed as the phrase that immediately follows the answer to the question “where are you from?”. It is used as a positive strategy to the captatio benevolentiae of the receiver, in order to make him/her feel at home, having, basically, the meaning of very well, how good, how lovely. Thus, two Iraqis, meeting each-other in Erbil, are having the same conversation, in which the expression does not have a semantic meaning anymore. - inte mnēn? - min kirkūk. - 2 nabga, nabqa is a shrub with round fruits of dark-violet color, that is used for industrial and medical purposes and it is very often found in Iraq. 63 ’al}l}a, kirkūk, ah}san nās! Where are you from? From Kirkuk. God, Kirkuk, how great! Nonetheless, if an outsider uses this collocation, it will no longer be recognized by the native speaker and it will be taken within its original meaning, because he will not expect the outsider to use it and, therefore, he will not recognize it as employed by the natives. Thus, an Arabic-speaking Romanian, meeting an Iraqi, uses this expression that, to the astonishment of both him and the receiver, causes an entirely different reaction than in the situation presented above. - hūwa mn-il-‘irāq, mū hīči? - ē, min baġdād. - ah}san nās! - mm? ē, ah}sān nās, ya‘nī, eh}na ah}san imn-il-mis}rīyīn, ē, ah}san nās... - He is from Iraq, right? - Yeah, from Baghdad. - How lovely! - Huh? Yeah, the best folk, that is, we are better than the Egyptians, yes… the best folk… - Negative politeness Negative politeness consists of maintaining the distance between interlocutors. Just as Ruxăndoiu states, ” negative politeness takes place between outsiders and insiders or between the insiders of the same community, when there are differences of age, social status, official positions, etc.” (1995:110). There are two distinguished strategies that frequently appear in the recorded corpus: 1. The strategy of the reduction to a minimum of the assumptions regarding the intentions, desires or preferences of the receiver; 2. The strategy of deference towards the receiver (Ruxăndoiu, 1995:110). A type 1 strategy appears in the following dialogue between a young man who temporarily repudiated his wife, and her brother. I should mention here that in the Islamic traditional society, a man can repudiate his wife temporarily by uttering the collocation ’anti t}āliq – “you are free”, after which the wife returns to her parents‟ house. The next step is reconciliation or, in some cases, divorce. From a strategic point of view, the husband has to renegotiate the marriage 64 contract with the girls‟ family, to determine who made the mistake and why the situation ended up in the way it did. If the collocation is uttered three times: ‟anti t}āliq t}āliq t}āliq, the divorce becomes permanent. Due to the fact that the brother has a great say in the family matters regarding the reconciliation between the two parties and the recommencement of the relationship, the young man will speak with him with an entirely unusual deal of respect considering they are about the same age and, much more than this, first cousins (I have to add that in the traditional society that I am analyzing, endogamous marriages (i.e. marriages within the same family) are much more frequent than exogamous matrimony (i.e. outside the family or between people who are not related). Therefore, the young man finds his brother-in-law in front of his house and he has the following conversation with him: - is-salāmu ‘alē-kum. - w ‘alē-kum. - ’al}l}a ysā‘id-ak. s}ār zamān ma šift-ak. šlōn-ak, yā aġāt-ī. - zēn - ... - bilā zah}ma ‘alē-k. tismah} l-ī ašrab išwāyya m}ayy imn-il-wāterkūler mālkum? - ē... itfaz}z}al - Peace be upon you!3 - You too.4 - God help you!5 It‟s been a long time since I saw you. How are you, kind sir?6 - Fine. - ...if it‟s not too much trouble, can I have a sip of water from your water cooler? - Yes... have a go... The first strategy employed in this instance is one of great negative politeness, intended to gain the benevolence of an unanticipated respect. Subsequently, the second type of strategy is used in the second part of the 3 is-salāmu ‘alē-kum, Islamic traditional greeting showing great respect. w ‘alē-kum. The greeting is truncated, which evidently reveals his annoyance. Normally, the answer would be w ‘alē-kum is-salām. 5 ’al}l}a ysā‘id-ak – Collocation implying great respect. 6 aġā – Ottoman nobiliary title, employed here as a sign of great respect. 4 65 conversation. In order to make his way into his in-laws‟ yard, he asks for something that cannot be refused in the Arab society according to the law of the desert: water. Another example is taken from a conversation between a passer-by and the watchman of an orchard. - yā ‘amm-ī, min ruh~us}t-ak, tint}ī-nī fadd sindīya al}l}a yint}ī-k aktar. man ‘āt}ā fa-li-nafsi-hi. - Hey, uncle, excuse me, can you give me a grapefruit, „cause God will give you more. Those who give, get! (lit. Whoever gives, it will be for himself) To gain the benevolence of the other, the sender introduces in his speech a phrase from the Qur‟ānic Arabic, the Arabic with the highest level of prestige, wanting to communicate two things thereby: a. that he is a Muslim, just like the watchman of the orchard. Thus he places the conversation on top of an unreserved spirit of mutual solidarity; b. that the watchman is so learned, that he would understand this elevated form of Arabic (trying to elevate his status and to save his face). Similarly, there is another example of the same usage of an elevated level of language that appears under the form of a request, preceded by a directive sentence: - rūh} li-d-dukkān w-štirī fadd kīlō lah}am matrūm. ānī, y-umma, lam, la, wa lan at}lub min-ka ġayra hāda š-šī. - Go to the store and buy a kilo of minced meat. I, mommy, did not, do not and will not ask you for anything besides this. Therefore, the mother, who is illiterate, unexpectedly uses, in front of her son, a sequence from literary Arabic (lam, la, lan – which are the verb negation particles for the various aspects in literary Arabic) , wanting to underline the gravity of her promise. Another negative strategy is the formal, negative addressing, caused by the presence of an outsider taking part in the conversation. Thus, the natives, fearing that the outsider would not understand their Arabic variety, use another level of language (one or two collocations from the literary Arabic or a dialect that they consider to be more prestigious than theirs). This is the point where inter-dialectal code-switching occurs. 66 Inter-dialectal code-switching Starting with the 60‟s, the Egyptian dialect (Cairene 7) has had a great influence in the Arabic world, because of Gamal Abdel Naser, the second president of Egypt. He was considered the savior of the country from the reign of the last king of the Muhammad Ali dynasty, Faruk the 1 st of Egypt. The influence of this dialect occurs on many levels: - In music: the musical mainstream in the entire Arabic world was and still is marked by the songs of singers Abdelhalim Hafez, Leyla Murad, Umm Kulthum, Asmahan, etc. - In the film industry: feature films and TV-shows produced in Egypt were and still are aired in the entire Arab world, Egypt being the second film producing country in the world, after India. I have noticed that, in some isolated areas of Iraq, the population knows more words from the Egyptian dialect than the Baghdadi dialect, as it appears in the example below, when the speaker, born in southern Iraq, tries to offer to a non-Iraqi person some directions on the street: - hāy il-‘unwān [il]lī-nte tis’al ‘an-a, ānī ma a‘ruf-a. ma a’darš a’ull-ak da fēn. trīd as’al l-ak in-nās? - This address, that you speak of, I don‟t know it. I can‟t tell you where it is. Do you want me to ask somebody else? The sender, in this case, addresses the non-Iraqi person without knowing whether he was an Egyptian or not. Nonetheless, the Iraqi speaker integrates in his message a sequence of Egyptian Arabic, because of the prestige of this language, so that he would make sure he is understood. Another strategy is the one of code-switching with another dialect, the one spoken by the receivers, for gaining their benevolence. However, the shifts are merely superficial and, in spite of the sender‟s effort, only some sounds are shifted, the rest remaining in Iraqi (the shifts are often made through a compelled progression that leads to the insertion of sounds from another dialect in order to generate words that wouldn‟t even have the phonetic constitution of the said dialect). - ānī ba‘ad ma arūh} hnāke. ma ma‘’ūl yah}kūn hēk. ānī ma sawwēt šī. lēš hēk yits}arrafūn? 7 I have to point out that any dialect from an Arab country has its own internal variations. That is why Cairene dialect is much more restrictive and representative than Egyptian dialect, the latter representing a larger range of phonetic and even syntactic and morphologic variations, depending on the Egyptian area where it is spoken (in the south, for example, there is a dialect close to the one it neighbors geographically, that is a variety of the Sudanese Arab dialect). 67 I‟m not going there anymore. It‟s not fair to talk like that. I haven‟t done anything. Why are they acting like this? The voiceless velar stop /k/, in certain positions in SAB, shifts into the voiceless affricate /č/. In that SAB sequence, the shift would have occurred following this process (hīči instead of hēk). However, by simply shifting the affricate /č/ into the velar /k/, the speaker is under the impression that he uses the Syrian Arabic variety. The second type, the strategy of deference, implies: - The use of collocations in the vocative case, like “my aunt” (form of address to a much older woman) – h~ālt-ī, “my uncle” – ‘amm-ī, etc. - The use of politeness deixis – of the type h}az}rat-ak (with the variation for addressing a female person, h}az}rat-ič) – literally meaning “your grace”; siyātt-ak (with the variation for addressing a female person, siyatt-ič) – literally meaning “your lordship”, ğanāb-ak (ğanāb-kum for addressing many persons) meaning “mister”, etc. - Exaggerated politeness. For example, the following situation presents two neighbors that are building a fence between their yards. Although, normally, they would address each other inta – “you”, while dealing with the matter of the fence, one of them resorts to a politeness strategy, by addressing the other with siyātt-ak – “your lordship”, to give him a greater importance and, subsequently, make him build a longer part of the fence. - zēn, ānī asawwi s-siyāğ minnā li-ġādī, bass asawwi fadd siyāğ ma yinhidim mīt sane, w-al}l}a! siyātt-ak tkammil il-bāgī mū hīči? - I‟ll build the fence from here to over there. But I‟ll build one that won‟t fall in a hundred years, by God! Your lordship will finish the rest, won‟t you? Belonging to the same type of strategy is the inclusion of the sender himself in the inconvenience – the assumed state in which the receiver finds himself: - ōf, lēš inti ddīrīn wuččəč kull-ma nitlāgā? lēš ih}na za‘lānīn? - oh, why do you turn your face away every time we meet? why are we angry? - ya abū ‘abbās, il-h}amdill}a ‘a- s-salāme... činna msāfirīn, mm? - hey, Abu Abbas, welcome 8... we‟ve been away, huh? The mitigation of the impact by using the plural instead of the singular for the first person: - 8i l-h}amdill}a ‘a- s-salāme, lit. praise to God for the peace. 68 - h}abbēna-nmurr ‘alēk h}atta - no‘ruf ah~bārak, umūrak, šu’ūnak. ah~bārak māku, ingat}a‘at min zamān. We wanted to pass by your place, so we could know how you are: the news, your business, your stuff. We haven‟t gotten news from you, they cut off a long time ago. Conclusions With the help of the conceptual framework chosen from the pragmatics and linguistics, as well as Arabic dialectology works that I have used on the data corpus, we could say that there is a tendency of keeping the negative face in the Baghdadi community, its members being rather defensive than offensive. Throughout the corpus, we could notice that the Iraqi person tries to defend their negative face. However, even if at a lower extent, we can also find the positive face, it is tested and tried, at times, to the limits. The diminishing of the impact by using the plural instead of the singular for the first person is also a modality of expressing positive politeness. Generally, through the politeness strategies, strictly from the point of view of relations between men, various strategies are employed and, generally, the one of retreat or backing down is much more present, because ending up in a conflict in a society like the Iraqi one may give room, sometimes, for/to tragic consequences. In the moment that mo yh~ālif becomes h~ālaf (the conveniences have been trespassed), conflict automatically bursts out. Several communicational strategies have been noticed, using appellatives, deixis, inter-dialectal code-switching and a great number of negative and positive politeness forms. Bibliography Blanc, Haim. 1964. Communal Dialects in Baghdad. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Brown, P., Levinson S. C., [1978] 1987. Politeness. Some universals in language usage, Cambridge University Press. Coseriu, Eugenio. 1994. Socio- şi etnolingvistica. Bazele şi sarcinile lor, în Lingvistică din perspectivă spaţială şi antropologică. Trei studii, with a foreword by Silviu Berejan and an editorial point of view by Stelian Dumistrăcel, Chişinău. Goffman, E. 1967. Interaction Ritual : essais on face to face behavior. Chicago: Aldine Pub. Co. Grice, Paul. 1989. Studies in the Way of Words. Cambridge Massachusetts, London: Harvard University Press. Grigore, George. 2012. Space deixis in Spoken Arabic of Baghdad, in “Arabic Studies – aspects of research”. Bergen. Grigore, George. 2010. „Les verbes à racines quadriconsonantiques dans l‟arabe parlé à Bagdad”, in Analele Universităţii Bucureşti – Limbi şi literaturi străine. Year LIX. Bucharest: Editura Universităţii din Bucureşti.: 55-64. 69 Haverkate, Henk. 1994. La cortesía verbal. Estudio pragmalingüístico. Madrid: Gredos. Ionescu-Ruxăndoiu, Liliana. 1995. Conversaţia. Structuri şi strategii, Bucharest: ALL. Ionescu-Ruxăndoiu, Liliana. 2003. Limbaj şi comunicare. Bucharest: ALL. Jastrow, Otto. 1978. Die mesopotamisch-arabischen qəltu-Dialecte. vol. 1. Phonologie und Morphologie. Wiesbaden: Steiner. Jastrow, Otto. 1980. “Das Mesopotamische Arabisch”, in Handbuch der arabischen Dialekte (eds: Wolfdietrich Fischer et Otto Jastrow). Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Jastrow, Otto. 1981. Die mesopotamisch-arabischen qəltu-Dialekte. vol. 2. Volkskundliche Texte in elf Dialekten. Stuttgart : Franz Steiner. Jastrow, Otto. 1994. “The qəltu dialects of Mesopotamian Arabic”, in Actas del Congreso Internacional sobre interferencias lingüisticas arobo-romances y paralelos extra-iberos, 119-123. Zarogosa: Navarro. Kerbrat-Orecchioni, Katherine. 1990, 1994 : Les interactions verbales, tome I-III. Paris: Armand Colin. Kerbrat-Orecchioni, Katherine. 1996. La conversation. Paris: Seuil. Leech, Geoffrey. 1983. Principles of pragmatics. London, New York: Longman. McCarthy, Joseph; Raffouli, Faraj. 1964. Spoken Arabic of Baghdad. Beirut: Librairie Orientale. McCarthy, Joseph; Raffouli, Faraj. 1965. Spoken Arabic of Baghdad. Part two (A) – Anthology of Texts. Beirut: Librairie Orientale. Woodhead, D.R.; Beene, Wayne (eds.). 1967. A Dictionary of Iraqi Arabic. Arabic-English. Washington D.C.: Georgetown University Press. 70 LIMITATIONS OF AUTOMATIC TRANSLATIONS: GOOGLE TRANSLATE Andra Ramona Dodiţă University of Bucharest Abstract. The reason that justifies this study and article is the spreading and the promotion of a considerable amount of inaccurate translations from Arabic into Romanian made by a marketleading software (due to the amount of languages for which it provides translations and the number of users) that is only a click away from the homepage of the most used search engine in the world – Google Search. This article comprises the highlights of a eight months study I‟ve conducted and throughout which I‟ve tested the degree of accurateness of translations from Arabic into Romanian performed by Google Translate. Key words: Google Translate, statistical machine translation, Arabic, Romanian, English, language, morphosyntax. Just like almost any Internet user, one day, I found myself using the wonder translation software, Google Translate. In my case, I accessed Google Translate out of curiosity, and why not, hoping for a reasonable solution to my problem at that moment – a sentence I had to first understand and then translate from Arabic into Romanian. After minutes and minutes of browsing through all the dictionaries I had at home and after considering all the translation possibilities, I still had no idea even what the topic of the sentence was. And then it came to me: “Why don‟t I use this oh-so-famous translation software everybody uses, Google Translate? Maybe I can get at least a hint, to start with, that‟ll help me understand my sentence.” As expected or not, the translation provided by Google Translate made me feel even more puzzled than I was before accessing it. From that moment on, whenever I found a more difficult sentence or a more challenging piece of text that would require quite some time and effort to understand and translate, I would try translate it with Google Translate and see how it came up. Since most of the translations turned out to be a disaster, I wondered whether easier sentences would benefit from a more accurate translation. By challenging Google Translate to deal with more accessible pieces of text, I noticed not only that the program cannot translate more difficult sentences, but it would also fail with simple, basic sentences. 71 Following the above mentioned strategy, I‟ve conducted an 8 months study (October 2010-May 2011) throughout which I‟ve tested the degree of accurateness of translations from Arabic into Romanian performed by Google Translate. I used hundreds of pieces of text varying from easy to average which, along with the detailed explanation of the translation errors at all the levels (morphosyntactic, lexical and syntactic), will not appear in this article given the nature of this publication, ergo this article will only comprise the highlights of the study I performed. As for why I have not used difficult texts as well, the software developers say, Arabic is a very challenging language to translate to and from: it requires longdistance reordering of words and has a very rich morphology. Our system works better for some types of text (e.g. news) than for others (e.g. novels) – and you probably you should not try to translate poetry… (Och, 2011) Yet, the criteria I used in evaluating the accuracy of the translations made by the program are the following: The would-be interpreter must have a perfect grasp of the „sense of spirit‟ of his author. He must possess knowledge in depth of the language of the original as well as of his own tongue. He ought (…) be faithful to the meaning of the sentence, not to the word order. (…) Our translator will aim for a version in plain speech. He will avoid the importation of neologisms, rare terms, and esoteric flourishes of syntax (…) The final rule applies to all good writing: the translator must achieve harmonious cadences (nombres ratories), he must compose in a sweet and even style so as to ravish the reader‟s ear and intellect. (Steiner, 2001:302). According to various online sources based on different surveys, Google Search is, by far, the most used search engine all across the globe. Regardless of the country one accesses Google Search from, there are several buttons (links) at the top of its homepage, among which you will also find Google Translate. The main reason that justifies this study and article is the spreading and the promotion of a considerable amount of inaccurate translations from Arabic into Romanian made by a market-leading software (due to the amount of languages for which it provides translations and the number of users) that is only a click away from the homepage of the most used search engine in the world – Google Search. At the same time, before proceeding, it is necessary for me to mention that this work does not intend to criticize or minimize the efforts of the program and its developers, and this is why I haven‟t used any text that would be particularly difficult even for a human translator. For a better understanding of the study it is essential to know how the Google Translate software works. When Google Translate started, it would only 72 translate from English into French, German and Spanish, and from French, German and Spanish into English. Arabic was only added later, in the 5 th stage (launched in 2006), while Romanian, along with other languages, was added in the 10th stage (launched in 2008). At this state, translations could be done between any two languages, going through English. Since any translation from Arabic into Romanian is made through English, that means that any mistake that appears at the level of translation from Arabic into English will, unless by accident, also appear, if not actually worsen, in the translation from English into Romanian. The history of machine translation actually goes back over 60 years, almost immediately after the first computers had been used to break encryption codes in the Second World War, as foreign languages were seen, in fact, as encrypted English. In the „70s the foundations for the first commercial systems were laid, and ever since, with the appearance of personal computers and with the users‟ need to benefit from translation tools, the field of machine translation kept growing. (Koehn, 2010:4) But as time passed, people realized how complex, how active languages are in the process of enrichment, and especially how difficult it is to teach a computer all the rules of a language. This lead to innovating the field of machine translation by creating statistical machine translation methods, which don‟t imply teaching the computer anything, as the computer is left to discover the rules by itself. According to the official Google Translate website, Google Translate is a free translation service that provides instant translations between 64 different languages. It can translate words, sentences and web pages between any combination of our supported languages. With Google Translate, we hope to make information universally accessible and useful, regardless of the language in which it‟s written. (Google Translate, 2012) As for how it works, the developers explain how Google Translate generates a translation after looking for patterns in hundreds of millions of document to help decide on the best translation for you. By detecting patterns in documents that have already been translated by human translators, Google Translate can make intelligent guesses as to what an appropriate translation should be. This process of seeking patterns in large amounts of text is called statistical machine translation. (Google Translate, 2012) These texts come from books, organizations like the United Nations and websites all around the world. (Google Translate, 2012) Our computers scan these texts looking for statistically significant patters, that is, patterns between the translation and the original text that are unlikely to occur by 73 chance. Once the computer finds a pattern, it can use this pattern to translate similar texts in the future. When you repeat this process billions of times you end up with billions of patterns and one very smart computer program. (Google Translate, 2010) The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency1 did a study on machine translation in relation with human translation and the processing of spoken languages. The authors of the study certify that even tough computational capabilities of machines exceed those of humans in many ways, even the most advanced of today‟s computers cannot compare with the language ability that humans acquire naturally, since for translating and extracting the information conveyed through language “humans take advantage of a variety of cognitive abilities that no computer can currently emulate.” (Olive, 2011: vii) The linguists working for DARPA state that text input can be problematic mainly due to the lack of orthographic representation. While Chinese does not indicate word boundaries orthographically, Arabic does that, but it often does not include explicit vowel marking, thus creating ambiguities, since it can be uncertain which vowels were intended. (Olive, 2011:viii) The Arabic alphabet includes twenty eight letters that mark consonants and long vowels. (Grigore, 2006:9) As for the short vowels, all three of them, “a”, “i” and “u”, are graphically represented through signs placed above or under the consonants, and can be only found in books for children, holy books, especially the Qur'ān (Grigore, 2006:9), some poems, in order to avoid reading errors. In regular texts, short vowels only appear in order to avoid confusions between words that have the same consonant radical, but that are different once vocalized. (Grigore, 2006: 10) Vowels don‟t only influence the meaning of a word, but also the syntactic function, as vowels carry grammatical case information. (Olive, 2011: 537) Statistical machine translation is corpus based, that is, it learns from examples of translations called bilingual/parallel corpora. The program does that by aligning source and target sides of parallel texts. (Habash, 2010: 119) By doing this, the program learns in an unsupervised manner what pairs of words in the paired sentences are translations of each other. (Olive, 2011: 133) The world alignments are used to learn translation models that relate words and sequences of words in the source language to those in the target language. At the same time, when translating a source language sentence, a statistical decoder combines the information in the translation model with a language model of the target language 1 DARPA is an agency of the United States Department of Defense and it is responsible for the development of new technologies for use by the military. 74 to produce a ranked list of optimal sentences in the target language. (Habash, 2010: 119) Besides pairs of words (source language word – target language word), translation models also include various additional statistics reflecting the likelihood of a certain translation pair to appear. (Olive, 2011: 134) When it comes strictly to Arabic, the real challenge for the statistical translation method is nothing else but the morphological complexity of the language, that consist of a large set of morphological features. “These features are realized using both concatenative (affixes and stems), on the pattern [CONJUNCTION+[PARTICLE+[ARTICLE+BASE+PRONOUN]]] and templatic (root and patterns) morphology with a variety of morphological and phonological adjustments that appear in word orthography and interact with orthographic variations.” (Olive, 2011: 135) The main concern gravitates around the clitics, that are distinct from inflectional features such as gender, person and voice. The clitics are written attached to the word, and thus, increase its ambiguity. (Olive, 2011:136) Going back to the pattern listed above, the base can have attached either proclitics (such as the definite article “al”, prepositions such as “bi-“ and “li-“, functional particles such as “sa-“, conjunctions such as “wa-“ and “fa-“), or enclitics (affix pronouns). The base can have a definite article or a member of the class of pronominal enclitics. Pronominal enclitics can attach to nouns (as possessives) or verbs and prepositions (as objects). The definite article doesn‟t apply to verbs or prepositions. The definite article and pronouns don‟t coexist on nouns. Particles can attach to all words. (Olive, 2011: 136) Of course that in order to obtain proper words to work with – base words – the program must remove all the clitics. But getting to the base words can be quite a difficult thing to do since what the program might select as a particle, for example the preposition “bi-“ [with], might actually be the first consonant of the pattern. So it is either the program does not properly identify the clitics and ends up not removing them, or the program removes more than the clitics, which adds ambiguity “and requires higher accuracy of preprocessing tools which, when failed, introduce errors and noise”. (Olive, 2011: 137) For a given parallel text, the Arabic vocabulary size is significantly larger than the English one. In the parallel news corpora used in the experiments described by Olive, the average English sentence length is 33 words compared to 25 words on the Arabic side. The larger Arabic vocabulary is causing problems in scarcity and variability in estimating translation models, since Arabic words do not appear as often in the training data as their English counterparts, and this is a 75 problem when using the statistical machine translation method on language pairs with significant vocabulary size difference. “If a language F has a larger vocabulary than a language E, problems in analysis dominate when translating from F into E (due to a relatively larger number of out-of-vocabulary words in the input) whereas, generation problems dominate when translating from E into F).” (Olive, 2011: 137) Arabic is such a morphologically rich language since its open-class words consist of a consonantal root interspersed with different vowel patterns, plus various derivational affixes and particles. A given root form can lead to thousand of different word forms, which may present a problem for language modeling and vocabulary selection. (Olive, 2011: 522) Also, one must not forget that some patterns resemble others, regardless of the fact that the consonant root is different. In the above mentioned situations only the context can help decide for one pattern (word form) or another. The most problematic levels for Google Translate when it comes to translating from Arabic into Romanian are, by far, the lexical and the syntactical one. On the morphosyntactic level, in order to translate, one must discover the linguistically relevant features of both the source and the target languages. The selection of these features can be different in the meaning that what might be relevant for the source language might be irrelevant for the target language and vice versa. In this case, the translator must determine which of the inherent features of the morphosyntactic units in the source language are also relevant for the target language. (Cristea, 2007: 30) For example, if number and definiteness should be reflected in the target language (Romanian) just as they appear in the source language (Arabic), when it comes to case, it is the translator – in this particular case the program – who first has to correctly identify the cases in the source sentence (in the source language) in order to understand the relations between the words in the sentence, then he has to know how to correctly use the cases in the target language so he would finally come with a correct translation. Since short vowels are, most of the time, not marked in Arabic, and since case only reflects in the final vocalization of nouns, adjectives and pronouns, Google Translate is prone to misunderstanding the relations between the words in a sentence, no matter how rich in hints the sentence or the piece of text is. If the relations between the words of the source sentence are not preserved as such in the target sentence the general meaning of the sentence is affected. The most common mistake Google Translate does in this respect is the switching of the subject with the direct object and vice versa. 76 Gender is an inherent feature for nouns, but only overtly appears in adjectives that agree with nouns. Both Arabic and Romanian work with flectional adjectives, while in English adjectives are invariable, as seen below. waladun ğamīlun bintun ğamīlatun beautiful boy beautiful girl băiat frumos fată frumoasă 'awlādun ğamīlūna banātun ğamīlātun beautiful boys beautiful girls băieţi frumoşi fete frumoase Since Google Translate has to go through English when translating from Arabic intro Romanian, the program actually has to start from a variable adjective (Arabic), go through an invariable one and case with the determined noun. Here is where Google Translate fails most of the time, since no agreement criterion is a good enough argument in front of the statistical method. As for the number, English and Romanian deal only with singulars and plurals, while Arabic also has duals for nouns, adjectives, pronouns and verbs. Most of the times, Google Translate translates duals as singulars, and sometimes also as plurals. The real challenge appears when adding an affix pronoun to either a dual noun or a dual verb, in which case the software fails most of the time by not translating these forms and actually rendering them using the Latin alphabet, first letter capitalized – as if it were a proper noun. The same goes for prepositions added to dual nouns. 1) qaddamat lī fāt{ima tufāh{atan min tufāh{atayhā. [Fatima gave me one of her two apples.] Fatima gave me an apple from Tvahtiha. Fatima mi-a dat un măr de la Tvahtiha. 2) ta„āraka s{-s{adīqāni bi-sababi mra'atin 'ah{abbāhā kilāhumā. [The two friends quarreled because of a woman they both loved.] The two friends quarreled because of a woman Ohbaha both. Cei doi prieteni certat din cauza unei femei Ohbaha ambele. Google Translate doesn‟t deal so much better with personal and relative pronouns either. First, I must mention that both Arabic and Romanian are prodrop languages, instead English is not a pro-drop language. While in both Arabic and Romanian the person of the subject is overt in the form of the predicate, so it can be omitted, in English the overt subject is compulsory. So if Google Translate is given to translate a sentence that does not have an overt subject in Arabic, he will sometimes translate it in English as such, which is incorrect. 77 katabtu r-risālata bi-„ibrin 'ah{mara. [I wrote the letter with red ink.] * Wrote the letter red ink. scris scrisoarea cerneală roşie. When a relative clause in Arabic and Romanian refers back to a noun or noun phrase in the main clause which is the object of a verb or a preposition (e.g. “the book that I read”), a substitute pronoun, resumptive pronoun, must be inserted in the relative clause to serve as the object of the verb or preposition, referring back to the object noun in the main phrase (e.g. “al-kitābu lladī qara'tuhu”, “cartea pe care am citit-o”, “the book that I read [it]”). In English, resumptive pronouns are not used in shallow relative clauses, but are required in certain more deeply embedded clauses. With resumptive pronouns, Google Translate actually has to go from pronoun, in the Arabic sentence, through no pronoun, in the intermediate English translation, to pronoun, the final Romanian translation, which most of the times ends up with incomplete and incorrect sentences. As for the relative pronoun, if its presence in Romanian and English (with some exceptions) is always compulsory, in Arabic, relative pronouns can appear or not: definite clauses are introduced by a relative pronoun, while indefinite relative clauses do not include a relative pronoun. Whenever Google Translates has to translate an indefinite relative clause it actually needs to bring the relative pronoun “to light” so it ends up overt in both English and Romanian, which most of the times doesn‟t happen. Personal pronouns determine the appearance of a very interesting yet constant phenomenon when they are subjects in equational sentences, that is Google Translate perceives and translates the pronoun as the verb “to be”, leaving, in most cases, the subject position empty, which is incorrect in English. 4) hum 'ad{„afu mimmā tatas{awwaru. [They are weaker than you think.] * Are weaker than you think. Sunt mai slabe decât crezi. As expected, if the subject is a noun, the verb “to be” is barely ever “brought to light” in the English and Romanian translations. Some Google Translate users wouldn‟t be so picky as to consider some of the aspects mentioned above, but instead they just expect translations that can provide them some hints about the text they are trying to read. By hints I mean correct translations of the verbs, of some key words and some (meaningful) connections between these key words. 3) 78 Google Translate is quite inconstant when it comes to verbs. Some of them just get lost in the process of translation till actually vanishing, as for those which do benefit from a translation, some VIth form reflexive verbs lose their reflexive meaning, some passive verbs are translated in the active voice (regardless of the presence of the logical subject introduced by “min qibali”, “by”), some affirmative verbs end up preceded by “doesn‟t”/ “nu”, while some verbs really don‟t follow the sequence of tenses. As for the lexical level, this is where things get spectacular when Google Translate attempts a balanced translation. By far, the biggest challenge for the software is choosing the right meaning for a certain context. Besides very few cases in which a word from a language has an exact equivalent in another language (e.g. technical terms), the rest fall under the category of divergent polysemy. Not only are there words in Arabic coming from the same consonant root that have more than one meaning, but there are also words whose consonant radical look the same, but they are built from a different consonant root and on a different pattern. m_n_h{_lun manh{alun munh{allun Consonantic root n, h{, l h{, l, l un Pattern maf„al munfa„lun Meaning apiary dissolved Once again, Google Translate uses not logics, but the statistical method, so no matter how many hints that should help the program decide which meaning to pick, it will choose the most used meaning (in certain word combinations). 5) al-manh{alu baytu n-nah{li. [The apiary is the bees‟ house.] The dissolved house of bees. This example above also explains why the program chose “cream” instead of “kind”, “excitat” (“sexually aroused”, “horny”) instead of “confecţionat din corn” (“horny”), Perotty (Argentinian football player) instead of “from Beirut”, Gedda (probably the city in Saudi Arabia) instead of “grandmother”, so on and so forth. Sometimes, Google Translate does not translate some words at all, sometimes it improvises on its own, it inserts words randomly: s{-s{adīqatayni l-qadīmatayni llatayni kānatā tattahimāni ba„ad{uhā l-ba„ad{a. [Angry voices rose from the fight that took place between the two old (female) friends who accused one another.] 79 Voices of anger Almarkp that took place between the two friendly countries ancient were accusing each other. Voci din Almarkp furie care a avut loc între cele două ţări prietene vechi acuzandu-se reciproc. versus 7) ta„ālat 'as{wātu l-ġadabi mina l-ma„ārakati llatī ğarat bayna s{-s{adīqatayni l-qadīmatayni lladayni kānā yattahimāni ba„ad{uhu l-ba„ad{a. [Angry voices rose from the fight that took place between the two old (male) friends who accused one another.] Voices of anger Almarkp that took place between the two friends who were old foes accuse each other. Voci din Almarkp furie care a avut loc între doi prieteni care au fost dusmani vechi se acuză reciproc. Sometimes, Google Translate also makes suggestions: 8) mawqifu r-ra'īsi l-'amrīkiyyi 'izā'a t-tawrati l-mis{riyyati mutīrun li-l-ğadali. [The American president‟s position on the Egyptian Revolution is controversial.] The position of the American President at the Egyptian revolution is controversial. Poziţia preşedintelui american la revoluţia egiptean este controversată. Did you mean: mawqifu r-ra'īsi l-'amrīkiyyi 'izā'a t-tawrati s-sūriyyati mutīrun li-l-ğadali. [The American president‟s position on the Syrian Revolution is controversial.] The position of President at the American Revolution Syria is controversial. Poziţia de preşedinte la Revolutiei Americane Siria este controversată. Word order is, as well, a problematic field for Google Translate, as the following examples show: 9) naz{z{ārātu l-mudīri hiya kabīratun. [The director‟s glasses are big.] Sunglasses are a great Director. Ochelari de soare sunt un mare director. 10) ğaddatu Muh{ammad hiya „ağūzun lat{īfatun. [Muhammad‟s grandmother is a gentle old woman.] Jeddah, Mohammed is a nice man. Jeddah, Mohammed este un om frumos. 11) dammara rağulāni qawyyāni sayyārata s{adīqī. [Two strong men destroyed the car of my friend.] Two men destroyed the powerful car my friend. 80 Doi bărbaţi a distrus maşina puternică a fratelui meu. The purpose of this article was to shortly highlight the flaws in the translations made by the statistical machine translation, Google Translate, and also to raise awareness over its limits, given the fact that Google Search is the most used search engine worldwide and that Google Translate is one click away from its homepage, and even more because, since it is a free service, more and more websites, blogs, governmental websites have started and will start using it. For sure that Google Translate proves itself useful for many Internet users, especially for those who only need it for basic activities, but for those who actually expect a medium to a high level translation, Google Translate can be, at most, a helpful tool when it comes to understanding the main idea of a text and why not, a good source of laughter. Bibliography Cristea, Teodora. 2007. Stratégies de la traduction. Bucharest: Fundaţia România de Mâine. Grigore, George. 2006. Limba arabă – pronunţie şi scriere. Bucharest: Fundaţia România de Mâine. Habash, Nizar. 2010. Introduction to Arabic natural language processing. Princeton: Morgan & Claypool. Koehn, Philipp. 2010. Statistical machine translation. New York: Cambridge. Olive, Christianson & McCary. 2011. Handbook of natural language processing and machine translation. DARPA global autonomous language exploitation. New York: Springer. Steiner, George. 2001. After Babel, Aspects of Language and Translation. Shanghai: Shanghai Foreign Language Education Press. Online sources Och, Franz. 2011. Statistical machine translation live. http://googleresearch.blogspot.com/2006/04/statistical-machine-translation-live.html (4. 01. 2011). Google Translate. 2010. Inside Google Translate. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rq1dow1vTHY (4. 01. 2011). Google Translate. 2012. Find out how our translations are created. http://translate.google.com/about/intl/ro_ALL/ (6. 10. 2012) 81 82 CLASSIFICATION OF THE INDEPENDENT PERSONAL PRONOUN IN THE QUR’ĀN Yehudit Dror University of Haifa Abstract. The independent personal pronoun or, in Arabic, aḍ-ḍamīr al-munfaṣil, appears in verbal sentences and in nominal sentences, where it functions as the grammatical subject of the sentence or as pronominal copula. This paper presents the pragmatic function of the independent personal pronoun in the Qur‘ān. It reexamines and clarifies some pragmatic functions that have been widely discussed in the research literature, as (for example) the most prominent function – which is emphasis. The research literature gives some examples for this function; however, this paper presents all cases in which the independent personal pronoun has this function by referring to the context of the sentence and to its syntactical structure. Additionally, it provides new functions of the pronoun, such as expressing contrast or identifying an interruption of sequence. Keywords: independent personal pronoun, pleonastic pronoun, emphasis, copula. 1. Introduction The grammatical description of Arabic presents two kinds of personal pronoun. The personal pronoun is either separate (munfaṣil), i.e., independent personal pronoun which stands by itself in the sentence, or it can be connected (muttaṣil) to a verb or a noun. This article discusses the following independent personal pronouns that are found in the Qur‘ān: First-person singular First-person plural Second-person singular masculine Second-person singular feminine Second- person plural Second- person dual Third-person singular masculine Third-person singular feminine Third-person plural feminine Third-person plural masculine Third-person dual ‘anā naḥnu ‘anta — (‘anti does not appear) ‘antum ‘antumā huwa hiya hunna hum — (does not appear) 83 1.1 The independent personal pronoun according to the Arab grammarians In their discussion of the pronouns, the Arab grammarians start with the distinction between separate pronoun and connected pronoun and explain that the separate pronoun can be divided into two categories. The first is nominative pronoun (al-muḍmar al-marfū‘), as for example: naḥnu, ‟antum. These pronouns can function as the subject (mubtada‟), as in huwa qā‟imun ―he stands‖ or huwa māta ―he died‖ (Ibn Ğinnī 1976:40–41).1 According to Sībawayhi (1999/2:370– 371), the independent personal pronoun that precedes the verb, as in ‟anā fa„altu ―I did‖ or ‟antumā fa„altumā ―both of you did‖, does not take the place of the suffixed pronouns of the verb: lā yaqa„u ((‟anā)) fī mawḍi„ at-tā‟ llatī fī ((fa„altu) ―the independent personal pronoun does not replace the suffix –tu in the verb fa„altu, because it is impossible to say fa„ala „anā.‖ The second category is the accusative pronoun (al-muḍmar al-manṣūb), ‟iyyā, e.g. ‟iyyāka na„budu (Q 1:5) ―thee only we serve.‖ In this case, the accusative suffix ka which refers to Allah, precedes its regens („āmil); therefore it must be separate from its regent by the separate pronoun ‟iyya (Ibn Ğinnī 1976:40–41).2 Regarding the use of the independent personal pronoun, Sībawayhi (1999/23:372) says that it does not occur wherever the suffixed pronoun can be used, as in kayfa ‟anta? ―How are you‖ naḥnu wa-„antum ḏāhibūna ―we and you are going‖ or fīhā ‟antum ―you are in it‖. In the last sentence, for example, Sībawayhi explains it as follows: wa-taqūlu ((fīhā ‟antum)) li-‟annaka lā tuqaddiru „alā at-tā‟ wa-l-mīmi llatī fī ((fa„altum)) hāhunā. ―You (can) say ‗you are in it‘ because in this case you do not assume (or imagine) that -tum in ‟antum corresponds with the verb suffix -tum in fa„altum.‖ Ibn Ya‗īš (n.y/3: 108-109) explains that an independent personal pronoun must be used in order to prevent obscurity in adjectives or participles – e.g., ḍārib ‗hits‘ is unmarked and it is not clear who is the agent of the action; therefore, the participle should be preceded by an independent personal pronoun or a noun. An additional function mentioned by Sībawayhi (1999/2:407) is that the independent personal pronoun can be ṣifa of a suffixed pronoun in nominative, accusative or genitive, as in marartu bika ‟anta ―I passed on you‖, ra‟aytuka ‟anta ― I saw you‖ and ‟inṭalaqta ‟anta ―you went.‖ The pronouns, however, are not in the same position as ṭ-ṭawīl in marartu bi-Zaydin ṭ-ṭawīl ‗I passed the tall Zayd‖, but in the same position as nafs – as in, for example, ra‟aytuhu huwa nafsahu ―I saw him, himself‖, which is used here for emphasis. In contrast to a ―real‘‖ adjective, however, the independent personal pronoun that is used as an adjective does not indicate a certain character. The function of the independent 1 2 Cf. Ibn Ya‗īš (n.y/3: 83–84), Suyūṭī (1989/1: 194-206). Cf. Ibn Ya‗īš (n.y/3: 83-84). 84 personal pronoun is considered adjectival because like the adjective, it agrees with the modified noun in number, person, gender and case mark. The Arab grammarians typically discuss the morphology of the independent personal pronoun and its syntactic function in the sentence. Their discussion of the independent personal pronoun that functions as separate pronoun (ḍamīr al-faṣl)3 has a broader consideration in their books. The first issue in their discussion is regarding in which cases or conditions the independent personal pronoun can be used as a pronoun of separation: a. The component that precedes the separation pronoun must be the grammatical subject (mubtada‘), as in the following: (1) wa-‟ulā‟ika humu l-mufliḥūna (Q 2:5) ―and it is those who are the successful.‖ (Ibn Hišām 1991/2:172) In this sentence the demonstrative pronoun wa-‟ulā‟ika functions as the subject, but when it is deleted the independent personal pronoun can take its place and function as the subject. Additionally, in circumstantial clauses the subject or, as it is called in such clauses, ṣāḥib al-ḥāl, precedes the separation pronoun, as in.: (2) ğā‟a Zaydun huwa ḍāḥikan ―Zayd came laughing.‖ (Ibn Hišām 1991/2:172) b. The component that precedes the separation pronoun is definite, but it can be also indefinite, as in the following: (3) kāna rağulun huwa l-qā‟im (Man was-he was the standing) ‖Man was the one who stands‖. (Ibn Hišām 1991/2:172) c. The component that follows the separation pronoun must be the predicate (h~abar) and it can be definite or indefinite, such as the predicate in comparative form like h~ayr or ‟aqall. It is also possible to find a separation pronoun before a verb, as in: (4) wa-makru ‟ulā‟ika huwa yabūru (Q 35:10) ―and the plotting of those – it will perish.‖ (Ibn Hišām 1991/2:173). d. The separation pronoun must be in nominative form and cannot be in accusative, e.g., *‟anta ‟iyyāka l-„ālimu. Thus the correct sentence is ‟anta huwa l-„ālimu” you are the knowing one.‖ The term ḍamīr al-faṣl ―the pronoun of separation‖ was used by the grammatical school of Baṣra. The term „imād ―the pronoun which serves as a prop or supports (to the sentence)‖ was used in the grammatical school of Kūfa. (Ibn Ya‗īš n.y/3: 110). 3 85 e. The separation pronoun agrees with the component that precedes it. A sentence like *kunta huwa l-fāḍil is incorrect, and it must be kunta ‟anta l-fāḍil ―you are the virtuous.‖ (Ibn Hišām 1991/2:173). The second topic discussed by the grammarians is the use of the separation pronoun: f. The separation pronoun usually stands between two definite nouns, while it indicates that the component following it is the predicate and not an adjective and that is why it is called ḍamīr al-faṣl - it separates the subject and the predicate, e.g.: (5) Zaydun huwa l-qā‟im ―Zayd is the one who stands.‖ Without the separation pronoun, one might think that l-qā‟im is the adjective for Zayd. By using the pronoun huwa, the obscurity is removed because a pronoun cannot stand between the noun and its adjective; it can, however, appear between the subject and its predicate. (Ibn Ya‗īš n.y/3: 110-111) g. Using the separation pronoun for emphasis (ta‟kīd) when the noun is implicit (muḍmar) in the verb, e.g.: (6) qumtu ‟anā ―I stood.‖ (Ibn Ya‗īš n.y/3: 110) h. The separation pronoun also is used for specification (ih~tiṣāṣ), as in (7) wa-’ulā’ika humu l-mufliḥūna (Q 2:5).4 ―Those are the successful‖. (Ibn Hišām 1991/2:175) i. In some cases the separation pronoun has a double function, as in sentences including the verb kāna, e.g.: (8) kāna Zaydun huwa l-qā‟ima (Accusative) ―Zayd was the one who stands.‖ In this sentence l-qā‟imu is the predicate (ḫabar kāna), while huwa serves as separation pronoun. However, in the following sentence the syntactical analysis is different: (9) kāna Zaydun huwa l-qā‟imu (Nominative) The clause huwa l-qā‟imu serves as the predicate of kāna l-qā‟imu, while huwa is the subject (mubtada‟) of the clause and l-qā‟imu functions as the predicate (ḫabar) (Zağğāğī 1957:153).5 1.2 The independent personal pronoun according to the western grammarians Their discussion of the independent personal pronoun is not different than the discussion by the traditional Arab grammarians. Thus, for example, 4 5 Cf. Ibn Ya‗īš (n.y/3: 110). The term ’iḫtiṣāṣ is discussed in section 3.2.1. Cf. Ibn Hišām (1991/2:175) 86 Reckendorf (1898: §134, 375) mentions two functions of the independent pronoun that are discussed by the Arab grammarians. The first function he mentions is the emphatic independent personal pronoun, e.g. hum qatalū ‟amīr l-mu‟minīna ‘Uṯmān wa-hum ḫala‘ū ‟amīr l-mu‟minīna „Abd l-Malik “They killed the caliph ‘Uṯmān and they dismiss/depose/expel the caliph ‗Abd l-Malik.‖ According to Reckendorf, the independent personal pronoun emphasizes the suffix of the verb that already indicates who is the agent of the action.6 The use of the independent personal pronoun as copula, that is, as a separation pronoun, is also mentioned by Reckendorf (1898: §136, 386-388), while he refers to the different explanations that are presented by the traditional Arab grammarians (see section 1.1). The third function mentioned by Reckendorf might be considered an innovation because he presents the pragmatic functions of the independent personal pronoun in verbal clauses. The Arab grammarians speak more about the syntactic function of the independent personal pronoun and less about its pragmatic functions. This lack of information is filled in by the western grammarians. Thus, for example, Reckendorf (1898: §135, p. 380) speaks about orientirendes Subjektszeichen ―an orienting subject mark‖ that can be found in different verbal sentences and does not function as an emphatic pronoun. Reckendorf‘s explanations will be discussed in section 2, yet one example should be mentioned here: ‟adrakanī ‟Abū „Abs wa‟anā ’aḏhabu‟ilā l-ğum„ati ―he came to me while I was on my way to Friday service.‖ Here, the independent personal pronoun signals a new action that is not connected to the first action ‟adrakanī. 1.3. The objective of the article: Classification according to syntactic and pragmatic functions This article presents the usages of the independent personal pronoun in the Qur‘ān. After examination of 300 sentences including independent pronouns, some new observations were made in addition to the observations described in the research literature. To present clearly the findings, the sentences were classified in three groups: The first group includes nominal sentences; that is, a verbless clause in which the independent personal pronoun is considered an obligatory clause component because it serves as the subject. The second category includes verbal sentences. According to some grammarians, the independent personal pronoun in these sentences is redundant or pleonastic. Others refer to the term ―emphasis,‖ but most researchers say that this 6 Cf. Fischer (2002: §265, §266, 125). 87 explanation is not always sufficient and even is vague, because there is no precise and clear definition of this term (Muraoka 1985:47).7 The third category presents the independent personal pronoun used as copula or in Arabic is known as the ―pronoun of separation‖ (ḍamīr al-faṣl). In each group there are also sub-categories determined according to the syntactic structure of the sentences, their context and the pragmatic function of the independent personal pronoun. 2. Classification of the Independent Personal Pronoun 2.1 Independent Personal Pronoun in Verbless Clauses From a syntactical aspect, the independent personal pronoun in this group serves as the subject of the sentence, where it stands instead of the name of the person or a thing (Jespersen 1935:82).8 Deletion of the independent personal pronoun would create a hole in the syntactic structure, which might also harm the semantic meaning of the sentence, as in the following example: (10) ‟anta mawlānā fa-nṣurnā „alā l-qawmi l-kāfirīna (Q 2:286) ―You are our Protector; help us against the people of the unbelievers.‖9 When the independent personal pronoun is omitted as in: *mawlānā fa-nṣurnā „alā l-qawmi l-kāfirīna, the sentence is unclear. Therefore, as the Arab grammarians explain, the independent personal pronoun prevents obscurity (see section 1.1), particularly when the predicate is unmarked, as in Q 2:286, where the predicate mawlānā can refer to 1st person singular masculine, 2nd person singular masculine or 3rd person singular masculine. By using the pronoun ‟anta, it becomes clear what is the subject of the sentence. Examination of the verbless sentences revealed that it is not always possible to identify any pragmatic function of the independent pronouns, as in the following syntactic structures: Independent personal pronoun after the exceptive particle ‟illā: (11) ‟innanī ‟anā llāhu lā ‟ilāha ‟illā ‟anā (Q 20:14) ―Verily I am God; there is no god but I.‖ Additional examples: 2:3; 2:255; 7:187; 20:14; 21:25; 21:87 This structure is used to express the idea that there is only one God, and he is Allah. This statement clarifies to the person that believing in other idols or the 7 Cf. Waltke, B.K &M. O‘Connor (1990: §16.3.2, 293). Cf. Fleischer (1968/1: 161). 9 The translations of the verses are based on the translation of Arberry (1964). Some changes have been made in the cited translations. 8 88 association of other gods with Allah (širk) is unacceptable and wrong. In their discussion of the usage of the independent personal pronoun, the Arab grammarians mention that after the exceptive particle ‟illā only an independent personal pronoun can be used without explaining whether there is any other function for this use. 10 Independent personal pronoun in circumstantial clauses (ğumlat ḥāl): (12) wa-lā tubāširūhunna wa-‟antum „ākifūna fī l-masāǧidi (Q 2:187) ―And do not lie with them while you cleave to the mosques.‖ One of the circumstantial clause structures is a nominal clause and the subject is an independent personal pronoun (Reckendorf 1898: §179, 562). Independent personal pronoun in sentences in which the predicate is in comparative form: (13) qāla ‟anā ḫayrun minhu ḫalaqtanī min nārin wa-ḫalaqtahū min ṭīnin (Q 7:12) ―Said he: I am better than he; Thou created me of fire and him Thou created of clay.‖ It seems that in these examples 11 the independent pronoun has only a syntactic function – that is, it serves as the subject of the sentence or of the clause. Different pragmatic functions such as the use of the pronoun for the sake of brevity, to avoid repetition of a noun, indicate an interruption of sequences, or return to a referent that was mentioned previously could not be amplified in the above examples. In contrast, in the following example one can identify the pragmatic function of the independent personal pronoun. The first function identified is emphasizing the identity of the speaker or of the agent. This function was found in the following structures: a. The independent personal pronoun ‘anā referring to Allah: (14) fa-‟ulā‟ika ‟atūbu „alayhim wa-‟anā t-tawwābu r-raḥīmu (Q 2:160) 10 See Ibn Ya‘īš (n.y/3: 103). For additional examples, see: Q 7:107 where the independent personal pronoun appears after the ’iḏā l-mufāğa’a (’iḏā indicating something unexpected); in the following relative clauses: 3:179, 24:64; Independent personal pronoun after the particle bal: Q 5:18, 7:81; in verses 2:68, 2:189, 2:271, 3:167, 6:165, 9:51, 9:61 and the independent personal pronoun after ‟innama, as in Q 2:11, 19:19. According to Reckendorf (1898: §138, p. 383), the independent personal pronoun has no emphatic usage. For emphasis (the agent of the action), one should use a suffixed pronoun instead of the independent pronoun, as in: ‟innaka lā taḍribu ―surely you will not hit him‖. 11 89 ―Toward them I shall turn; I turn, All-compassionate.‖ In the Qur‘ān there are several syntactic structures describing Allah in which the noun ―Allāh‖ or ―rabb‖ is explicit in the structure, as, for example, in Q 5:95. However, in other sentences the independent personal pronouns ‟anā, ‟anta, huwa and naḥnu refer to Allah, as in Q 2:160. This verse is divided in two parts, fa-‟ulā‟ika ‟atūbu „alayhim, where the main information – what is the action and who is the agent – is clear. The second part, which does not provide any new information, emphasizes what previously was said about God by clarifying that Allah is the one who turns and he is the All-compassionate. Additional examples are: Q 21:92; 23:52; 29:42. b. Independent personal pronoun in negative sentences in which mā or ‟in bima„nā laysa appears: (15) qul lā attabi„u ‟ahwā‟akum qad ḍalaltu ‟iḏan wa-mā ‟anā mina l-muhtadīna (Q 6:56) ―Say: I do not follow your caprices, or else I had gone astray and would not be of the right-guided.‖ The negative particles mā and ‟in are used in the signification of laysa. The predicate is placed after the subject, which is usually in the form of an active participle or an adjective in the form of fa„īl. The question is why this structure was used in this context and not the common structure with laysa: * qul lā attabi„u ‟ahwā‟akum qad ḍalaltu ’iḏan wa-lastu mina l-muhtadīna. By using the independent personal pronoun the speaker not only rejects the claim that he follows the bad caprices of the people, but he wants to emphasize that if he would do so, he could not be considered right-guided. Additional examples are: Q 2:8; 3:78; 6:104; 7:188; 11:33; 14:17; 14:22. c. Independent personal pronoun after ‟am t-taswiyya (and interrogative sentences): (16) qālū ’a-ǧi’tanā bi-l-ḥaqqi ‟am ‟anta mina l-lā„ibīna (Q 21:55) ―They said: What hast thou come to us with the truth, or art thou one of those that play?‖ The effect of using the independent personal pronoun can be clarified by omitting it, as in the following sentence: qālū ‟a-ǧi’tanā bi-lḥaqqi ‟am tal„abu. Here the focus is on the action, while the use of the independent personal pronoun focuses on the agent by calling in question whether he is the one who brings the truth or belongs to those who play with the truth.12 For additional examples of nominal interrogative sentences, see: Q 14:21; 19:46; 21:80; 21:108. 12 For a broader explanation see section 2.2.1/c, where additional example like Q 56:59; 56:64; 56:69; 56:72 are mentioned. 90 d. In the following relative clauses: ‟iḏ qāla li-‟abīhi wa-qawmihī mā hāḏihi t-tamāṯīlu llatī ‟antum lahā „ākifūna (Q 21:52) ―When he said to his father and his people: What are these images, to which you are devoted?‖ To understand the function of the independent personal pronoun one should ask if there is any difference between this verse and the following verse: ‟iḏ qāla li-‟abīhi wa-qawmihī mā hāḏihi t-tamāṯīlu llatī ta„budūnahā / ta„kifūna lahā. The last question seems to be without any rhetorical affect, while in the first question with the independent personal pronoun there is guilt and contempt against the people who worship the images, as Bayḍāwī explains in his exegeses: (‟iḏ qāla li-‟abīhi wa-qawmihī mā hāḏihi t-tamāṯīlu llatī ‟antum lahā „ākifūna) taḥqīr li-ša‟nihā wa-tawbīḫ „alā ‟iğlālihā, fa-‟inna t-timṯāl ṣuratun lā ruḥ fīhā wa-lā yaḍurru wa-lā yanf„u ― (When he said to his father and his people: What are these images, to which you are devoted?)‘ [The aim of the question is] to express contempt for this act and to scold the people about their admiration for the images, because the images are shapes without soul and spirit, they cannot neither harm nor benefit.‘ (Bayḍāwī 1996/4: 97) Additional examples are: Q 5:88; 60:11. e. Different sentences without any syntactic feature: (17) qālū ‟a-‟innaka la-‟anta yūsufu qāla ‟anā yūsufu wa-hāḏā ‟aḫī (Q 12:90) ―They said: Are you indeed Joseph? He said: I am Joseph…‖. The use of the independent personal pronoun might be explained as emphasizing because the answer to the question of whether or not he is Joseph would simply be ―yes‖ or ―no.‖ However, Joseph‘s answer leaves no room for doubt when he answers ―I am Joseph.‖ For additional examples, see Q 2:286; 3:7; 3:52; 5:18; 7:155; 12:77; 2; 27:39; 41:31; 63:4. The second pragmatic function of the independent personal pronouns is to express contrast, as in the following example: (20) wa-‟in kaḏḏabūka fa-qul lī „amalī wa-lakum „amalukum ‟antum barī‟ūna mimmā ‟a„malu wa-‟ana barī‟un mimmā ta„malūna (Q 10:41) ‗If they cry lies to thee, then do thou say; I have my work, and you have your work; you are quit of what I do, and I am quit of what you do.‘ 91 The contrast in this verse is explicit; that is, the two contrasting elements appear in the sentence, as opposed to implicit contrast, in which one must seek in the context the contrasting element that is missing.13 In Verse 41 Sura 10, the independent personal pronoun appears in both of the contrasting components: the pronoun ‟antum refers to the unbelievers and the pronoun ‟anā refers to Allah. In other verses, the contrast is between the prophet and the unbelievers (Q 109:3-5), husbands and their wives (Q 2:187), Allah and the infidels (Q 3:181; 4:142; 6:14; 6:103; 35:15; 47:38), and believers and infidels (Q 8:42). 2.2 Independent Personal Pronoun in Verbal Clauses There are two explanations for the appearance of the independent personal pronoun in a verbal clause. According to the first, the independent personal pronoun is considered redundant or pleonastic because according to the Arab grammarians, a finite verb in Arabic includes a third- person pronoun denoted by the suffix of the verb (Levin 1985: 119). 14 As a second explanation, the research literature presents the emphatic use of the independent personal pronoun in verbal clauses. The main problem with this explanation is that a precise explanation of the term ―emphasis‖ or a list of the conditions in which the independent personal pronoun is used as an emphatic pronoun cannot be found (Muraoka 1985: 47). 15 In spite of the general vagueness regarding the determination, an examination of the verses‘ context showed that the independent personal pronoun in the Qur‘ān functions as an emphatic pronoun –, that is, it clarifies and emphasizes the identity of the agent, as it will be shown in the following subcategory. 2.2.1 The emphatic use of independent personal pronoun a. Independent personal pronoun in Q 12:51, 12:26 (18) qāla hiya rāwadatnī „an nafsī (Q 12:26) ―Said he: It was she who solicited me‖ (19) qālati mra‟atu l-„azīzi l-‟āna ḥaṣḥaṣa l-ḥaqqu ‟anā rāwadtuhū „an nafsihī wa-‟innahū la-mina ṣ-ṣādiqīna (Q 12:51) 13 Cf. Muraoka (1985: 54-55) cf. Waltke & O‘Connor (1991: § 6.3.2d, 295). In explicit contrast, which Muraoka calls ―Antithesis,‖ the two contrasted terms represent the positive and the negative side of an idea common to both of them. 14 cf. Goldenberg (1994: 100). According to Goldenberg, the verb in Semitic languages is a complex including personal pronoun, attribute and the attributive relation between them. The personal pronoun is represented by the suffix of the verb; the attribute is given in the lexeme involved, while the morphological form of the verb marks the implied attributive relation between the personal pronoun and the lexeme. 15 Cf. Eid (1983: 287). 92 ―Potiphar‘s wife said: ‗Now the truth is at last discovered; I solicited him; he is a truthful man‘.‖ These two verses belong to the story of Joseph, which is described at length in Sura 12. The story of Joseph has all the syntactic characters that make a story: the story is built by chronological events and dialogues. In the case of Sura Joseph, a series of dialogues have great importance because they function as an organizational principle. It is through dialogue that the plot of the story advances (Mustansir (2002/1: 532-533). The word order in the sentences that belong to the main line of the narratives is usually VS (verb-subject). The most frequent narrative tense is the past tense. This represents chronological succession of events and actions, or logical sequence of what has occurred. Verses 26 and 51 are part of this narrative, but they do not belong to the chronological events of this story or what is known as the ―foregrounded events‖ that succeed one another in the narrative in the same order as their sequence in the real world. These two verses are considered the ―backgrounded events‖ of the narrative. They are not in sequence to the foregrounded events, but are concurrent with them. Due to this feature of simultaneity, backgrounded events usually amplify or comment on the events of the main narrative (Hopper 1979: 214). In the case of verses 26 and 51, these backrounded events comment on the events that occurred between Potiphar‘s wife and Joseph. In verse 26, Joseph defends himself and emphasizes that Potiphar‘s wife was the one who seduced him, as Ṭabarī explains in his exegeses: qāla Abū Ğa„far: yaqūlu ta„ālā ḏikruhu: qāla Yūsuf, lammā qaḏafathu mra‟atu l-„Azīz bi-mā qaḏafathu min irādatihi l-fāḥišati minha, mukkaḏiban laha fī-mā qaḏafathu bihi, wa-daf„an lima nusiba ‟ilayhi: ma ‟anā rāwadtuha „an nafsiha, bal hiya rawadatni „an nafsī. (Ṭabarī 1968/16: 53). ―When Potiphar‘s wife says the slanderous words of calumny (that is, she mentions the indecent act that Joseph did to her), Joseph denies committing such an act and defends himself against the complaint of Potiphar‘s wife by saying: ―No I'm not the one who seduced her, but she was the one who seduced me.‖ In Verse 51, Potiphar‘s wife finally confesses and admits that it was she who seduced Joseph, and not the reverse. b. The independent personal pronoun ‟anā, huwa and naḥnu referring to Allah (20) qāla ‟ibrāhīmu rabbiya llaḏī yuḥyī wa-yumītu qāla ‟anā ‟uḥyī wa-‟umītu (Q 2:258) ―When Abraham said: My Lord is he who gives life, and causes death, he (Allah) said, I give life and cause death.‖ 93 The aim of the cited verses is to express the uniqueness of Allah. According to the verses, Allah (and no other than he) is the one who can give life and cause death. Additional examples are: Q 10:56, 11:61, 56:57. c. Independent personal pronoun in interrogative sentences (21) ‟a-‟antum ‟anzaltumūhu mina l-muzni ‟am naḥnu l-munzilūna (Q 56:69) ―Did you send it down (the water) from the clouds, or did we send it?‖ In dealing with this structure, one should turn to Ğurğānī (1964: 76-78), who provides in his book dalā‟il l-‟i„jāz a detailed explanation of the appearance of the independent personal pronoun immediately after the interrogative or negative particle. Regarding the questions ‟a-fa„alta? and ‟a-‟anta fa„alta?, Ğurğānī explains that the first sentence asserts that the action described by the verb has been performed by the addressee, clearly denoting the identity of the performer. In contrast to this sentence, in the second sentence the aim is to assert that it is the addressee who has performed the action referred to by the verb. The action in this sentence is a manifest fact, i.e., there is no doubt that the action did indeed happen (Peled 1997: 131). A similar explanation for the word order SV in negative sentences is presented by Ğurğānī in his discussion of word order in negative sentences, such as the next example in the following category. d. Independent personal pronoun in negative sentences (22) ‟udḫulū l-ǧannata lā ḫawfun „alaykum wa-lā ‟antum taḥzanūna (Q 7:49) ―Enter Paradise; no fear upon you, nor shall you sorrow‖. Similar to his explanation for the different word order in interrogative sentences, Ğurğānī (1964: 96) presents two possible structures for negative sentences. The first one is: ma fa„altu or mā ḍarabtu Zaydan. According to Peled (1997: 127–128), these sentences negate the link between the speaker and the action described by the verb. In other words, in this case it is not certain whether the action (hitting Zayd) did happen. The second structure is ma ‟anā fa„altu or mā ‟anā ḍarabtu Zaydan. In this structure, according Ğurğānī the action did happen, but the speaker negates the fact that he is the agent of the described action. 94 In Q 7:49 the relevant component of the negative sentence is the independent personal pronoun. It is implied that not you, i.e., the believers, will sorrow, and one can complete this sentence by saying ―but the infidels will be sorrowful.‖16 e. Independent personal pronoun after the particle ṯumma (23) ṯumma ‟antum hā‟ulā‟i taqtulūna ‟anfusakum wa-tuḫriǧūna farīqan minkum min diyārihim (Q 2:85) ―Then there you are killing one another, and expelling a part of yourself from their habitations.‖ The emphatic use of the independent personal pronoun in Q 2:85 can be understood only by referring to the context. In the previous verse (48), it is said: ―Allah took their covenant: You shall not shed your own blood, nor expel your own from your habitations; and then you confirm it and yourselves bear witness.‖ ṯumma, which is used as a adversative particle meaning ―but‖, starts a new sentence saying: in spite of the alliance between the people and God, you are those (and not Allah or someone else) who are killing and expelling the people. Here again the most important component of the sentence is the independent personal pronoun that indicates the identity of the agent. f. Additional verses in which the independent personal pronoun is used for emphasizing the agent of the action: Q 3:101; 12:3; 17:31; 38:60; 52:15; 18:38. 2.2.2 Co-ordinate subject constructions with the independent personal pronoun An additional structure is seen where an independent personal pronoun is followed by a second agent, as in the following example: (24) qul hāḏihī sabīlī ‟ad„ū ‟ilā llāhi „alā baṣīratin ‟anā wa-mani ttaba„anī (12:108) ―Say this is my way. I call to God with sure knowledge, I and whoever follows after me.‖ Bloch A. (1986:1-2) calls this phenomenon ―pronoun reduplication‖ and explains it as follows: ―In Arabic, as well as in other Semitic languages, a free personal pronoun may reduplicate a preceding bound pronoun. i.e,. suffix or pronoun inherent in a finite verb. This device, which in all likelihood harks back to the earliest stages of this family of languages, will be referred to as ‗pronoun reduplication‘ (…) A second use of pronoun reduplication is 16 Peled (1997: 129) explains that according to Ğurğānī, the SV construct is semantically illformed, insofar as it yields a contradiction. It should be continued by a coordinate sentence - e.g., mā ‟anā ra‟aytu kulla n-nāsi wa-lākinna × ra‟ā kulla n-nāsi. The coordinate sentence implies the existence of a person other than the speaker who has taken the action (seen the people). 95 the subject of this chapter. A bound pronoun in Arabic will typically be reduplicated when coordinated with a following substantive or pronoun (…) e.g., daḫaltu anā wahiya (I-entered I and-she) I and she entered‖. In the cited verse and in Q 5:24, 7:19, 11:49, 20:42 and 23:28, the independent personal pronoun shows the same agreement (person, gender, and number) as the predicate.17 There are different explanations for the word order: Verb+ Independent personal pronoun in the co-ordinate subject structures: A. The first reason for the appearance of the pronoun after the verb involves a syntactic hole in the language. Here the use of the independent pronoun is neither pleonastic nor emphatic.18 According to Waltke & O'Connor (1990:294), ―A hole in the syntactic system arises because the verb need not be fully marked for the subject.‖ According to this explanation, a deletion of the independent personal pronoun will create a syntactic hole, as in the following: (25) wa-yā-‟ādamu skun ‟anta wa-zawǧuka l-ǧannata fa-kulā min ḥayṯu ši‟tumā (Q 7:19) ―O Adam, dwell, you and your wife, in Paradise and eat from wherever you will but do not approach this tree.‖ * wa-yā-‟ādamu skun (X) wa-zawǧuka l-ǧannata ―O Adam, dwell and your wife, in Paradise.‖ B. The reduplication of the pronoun comes for semantic reasons. In the sentence skun ‟anta wa-zawǧuka, the meaning is ―dwell you and your wife‖ while wāw functions as wāw l-„aṭf (connective particle). The sentence skun (X) wa-zawǧuka can be understood and thus translated as ―dwell you with your wife,‖ although the noun is in nominative and not accusative, as it is after wāw l-ma„iyya – the wāw of simultaneousness. Thus, the use of the independent personal pronoun prevents any semantic ambiguity in the sentence. C. When another grammatical element intervenes before a subject, it is necessary to add the presumptive personal pronoun (Waltke & O'Connor 1990:295).19 In Q 12:108, for example, a prepositional phrase follows the verb: ‟ad„ū ‟ilā llāhi „alā baṣīratin ‟anā wa-mani ttaba„anī. Deletion of the independent personal pronoun will create an ―ill‖ syntactic structure which additionally will not be semantically completed: *‟ad„ū ‟ilā llāhi „alā baṣīratin wa-mani ttaba„anī ―I call to God with sure knowledge and whoever follows after me.‖ 17 Cf. Noudé (1990:76-78). See on pp. 76-80 additional types of co-ordinate subject construction with the independent personal pronoun in Biblical Hebrew. Some types in Arabic are presented by Bloch A. in his discussion of ―pronoun reduplication in Coordination‖. See: Bloch (1986: § 3.5, 4). 18 Reckendorf (1898: § 134, 378) mentions some examples of this structure, explaining that the independent personal pronoun is emphatic. 19 Cf. Noudé (1990:78). 96 2.2.3 Independent personal pronoun marking the subject of the sentence The following structures are mentioned by Reckendorf (1989: §135,379380) as cases in which the independent personal pronoun in verbal sentences is not used for emphasizing purpose. According to Reckendorf, if one wants to understand the function of the pronoun in verbal sentences, one should refer first to the doctrine of these sentences. Usually, in verbal sentences there is a tendency to place the verb as far forward as possible from the subject, while the verb precedes the subject. Thus, in the space which is created between the locations of the subject and the predicate, the occurrence is described, i.e., the action performed by the subject of the sentence. However, there are verbal sentences including, for example, different particles that may affect the word order and thus the subject will be placed at the head of the sentence, while the verb will be located far after the subject. In such cases the independent personal pronoun actually appears where the subject had to be placed. The lack of independent personal pronoun in this kind of sentences will require finding a new marker in the sentence that enables identifying the element structure of the sentence –, i.e., the subject and the predicate. Reckendorf (p.380) mentions first the circumstantial clauses, where the story described in the sentence is ―torn,‖ because a new clause beginning with the particle wa is introduced. This clause is called in Arabic ―a circumstantial clause.‖ The independent personal pronoun indicates that a new occurrence has now occurred; moreover, it signals a switch of references, e.g.: (26) ‟adrakanī ‟Abū „Abs wa-‟anā ‟aḏhabu ‟ilā l-ğum„a ―Abū ‗Abs reached me, while I‘m going (making my way) to the Friday service.‖ An additional structure mentioned by Reckendorf is clauses after ‟iḏā al-fuğa‟iyya including an independent personal pronoun: (27) wa-‟awḥaynā ‟ilā mūsā ‟an ‟alqi „aṣāka fa-‟iḏā hiya talqafu mā ya„fikūna (Q 7:117) ―And we revealed to Moses: Cast thy staff, and lo, it forthwith swallowed up their lying invention.‖ The typical word order after ‟iḏā al-fuğa‟iyya is subject-predicate; however, the independent personal pronoun replaces the real subject of the sentence, which is „aṣāka (Reckendorf 1898: 380).20 20 Reckendorf mentions in the same section structures in which an independent personal pronoun appears after ‟innamā (ex. Q 11:12) and ‟ammā…fa (ex. Q 80:5-6). 97 2.2.4 Independent personal pronoun indicating an interruption of sequences Independent personal pronoun can be used when there is an interruption of sequences. The pronoun is then used to return to a referent that was mentioned before the interruption of the sequences, for example: (28) wa-qāla rkabū fīhā bi-smi llāhi maǧrāhā wa-mursāhā ‟inna rabbī la-ġafūrun raḥīmun wa-hiya taǧrī bihim fī mawǧin ka-l-ǧibāli wa-nādā nūḥun-i bnahū wa-kāna fī ma„zilin yā-bunayya rkab ma„anā wa-lā takun ma„a l-kāfirīna (Q 11:41-42) ―He said: Embark on it! In God‘s name shall be its course and its breathing. Surely my Lord is All-forgiving, All-compassionate. So it runs with them amid waves like mountains and Noah called to his son, who was standing apart, embark with us, my son, and be thou not with the unbelievers.‖ In verses 38-48, the story of Noah ark is told, but it seems that the clause ‟inna rabbī la-ġafūrun raḥīmun interrupts the sequence. The pronoun wa-hiya, which refers to the falak, i.e. the ark, indicates a return to the sequence of the story. Additional examples for this pragmatic function are: Q 51:13 and Q 6:46. 2.3 Independent Personal Pronoun Functioning as Copula Section 1.1 introduced in which condition an independent personal pronoun may be used according to the Arab grammarians as ḍamīr al-faṣl, while the Arabic term indicates the main pragmatic function of this pronoun, i.e., to separate the subject and predicate to prevent potential ambiguity in the sentence (Eid 1983: 203). In the modern research literature, the term copula often is used to indicate what the Arab grammarians identified as ḍamīr al-faṣl. The term copula has been a much-studied issue in Semitic studies and especially in the study of the Hebrew Bible. The researchers usually related the function of the copula in Semitic languages to the Indo-European copula, as, for example, Zewi Tamar (1996:41) defines (in her article) the term copula in the Semitic languages as follows: ―The term copula is generally used in Indo-European languages for verbs or other words or morphemes that represent the predicative relation, or the so the so-called ‗nexus,‘ according to Jespersen's terminology. The fundamental role of the copula is thus very clear and very specific. It represents, in various sentences types, one basic indispensable syntactic function, that is, the relation between subject and predicate, without which no sentence can be constructed. The sentence types of copula are 98 required for are those in which there is no other way of representing the predicative relation, for instance, by other verbal forms and so forth.‖ 21 This section shows in which sentences in the Qur‘ān the copula appears and if there is some special pragmatic function of the copula other than to clarify the relation between subject and predicate. The independent personal pronoun which is used as copula in Arabic can be classified in two categories: sentences that can be constructed without copula, i.e., the independent personal pronoun is pleonastic; and sentences in which the copula is required, or it would be difficult to recognize the connection between the subject and the predicate (Eid 1991:40-41). 2.3.1 Redundant copula The independent personal pronoun in the following structures can be omitted, but the sentence will be grammatically correct because the subject in these structures is well-marked, and thus it is easy to identify the subject and the predicate: a. Copula which occurs after the verb kāna, for example: (29) wa-kunnā naḥnu l-wāriṯīna (Q 28:58) ―And it is we who were the inheritors.‖ The following are additional examples: 5:117, 7:113, 7:115 and 37:116. b. Copula between the subject and the verbal predicate (30) ‟a-lam ya„lamū ‟anna llāha huwa yaqbalu t-tawbata „an „ibādihī (Q 9:104) ―Do they not know that God is he who accepts repentance from his servants?‖ c. Copula between the particle ‟inna and the definite nominal predicate (31) qāla ‟innī ‟anā ‟aḫūka (Q 12:69) ―He said: I am your brother.‖ d. Independent personal pronoun between subject and predicate in comparative form (32) wa-‟aḫī Hārūnu huwa ‟afṣaḥu minnī lisānan (Q 28:34) ―My brother Aaron is more eloquent than I.‖ According the Arab grammarians, the separation pronoun in the abovementioned examples has a dual function - it can be considered by the school of Baṣra a separation pronoun (ḍamīr al-faṣl), because it separates between the predicate and the adjective, while the school of Kūfa calls this pronoun al-„imād, because this pronoun ―supports‖ the meaning of the sentence. As a second function, the Arab grammarians mention that it can be an emphasizing pronoun 21 Cf. Khan (2006:156–157). 99 (ta‟kīd), i.e., it emphasizes the subject (Ibn Ya‗īš n.y/3: 110) 22. An independent personal pronoun can follow the muḍmar (suffixed personal pronoun) for the purpose of emphasis. (Ibn Ya‗īš n.y/3: 111) 23 2.3.2 Required copula 2.3.2.1 Identifying clauses According to the Arab grammarians the pronoun separates the subject and it‘s predicate. Without using the separation pronoun, one might refer to the nominal predicate as an adjective. The Arab grammarians do mention the pragmatic function of the separation pronoun by saying that it is used for iḫtiṣāṣ ‗identification‘. This phenomenon also is known as qaṣr, ḥaṣr or taḫṣiṣ. Suyūṭī (1973/1 part 2: 49–50) explains this term as follows: ‟ammā l-ḥaṣr wa-yuqālu lahu l-qaṣr fa-huwa taḥṣīṣ ‟amr bi-‟amr ‟āḥar bi-ṭarīq maḥṣūṣ. ―as for the term ḥaṣr or qaṣr (both of the terms can be translated as ‗limitation‘), it means the specification of something with something else by using a specific grammatical structure (which Suyūṭī specifies in the chapter of al-ḥaṣr.)‖ The sixth structure of taḥṣīṣ mentioned by Suyūṭī is a sentence consisting of subject and nominal predicate, while a separation pronoun stands between them, as, for example: ‟ulā‟ika humu l- mufliḥūna (Q 2:5), where the subject is specified by the predicate (taḥṣīṣ l-musnad bi-l-musnad ‟ilayhi) (Suyūṭī 1973/1 part 2: 50). This usage can become more clear when sentences including a separation pronoun which are used for iḫtiṣāṣ, are compared with similar clauses taken from the Biblical Hebrew. According to Muraoka (1985), identifying clauses (Who or what is the subject?) with independent pronouns in a copula role have the word order subject-pronoun-predicate, as for example: „ēśāw hû‟ ‟ĕḏwōm ―Esau is Edom‖ (Gen 36:8). Such sentences can be analyzed also as nominative absolute (focus or casus pendens) constructions; the initial noun (here, „ēśāw( is the focus marker and the clause proper has the order subject-predicate (here, hû‟ ‟ĕḏwōm), i.e., we might paraphrase this sentence as follows: ―As for Esau, he is Edom.― 22 Cf. Suyūṭī (1989/1: 236) and Ibn Hišām (1991/2: 174-175). Bloch calls this phenomenon ‗focusing‘ (see p. 1). He says that one of the uses of pronoun reduplication is as a focusing device, e.g., wa-mā ẓalamnāhum wa-lākin kānū humu ẓ-ẓālimīna (Q 43:76) ―We never wringed them, but they did the wrong‖. He explains this use as follows: "I call "focusing device" any linguistic means of which languages avail themselves in order to put into relief the item of the sentence that contains the new or contrastive information, thus making this item stand out against the rest of the sentence, which contains the presupposed or known information. An item so marked is the ‗focus‘ of the sentence.‖ 23 100 This construction has a ―selective-exclusive‖ force, in Muraoka's term; the subject focus is singled out and contrasted with other possible or actual alternatives. In some cases, the passages are concerned with the uniqueness of the subject/focus, as in: yəhwâ hû‟ hā‟ĕlōhîm ‟ên „wōḏ miləḇadwō ―YHWH is God; there is none beside him.‖ (Deut 4:35) (Waltke & O'Connor 1991: §16.3.3, 297).24 In the Qur‘ān, the identifying clauses – clauses in which the separation pronoun is used for iḫtiṣāṣ – have specific goals. They clarify the question who is God and who are the believers or the infidels, while their positive or negative uniqueness is being focused, for example: clauses referring to the believers and infidels: (33) wa-l-kāfirūna humu ẓ-ẓālimūna (Q 2:254) ―And the unbelievers – they are the evildoers.‖ Clauses referring to Allah: (34) wa-llāhu huwa s-samī„u l-„alīmu (Q 5:76) ‗God is the All-hearing, the All-knowing.‘ 2.3.2.2 Copula between definite subject and definite nominal predicate In this category, the subject and the predicate of the sentence are definite, so without the pronoun of separation there is no way to tell which component is the subject or the predicate. In addition, the nominal predicate can be considered the adjective referring to the subject. (35) wa-kalimatu llāhi hiya l-„ulyā (Q 9:40) ―God‘s word is the uppermost.‖ Without a pronoun, one can understand that is an adjective → * wakalimatu llāhi l-„ulyā ‗and the uppermost God's word (…).‘ (36) ‟inna hāḏā la-huwa l-qaṣaṣu l-ḥaqqu (Q 3:62) ‗Indeed, this is the true narration.‘ Without the pronoun, the sentence will be → *‟inna hāḏā l-qaṣaṣu l-ḥaqqu ―indeed this true narration‖, whereas the sentence must be completed with a predicate (Reckendorf 1898: 388). Noteworthy in this category is the case of ḏālika huwa l-fawzu l-ʿaẓīmu (Q 9:72) as opposed to ḏālika l-fawzu l-ʿaẓīmu (Q 13:4). Both of the verses can be translated as ―that is the mighty triumph‖. Brockelmann (1961/2: 99) mentions this example and explains that in these cases the copula can be omitted without 24 The Arab grammarians analyze such structures as follows: According to the Baṣra School this pronoun is actually a particle. The grammarians of Kūfa school claiming however that its grammatical function is determined according to its position in the sentence, i.e. if it stands for example between the subject and the predicate of kāna, then its in nominative case (Ibn Hišām 1991/2: 175) (see also section 1.1i). 101 explaining the reason. The deletion of the separation pronoun can be explained by the function of the clause‘s subject. ḏālika here functions as a resumptive pronoun that refers to what previously was said, and therefore it is clear that ḏālika is the subject while l-fawzu l-ʿaẓīmu is the predicate which follows by its adjective. 3. Conclusions The independent personal pronoun in the Qur‘ān appears in three different structures: in nominal sentences, in verbal sentences and in so-called ―tripartite nominal clauses‖, that is, nominal sentences including a pronoun copula. In the nominal sentences the independent personal pronoun functions mainly as the grammatical subject of the sentence. The pronoun refers to or replaces the subject that was previously mentioned, without carrying an additional pragmatic rule, such as indicating subject switch. In specific cases, however, such as an independent personal pronoun after mā in the signification of laysa, in negative and interrogative sentences, the independent personal pronoun has the significant function of emphasizing the identity of the agent. An additional function of the independent personal pronoun which was mentioned is the use of the pronoun for expressing contrast between two sides – usually between God and the believers, God and the devil and between Muḥammad and the infidels. In verbal sentences, the independent personal pronoun has three functions. First, the independent personal pronoun is an emphatic pronoun – i.e., emphasizes or clarifies the identity of the agent. This use can be found in Q 12:51, 12:26, in sentences in which the pronouns ‟anā and huwa refer to Allah, and when the independent personal pronoun appears immediately after the interrogative and negative particle or after ṯumma. Secondly, the independent personal pronoun can be reduplicated. The primary reason for the creation of the co-ordinate subject structure is to avoid creating a syntactical hole in the sentence and for semantic reasons, i.e., deletion of the pronoun can change the meaning of the sentence – the particle wa that stands between the pronoun and the second subject can be understood as ―with‖ and not as ―and.‖ As a third function, the independent personal pronoun marks the subject when there a gap between the subject and the predicate was created due to the introduction of some particles, as, for example, ‟ammā…fa. The independent personal pronoun that is placed after the particle fa function as a marker which enables us to identify the subject and the predicate. 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Folia Linguistica Historica 17. 4155. Bayḍāwī , ‗Abd Allah Ibn ‗Umar. 1996. ‟Anwār at-Tanzīl wa-‟Asrār at-Ta‟wīl. Beyrut: Dār Fikr. Ibn Hišām, Ğamāl ad-Dīn al-Anṣārī. 1991. Muġnī al-Labīb. Cairo: al-Maṭba‗a al-‘Azhariyya. Ibn Ğinnī, Abū al-Fatḥ ‗Uṯmān. 1976. Kitāb al-Luma„ fī n-Naḥw edited by Hadi M. Kechrida. Uppsala : [s.n.]. Ibn Ya‗īš, Ya‗īš Ibn ‗Alī. n.y. šarḥ l-mafaṣṣal. Cairo: Dār al-Ṭabā‗a al-Mandīriyya. Ğurğānī, ‗Abd al-Qāhir. 1984. Dalā‟il al-‟i„ğāz. Cairo: Maktabat al-Ḫāniğī. Sībawayhi. 1999. al-Kitāb. Beyrut: Dār al-Kutub al-‗Ilmiyya. Suyūṭī, Ğalāl ad-Dīn. 1989. Kitāb ham„ al-mawāmi„. Kuwait: Dār al-Buḥūṯ al-‗Ilmiyya. Suyūṭī, Ğalāl ad-Dīn. 1973. al-‟Itqān fī „ulūmi l-Qur‟ān. Beyrut: al-Maktaba aṯ-Ṯaqāfiyya. 103 Ṭabarī, 1968. Jāmi„ l-bayān fī ta‟awīli l-Qur‟ān. Cairo. Az-Zağğāğī, ‗Abd al-Raḥman Ibn ‘Isḥāq. 1957. Al-Ğumal. Paris: Maṭba‗at Kalankasbik. 104 IFRANĞĪ / FIRANĞĪ: WHAT LANGUAGE WAS PAUL OF ALEPPO REFERRING TO IN HIS TRAVEL NOTES? Ioana Feodorov Institute for South-East European Studies Romanian Academy Abstract. Būlos Ibn al-Za„īm al-Ḥalabiyy, or Paul of Aleppo, an archdeacon of the Greek Orthodox Church of Antioch, travelled in 1652-1659 through Turkey, Wallachia, Moldavia, Ukraine, and Russia, accompanying his father, Patriarch Makarios III Ibn al-Zaʻīm. His testimony regarding all that he saw and learned on this long voyage is preserved in a 662 pages Arabic manuscript belonging to the BnF in Paris (longest known version). Among many significant topics, the language data provided by this text is outstanding. This paper surveys the meanings of the words Ifranğī / Firanğī („Frankish‟) in Paul‟s notes as referring to „language‟ and „writing‟, with comments on the various interpretations of the Arabic terms Firanğ / Ifranğ, loanwords that originated in the European word „Frank‟. Keywords: Paul of Aleppo, travels, East-Europe, 17th century, Ifranğī, Firanğī, Frank, Frankish, Arabic loanwords. Būlos Ibn al-Za„īm al-Ḥalabī, or Paul of Aleppo, an archdeacon of the Greek Orthodox Church of Antioch, travelled through Turkey, Wallachia, Moldavia, Ukraine and Russia in 1652-1659. He was accompanying his father, Patriarch Makarios III Ibn al-Za„īm, who left his seat in Damascus for a long and perilous journey in search of financial and political help from the Orthodox princes of Eastern Europe. All through his voyages Paul took notes that make up a manuscript of 322 folios (r/v) in the longest copy available, Ms. Ar. 6016 of Bibliothèque Nationale de France, in Paris. 1 This manuscript is currently the object of a joint programme between the Institute for South-East European Studies of the Romanian Academy and the Institute of Oriental Manuscripts in St Petersburg, aiming at a complete edition of the Arabic text and an annotated English translation. * I wish to express my gratitude to Fr Samir Khalil Samir (Pontificio Istituto Orientale, Rome) and to Aurélien Girard (Université de Reims Champagne-Ardenne, Centre d‟Études et de Recherche en Histoire Culturelle) for kindly advising me on bibliographical sources and offering comments that were essential to my survey. 1 For information on all known copies see Feodorov 2012-a: 15-17. 105 Paul‟s journal, known to modern scholarship as The Travels of Patriarch Makarius al-Za„īm, is rich in historical, political, religious, and cultural data (See Kilpatrick 1997; Walbiner 2003 ; Feodorov 2006; Feodorov 2010; Feodorov 2012-b, etc.). Among the aspects that were less commented upon, language features, have recently become the focus of increased attention2, as vivid testimonies of the variety of language known as “Middle Arabic”, and in particular – the version employed by Christian Arabs of Syria in the 16 th-17th centuries (see Feodorov 2003; Feodorov 2011). The Syrian traveller was highly interested in languages spoken by all the ethnic groups which the Arab hierarchs met. He often makes comments concerning the way they spoke or wrote: e.g., when reporting the story of a christened Jew, Paul is astonished at similarities in the Jews‟ and the Arabs‟ languages: ،ًٕ ًّ‫ تاىعثشا‬،ٌ‫ اىسالً عيٍن‬،‫ قاٌال‬،ٍٔ‫ ٗارا سآي احذّا سفٍقٔ ٗسيٌ عي‬، ً‫ٗاىعذد تاىعثشاًّ ٍثو اىعشت‬ . ‫ ٍٗثو ٕذا شً مثٍش‬، ً‫( سال‬sic)ً٘‫عيٍخ‬ “Numbers are the same in Hebrew and in Arabic. When one of us sees a friend, he salutes him with As-salāmu „alay-kum!, while in Hebrew it is „Alayhum salām! And there are many similar situations” (fol. 279v). Paul often explains the foreign words that he considered useful for his Syrian readers, especially the church vocabulary, e.g.: ٔ‫اىصات٘س اي اىنٍْسح اىعظًَ ٍٗضً اىصات٘س تيساٌّٖ اىناذ٘ىٍن ًّ اٗ اىجاٍع‬ “[...] sobor, i.e. „the great church‟, for sobor in their language [i.e., in Russian] means al-kāṯūlīkī or „the place of gathering‟” (140v). The present contribution focuses on a single one of the plentiful lexical items that are likely to attract philologists‟ attention when our project is completed: the interpretation of the terms Ifranğī / Firanğī when referring to “language” and “writing”.3 As a derivative of the 4-consonant root f-r-n-ğ, established in Arabic through a loan, from a non-Semitic language, the origin of the word Ifranğ in the term Franc is generally evoked. However, it is not unanimously accepted whether it was borrowed from Latin, Italian, Greek, or the Lingua franca spoken in the early Middle Ages all around the Mediterranean shores. Fr Samir Khalil Samir, an expert editor, translator and commentator of Christian Arabic works, suggested to me that the word was borrowed by Arabic from either Italian or Greek: “[Firanğ is] simply a transcription of Franc, the [ğ] at the end being pronounced /g/ (like in the Cairene pronunciation)”. Cyril Aslanov favours the Greek origin: “En vertu 2 Basile Radu (Radu 1930-1949) was not particularly interested in the linguistic features of Paul‟s journal, while G. Z. Pumpyan (Pumpyan 1987) presented a small number of loanwords of Turkish origin employed by Paul while in Russia. 3 For other meanings and interpretations see Feodorov 2012-d. 106 d‟une habitude linguistique qui remonte aux contacts entre l‟Empire carolingien et Byzance, les Occidentaux étaient appelés du nom de Φράγκοι par les Grecs. Cet ethnonyme hellénisé fut adapté sous la forme ifranğ / pluriel faranğ en arabe, fruğu / pluriel fruzi en vieux-slave, frjag / pluriel frjagi en vieux-russe” (Aslanov 2002: 13). Crusaders were called Ifrank or Ifranğ both by Muslims and Christians: the words ṣalībī and ṣalībiyyūn appear in written texts in the 19th century, when they were probably translated from modern European languages. Given their role as a bridge between the Greek and the Muslim cultures, Christian Arabs of the Levant may have been the transmitters of the term Ifrank. The history of the Arabic root f-r-n-ğ is definitely connected to the Crusaders‟ presence in the Levant, which allowed Arabic-speaking populations a closer contact with the motley languages of the European armies. Aslanov attributes the origin of the phrase lingua franca to this period: “Comme les locuteurs des langues romanes constituaient la majeure partie des effectifs croisés, l‟ethnonyme Φράγκοι en arriva a désigner indistinctement les différents idiomes romans parlés par ces envahisseurs occidentaux: parlers d‟oïl, occitan, catalan, dialectes italiens. C‟est cette bigarrure linguistique à dominante romane qui est à l‟origine de l‟appellation lingua franca [...]” (ibidem). However, this author does not equal lingua franca to lisān al-faranj, “qui peut nommer n‟importe quelle langue parlée par des Francs (Occidentaux) perçus d‟un point de vue levantin4”. In his article in EI2 devoted to the word Ifranğ (EI2 1965: 1044-1046), Bernard Lewis asserts that the term was transmitted to Muslims by the Byzantines and that the first authors who mentioned it, in its geographical sense, were Muslim geographers of the 8th-9th c., in particular Al-Mas„ūdi, who used it to refer to France and sometimes to the British Isles, inhabited by “Franks”. The Franks (< Latin pl. Franci, gens Francorum < sg. Francus < German “javelin” > Old Eng. franca?) were Germanic tribes that populated in the 3rd c. AD a wide territory in the Rhine River Valley. The word is documented from the 3 rd century. Constantine the Ist executed „Frankish prisoners‟ in Trier, in 306. 5 The name was not an ethnonym, but an endonym, because the tribes had each a different name and the term was interpreted as “free, honest, bold, fierce [people]”, in a social and political sense (with Adj. feroces). In the 3rd-5th c. some of the Franks attacked the Roman armies, while others joined them, fighting in Gaul. Frankish tribes united in the 5th c. under the Merovingian dynasty and conquered almost the 4 See Jocelyne Dakhlia, Lingua franca: histoire d‟une langue métisse en Méditerrannée, Aix-enProvence, 2008, who argues that “la langue franque” reached beyond a versatile pidgin or a “jargon de fortune”, as Claude Hagège had described it. 5 See Wolf Liebeschnetz, The Debate about the Ethnogenesis of the Germanic Tribes, in From Rome to Constantinople, Peeters, 2007, pp. 341-356. 107 whole Gaul. Thus, the Franks‟ kingdom was established, spreading Christianity in Western Europe. By the end of the 8th c., under the Carolingian princes, their Empire dominated all of Western Europe, later to be divided into France and the Holy Roman Empire. The Franks were strongly connected, spiritually and politically, to the Latin Church, therefore the name Frank was often used in the Middle Ages as a synonym for „Roman Catholic‟. 6 Ines Županov surveyed the Asian adventure of this word, in its Indian version – Parangui, concluding that it “is a generic, xenophobic term for a European. In its many regional phonetic, semantic, and spelling variants (Frangui, Farangui, Firinghee, Ifranği, Parangi, Prangue, etc.), it was used throughout Asia and the Middle East from the medieval period (designating Franks, „European Christians‟, crusaders, etc.) until today” 7. The perspective of any survey is definitely instrumental in the survey of the notion of „Frank‟ or Firanğ: in his discussion of Jocelyn Dakhlia‟s abovementioned book, Cyril Aslanov notes that “[...] même les Occidentaux cessaient d‟être des faranj dès lors qu‟ils étaient perçus depuis les horizons barbaresques ou marocains. Vus de Tunis, d‟Alger ou de Salé, ceux qu‟on appelait „francs‟ à Constantinople, Beyrouth ou Alexandrie devenaient des Roumis, c‟est-a-dire des „Romains‟” (Aslanov 2010: 105). Detailed philological comments on the etymology, history and form of the Arabic terms derived from the root f-r-n-ğ (orthographic variations, phonology, morphology), established through a loan from a non-Semitic language, require a survey of the earliest documents where this term can be traced, of the subsequent changes of pronunciation and meaning that it experienced, and of its first recording and definitions in dictionaries of the Arabic language. My research of this topic started with a survey of relevant entries in dictionaries and vocabularies of the Arabic language – Muslim and Christian, classical and modern. In the absence of a historical dictionary of the Arabic language, data is gathered by modern commentators from the great Muslim lexicographers. Since this research is still in progress, only brief notes are presented hereafter, focusing on the significance of Paul of Aleppo‟s notes as a source for this language survey. The momentous Lisān al-„arab of Ibn Manẓūr Muḥammad Abū l-Faḍl alMiṣriyy8 does not mention this root.9 In the dictionary of Al-Fayruzabadi Al- 6 Metropolitan Dosoftei, the Romanian 17th c. translator of Herodot‟s History, sees the Celts in the “Franks that inhabit the fringes of Europe”: see V. Cândea, “Franţozii în Bibliile româneşti din secolul al XVII-lea”, in Limba română, 2, XIX, 1970, p. 139. 7 Ines G. Županov, Disputed Mission. Jesuit Experiments and Brahmanical Knowledge in Seventeenth-century India, Oxford University Press, 2nd ed., New Delhi, 2001, p. 5, note 14. 8 Muslim lexicographer of the 14th c. (d. 1311, Cairo). First print 1882, Būlāq. 9 Passing from f-r-n-b to f-r-n-d (t. V, p. 3405). 108 Qāmūs al-muḥīṭ10 the root f-r-n-ğ comprises a single term, al-Ifranğat, defined as: al-‟Ifranğat gīlun mu„arrab Ifrank, while ğīlun is interpreted as al-ṣinf min al-nās („a sort of people‟), and ‟iqlīmun bi-l-„ağamī („a territory in foreign lands‟) (s. v., 3rd Part, p. 364). For ‟Aḥmad bin „Ālī Al-Qalqašandī (ṣubḥ al-‟aʻšā fī s}inā„at al‟inšā‟)11, one of the major encyclopaedists of the Medieval Orient, the Greek were part of the Firanğī lands: ًٗ‫ٍٗيل اىقسطْطٍٍْح ٗسائش ٍي٘ك اىفشّج ٗحناٌٍٖ تجضائش اىش‬ “The emperor of Constantinople and the other emperors of Al-Firanğ, whose rule extends over the Greeks‟ islands...” (Ch. 2). The first Christian Arab author to provide a lexicographic record of the term was probably the Maronite Gabriel Farḥāt in his Bāb al-‟i„rāb fī luġat al‟a„rāb12: .‫ ٌف٘قّ٘ا غٍشٌٕ رماء ٗصْاعح‬.‫االفشّج ٗاالفشّجح ٍع ّشب افشّل‬ “Ifranğ and Ifranğat come from Ifrank. They [the Franks] surpass the others in intelligence and craft.” In Lane‟s Arabic-English Lexicon (s. v.), the article on Al-Firanğ, rich in examples from the Qur‟ān, Al-Mufradāt fī ġarīb al-Qur‟ān, Lisān al-„arab, Tāğ al-„arūs min ğawāhir al-qāmūs, etc., provides the definition: “A certain people; the Franks; an appellation given originally, by the Arabs, to the French; and afterwards to all Europeans except those of the Turkish Empire.”13 This exception is recorded with certain variations: in Buṭros al-Bustānī‟s 19th century dictionary Muḥīṭ al-muḥīṭ the definition goes: Ism li-sukkān ‟Urubbā mā „adā al-‟arwām wa-l-‟atrāk.14 The French diplomat and lexicographer Adrien Barthélemy gives: “frandj, n. coll. „Francs, Européens‟; arl. [arabe littéral] ifrandju”15. Derived 10 Mağd al-Din Muḥammad bin Ya„qūb al-Fayrūzabādī, born in Feyrūzabād, near Shiraz (m. 1415). 1st part, Beirut, Dār al-ğīl, s. a., p. 210. 11 Egyptian writer, scientist, and lexicographer (1355/1356-1418). His fourteen-volume encyclopaedia is accessible on-line: http://www.islamicbook.ws/adab/sbh-alaasha-001.html. 12 Edited by Rochaïd Daḥdāḥ, Dictionnaire arabe par Germanos Farhat, Maronite, évêque d‟Alep. Revu, corrigé et considérablement augmenté sur le manuscrit de l‟Auteur, Marseille, Barras et Savournin, 1849. 13 My colleague Octav de Lazero shared his opinion with me that there are precedents for the transfer and subsequent semantic development of ethnonyms, e.g., the West Semitic y-w-n > „Ionian‟ > „Greek‟. I am grateful to him for this comment. 14 Unlike other Eastern lexicographers, he explains it in connection with the Latin francus: “wama„nā-hu ḥurr”. 15 A. Barthélemy, Dictionnaire Arabe – Français. Dialectes de Syrie: Alep, Damas Liban, Jérusalem. Quatrième fascicule, publié par H. Fleisch, Paris, 1950, p. 605. Adrien Barthélemy (1859-1949) was a French consul in Lebanon, Syria, and Persia, a Professor at École des Langues Orientales and École pratique des Hautes Études in Paris. He published three fascicules of his 109 forms all refer to the geographical concept: al-Ifranğ, „the Europeans‟, Ifranği, „European‟, Firanğa, „Land of the Franks‟, „Europe‟. In his Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic (Wehr 1994: 832), Hans Wehr gives: al-ifranj, „the Europeans‟, ifranjī, European, bilād al-ifranj and firanja, „Europe‟, „Land of the Franks‟, and al-ifranjā, „syphilis‟. The derived verb, absent from Paul of Aleppo‟s journal, was presumably recorded only in later-date dictionaries, with the meanings given by Wehr‟s Dictionary (ibidem): tafarnaja, „to become Europeanized, adopt European manners, imitate the Europeans‟, with the derived noun tafarnuj, „Europeanization‟, „imitation of the Europeans‟, and the participle mutafarnij, „Europeanized‟. While quoting a magazine article of 1860 (although “it may be older”), Bernard Lewis proposes the definition: “TAFARNUDJ, from Ifrandj, lit. „adopting, imitating or aping the manners and customs of the Franks, i.e. the „Europeans‟” (EI2 2000: 81). Instead, Paul of Aleppo uses the expression sāra Ifranğī: . ‫ اّل دخيد ىرصٍش افشّج‬.ٔ‫اٌّٖ ىيحاه ٌَسنّ٘ٔ قاٌيٍِ ى‬ “They grabbed him at once, saying to him: „You entered [the house of the Europeans] to become a European [A Catholic? A Protestant?16].‟” In Paul of Aleppo‟s time the terms Ifranğā / Firanğā were well established in Syrian Arabic as the name for „Europe‟, more particularly „Western Europe‟, while Ifranğī / Firanğī referred to everything „European‟, „Western‟, „foreign‟, „new‟ or „of superior quality‟, and specifically „Catholic‟, although Protestants (German, Dutch, or English) are also included in the general notion of „Franks‟. Rather than Ifrinğ, Paul uses the expression tābiʻūn al-bābā, „followers of the Pope‟ (fol. 66r, 255v), to indicate the Latin faithful, and quite seldom Rōmānī (fol. 85r).17 For Paul, the Ifranğ could be of many ethnic groups: ‫ ٍِٗ االّنالص ذجاس‬. ‫ ٍِٗ سفاذصا‬. ٓ‫ٗفً ٕزٓ اىَذٌْٔ افشّج مثٍش ٍِ اىَْسا‬ “In this city there were many Frank tradesmen from Austria, Sweden, and England.” (fol. 157v) Other European peoples mentioned in his notes are the Greek (Al-Rūm), the Flemish (Al-Falmand), the Germans (Al-‟Almān), the Venitians (AlBunduqiyya), the Genoese (Al-Ğanūwiyya), and the „Sas‟ (Al-āṣ)18. A particular meaning of the word Ifranğī in Christian Arabic works, widely overlooked by dictionaries, is „Latin‟ or „foreign‟ with reference to the language, writing and alphabet of the „Franks‟. As documented in Christian outstanding work in 1935-1942, then H. Fleish published in 1950 and 1954 the following two, and a Fasciscule complémentaire in 1969. 16 Possibly also in the sense of „to join the heretics‟. 17 See details in Feodorov 2012-b: 231-232. 18 German communities settled in Transylvania, see Feodorov 2012-b: 236. 110 Arabic works, this usage seems to have been widespread, often without a clear reference to the particular language of the „Franks‟ implied. To offer but two examples, in his study of graphic systems, while exemplifying with the inscriptions on Frankish swords, Ibn al-Nadīm quotes Ḥunayn ibn Isḥāq, who had translated in 906 from Greek into Arabic Queen Bertha‟s message to Caliph AlMuktafī bi-Llāh, in Baghdad: the message had previously been translated into Greek by a Frank who mastered “the Frankish script, resembling the Greek writing, but straighter” (Fihrist, 20, apud B. Lewis, loc. cit). Much later, in a letter addressed by Pope Alexander VII to the Maronite Church in 1665, a mention is made to the school that the future patriarch Iṣṭifān al-Duwayhī founded in Aleppo li yataʻallam al-luġat al-ʻarabiya wa al-faranğiyya. 19 If other sources clearly indicate that the reference here is to the Italian language 20, in other texts the Lingua franca spoken along the Mediterranean coasts was implied. References to the Franks‟ language are also present in Paul of Aleppo‟s notes. What language or writing he is referring to in each and every circumstance remains to be ascertained. When describing the church of the Catholic community in Constantinople, destroyed by a recent fire, Paul reports: . ٍٔ‫ٗمو مراترٖا افشّج‬ “All the writing on the walls was Ifranğī” (fol. 20r), i.e., most probably Latin. Basile Radu translates « European », while F.C. Belfour states: “All the inscriptions were in the Frank language” (Belfour I: 28). In rare occasions, Paul uses the word „Latin‟ to refer to the language spoken by Europeans, not mentioning by whom: ُ‫ ال‬// ‫ ٗدىٍو رىل ظإش‬، ‫ ٗاسرح٘دخ عيً ٕزٓ اىثالد ميٖا‬، ‫فخشجد ٕزٓ األٍٔ اعًْ اىآلٓ ٍِ تالد االفشّج‬ ، ‫ ٗاسٌ تالد اىالٓ تاىيغح اىالثًٍْ ات٘ىيٍّ٘ا‬، ‫ٍعًْ اسٌ الٓ تاىيغح اىالثًٍْ اسذ‬ “This nation, I mean the Lāh [Poles], emerged from among the lands of Europe and conquered all of these territories, and the proof of this is quite evident, for the meaning of the name Lāh in the Latin language is „lion‟, while the name of the Land of the Lāh in the Latin language is Abūllūniyā” (fol. 65v-66r). 19 Poslaniye maronitov Haleba pape rimskomu Aleksandru Sedmomu. Publikatsiya arabskogo teksta po rukopisi iz sobraniya MGU im. M.V. Lomonosova (« Epistola Arabica ab Halebensis Maronitis Romanae Ecclesiae addictis scripta ad Alexandrum Septimum, Pontificem Maximum. Publication of the Arabic text according to a manuscript from the collection of the Moscow State University M.V. Lomonosov »), in Manuscripta Orientalia Universiteta, 1, Moscow, 2005, p. 11. I am grateful to Constantin Panchenko for this information. 20 In his PhD thesis, Le Christianisme oriental (XVIIe-XVIIIe siècles). Essor de l‟orientalisme catholique en Europe et construction des identités confessionnelles au Proche-Orient, presented in November 2011 in Paris, at École pratique des Hautes Études, and yet unpublished, Aurélien Girard comments on this event and the interest of Christian Arabs for the Italian language in the 17th century. 111 Without a precise indication, Ifranğī is interpreted as „European‟ and definitely different from Greek (as well as Arab) in such instances as: ً‫ ٗال ف‬، ٍٔ‫ ال فً مرة ٗاىر٘اسٌخ االفشّج‬، ‫ٍِٗ تعذ ٕ٘الي ىٌ عذّا ٗقفْا ىثطاسمح اّطامٍٔ عيً ذاسٌخ‬ ٌٔ‫اىشٍٍّٗٔ ٗال اىعثش‬ “We could not find any mention of the subsequent Patriarchs of Antioch in any chronicle: neither in the European books and chronicles, nor in the Greek or the Arab ones.” (3r) In several other passages the interpretation of Ifranğī is not clear, suggesting rather more “Italian” or “Greek”: “There was a scholar with us, born in Moscow, who was knowledgeable in twelve languages, [including] Arabic: Egyptian, Turkish, Greek, and Ifranğī.” (fol. 158r) ٔ‫ عشتً ٍصشي ٗذشمً ٗسًٍٗ ٗافشّجً اصي‬.ُ‫ٗماُ ٍ٘اضة عْذّا ٗاحذ ٌعشف تاثًْ عشش ىسا‬ ً‫ٍصن٘ف‬ “And when the news and his answer reached him, he could not answer to him because he did not know the Russian language, for the language of the people of Rome is Ifranğī or Greek.”21 (fol. 218r) ٍٍٔٗ‫ الُ ىساُ إو س‬، ً‫ فيٌ ٌقذس ٌشد عئٍ ىعذً ٍعشفرٔ اىيساُ اىشٗس‬، َٔ‫فيَا تيغٔ اىخثش جآء اىٍٔ ٗمي‬ ًٍٗ‫افشّجً اٗ س‬ Al-Qalqašandī makes a clear distinction between the Firanğī language and that of the Greek: ٗ ًٍٗ‫أُ ٌعَو فٖشسرا ىرشجَح ٍا ٌرشجٌ ٍِ اىنرة اى٘اسدج عيى اىذٌ٘اُ تغٍش اىيساُ اىعشتً ٍِ اىش‬ ‫اىفشجً ٗغٍشَٕا‬ “[...] to prepare two records of whatever was translated from the books which are mentioned in the Divan [as written] in other languages than Arabic: in Greek, in Al-Firanğī, and in others” (op. cit., Ch. 12.1). The list of foreign languages that he provided earlier also differentiates between Greek and the “language of the Europeans”: ‫اىَعشفح تاىيغح اىعجٍَح ًٕٗ مو ٍا عذا اىعشتٍح ٍِ اىرشمٍح ٗاىفاسسٍح ٗاىشٍٍٗح ٗاىفشّجٍح ٗاىثشتشٌح‬ ٌٕ‫ٗاىس٘داُ ٗغٍش‬ “Knowledge of the foreign languages, which are all others beside Arabic: Turkish, Persian, Greek, Firanğiyya, Berber, Sudanese, and all the others”. Ifranğī may have been used by Paul to refer to the Venetians, or the Italians – in more general terms.22 A contemporary of Paul, the equally famous 21 Belfour (II, 192) translates: “[...] for the language of the people of Rome is the Frank or Greek”. 22 See An Ottoman Traveller. Selections from the Book of Travels of Evliya Çelebi, translation and commentary by Robert Dankoff & Sooyong Kim, London, 2010, pp. 166-167, reviewed in “Revue des Études Sud-est Européennes”, Bucharest, t. L, 2012, no. 1-4, pp. 374-375 (I. Feodorov). 112 traveller Evliya Çelebi, reported that the language spoken by the Franks was Italian – Talyan – although in the following passage he mentions a number of non-Italian speaking countries: Spain, Portugal, Holland, England etc. “And the Germans, Hungarians, Poles, Wallachians and Moldavians all have different languages”. Although the term Al-Bunduqiyya is present in Paul‟s journal, in some passages the author designates Venetians by the word „Frank‟. He relates, for example, a dialogue between Sultan Mehmed IV and the Grand Vizier Köprülü Mehmed-Pasha who, while commanding the battle against the Venetians‟ blockade of the Dardanelles in July 1657, had requested an increase in taxes to the Wallachians: ًّ‫ فَشادك ذحشك عيٍْا اٌضًا حشب ذا‬،‫ٗاّرٖشٓ صاجشا ىٔ ٗقاٌال ّحِ تعذ ٍا ذخيصْا ٍِ اىحشب ٍع االفشّج‬ “And he called and admonished him, saying: „No sooner did we end the war with the Franks (Al-Ifranğ) than you wish to bring another war upon us!‟” (fol. 283v). When reporting about the Council of Florence, whose decisions were not accepted by the Antiochian Church, Paul refers again to the Ifranğ, either as „Italians‟ or as „Catholics‟: . ‫ٗفً حٍاذٔ صاس اىَجَع اىثاٍِ عْذ االفشّج فً ٍذٌْٔ في٘ساّصا‬ “During his life the 8th Council took place with the Italians [or the Catholics?] in the city of Florence” (fol. 4r). For Paul, „France‟, Firansā, is a particular country in Western Europe (Bilād al-Ifranğ), while the „French‟ are called Firānisa, e.g.: ‫[ ٍِ سثاٍّا ٍِٗ اىفشّسا‬...] ‫ٌٗجيثُ٘ اىً اىَصن٘ف مو اىثضاٌع‬ “And they brought to Moscow all the merchandise [...] from Spain and from France” (fol. 158r). ٔ‫ثٌ سجعْا ذفشجْا عيً ٍشامة االّنالص ٗاىفشاّسٔ اىعجٍث‬ “Then we returned and we admired the wonderful boats of the English and the French” (fol. 19v). Nevertheless, French seems to be implied sometimes in the usage of the term Ifranğ: ‫ ٕنذا ٍٗيل‬، ٌ‫ ٗعْذٌٕ دىل اث‬، ‫الُ مَا اُ ٍيل اىرشك ال ٌسرشضً اُ ٌذعً احذاً ٍِ ٍي٘ك اىَسٍحٍٍِّ ٍيل‬ ‫ حرً ٗال ٍي٘ك االفشّج‬، ‫ ٗىنِ تيساُ اىرشمً مَا دمشّا‬، ‫ ال ٌسرشضً ٌذعٍٔ تيسأّ ٍيل‬، ‫اىَصن٘ف‬ ‫ي مثٍش اىرشك‬ ّ ‫ ا‬، ٘‫ ٗىنِ تيغرٌٖ غشاّذٗ ذ٘سم‬، ‫ٌذعُ٘ ٍيل اىرشك ٍيل‬ “Not even the kings of the Europeans (mulūk al-Ifranğ) call the Turks‟ emperor “an emperor”, for in their language [i.e., in French?] they say Grandū Tūrkū (Grand Turc), i.e. “The Head of Turks” (Kabīr al-Turk)” (245v). However, when he wished to be clear about ethnicity, Paul used specific adjectives that do not leave room for interpretation, like Firanğ al-Firansāwiyya: ٌٔٗ‫اىيزاُ صاسا تطاسمٔ تاّطامٍٔ ىَا فرحٕ٘ا فشّج اىفشّسا‬ 113 “[...] those who were appointed Patriarchs in Antioch when the French „Franks‟ conquered it” (fol. 3r). The same intention of precision is obvious in passages where Paul refers to ٓ‫(االفشّج اىَْسا‬Al-Ifranğ al-Nimsāh, „the Austrian Franks‟) and ‫( االفشّج االّنالص‬AlIfranğ al-Inklāz, „the English Franks‟). The indication to a specific writing may give us a hint to what Paul understood by Ifranğī language. Thus, he notes that he saw, among many relics treasured in Moscow, a ritual spoon that had a date written on it bi-l-Ifranğī, i.e., in Latin [numbers]: ، ٔ‫ ٌٕٗ ماط ٗصٍٍْٔ ٗقثٔ ٍٗيعقٔ تحجاسٓ ّفٍس‬، ‫ٗذثاسمْا ٍِ تعض اىح٘اٌج اىرً ماّد فً رىل اىثشٍٍو‬ ْٔ‫ ىٖا امثش ٍِ خَسَاٌح س‬، ً‫ٍٗنث٘ب عيً اىَيعقٔ ذاسٌخ تاىفشّج‬ “We worshipped several [holy] vessels that were in that barrel, i.e., a cup, a plate, a chalice and a spoon adorned with precious stones. A date was written on the spoon in Firanğī, and it was more than five hundred years old” (218v). In his above-mentioned work, Al-Qalqašandī explained the difference between alphabets of different languages mentioning Firanğiyya, but again without any indication of what he considered this language to be: ‫ثٌ اىيغاخ اىعجٍَح عيى ضشتٍِ أحذَٕا ٍا ىٔ قيٌ ٌنرة تٔ فً ذيل اىيغح ماىيغح اىفاسسٍح ٗاىيغح اىشٍٍٗح‬ ‫ٗاىيغح اىفشّجٍح ّٗحٕ٘ا فاُ ىنو ٍْٖا قيَا ٌخصٔ ٌنرة تٔ فً ذيل اىيغح‬ “Then the foreign languages are divided in two categories, the first being those that have a particular alphabet in which people write in that specific language, e.g. Persian, Greek, Firanğiyya and similar ones, for each one of them has an alphabet with which they write in that language.” (op. cit., Ch. 12.1) To sum up my brief comments, information on the meaning of Ifranğī / Firanğī as a language is not specific in Paul of Aleppo‟s notes. The meaning of these terms may be ascertained in specific contexts, and only to some extent, depending on the particular community or devotion that the author refers to. Some passages indicate the meaning “Latin”, while in other instances the term Ifranğī can be interpreted as “foreign”, or vaguely referring to the “Europeans‟ language”. Considering the large number of peoples and communities that Paul and the other Syrian hierarchs met on their journey – Romanians, Russians, Cossacks, Greeks, French, Turks, Armenians, Georgians, Tatars, Qizilbash, etc. – it is not surprising that precision is not always found, in terms of a definition of the languages they each spoke. Further research based on a comparison with other contemporary Christian Arabic works, such as those written by Patriarch Makarios III Ibn al-Zaʻīm, Paul‟s father, will shed more light on the Levantines‟ views of the Europeans at the middle of the 17th century. Beside the special interest in defining this aspect of Paul‟s reports, grasping his curiosity for the specific features of the ethnic groups that he encountered helps us to better assess the reach of this outstanding journal. 114 Bibliography Aslanov 2002: Cyril Aslanov, “Quand les langues romanes se confondent... La Romania vue d‟ailleurs”, in Langage et société, 99, 2002, pp. 9-52. Aslanov 2010: Cyril Aslanov, “Débat sur l‟ouvrage de Jocelyne Dakhlia, Lingua franca. Histoire d‟une langue métisse en Méditerranée”, in Langage et société, 134, 2010, pp. 103-113. Belfour I, Belfour II - Francis C. Belfour, The Travels of Macarius, Patriarch of Antioch, written by his Attendant Archdeacon, Paul of Aleppo, in Arabic, London, The Oriental Translation Fund of Great Britain and Ireland, I: 1829-1835, II: 1836. EI2 1965: Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd edition, Vol. 2, C-G, edited by B. Lewis, Ch. Pellat and J. Schacht, assisted by J. Burton-Page, C. Dumont and V.L. Ménage, Brill, Leiden, 1965; EI2 2000: Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd edition, Vol. 10, Tā‟-U[..], edited by P.J. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs, Brill, Leiden, 2000. Feodorov 2003 : Ioana Feodorov, Middle Arabic Elements in Two Texts from Mağmū„ latīf by Patriarch Macarius az-Za„īm, in “Romano-Arabica III. Arabic Linguistics”, Bucharest, 2003, pp. 81-92. Feodorov 2006 : Ioana Feodorov, Ottoman Authority in the Romanian Principalities as Witnessed by a Christian Arab Traveller of the 17th Century: Paul of Aleppo, dans B. MichalakPikulska, A. Pikulski (éds.), Proceedings of the 22nd Congress of L‟Union Européenne des Arabisants et Islamisants, Cracow, Poland, 2004, Leuven, Peeters, 2006, pp. 307321. Feodorov 2010 : Ioana Feodorov, Images et coutumes des Pays Roumains dans le récit de voyage de Paul d‟Alep, dans Tropes du voyage. Les Rencontres, Paris, Ed. L‟Harmattan, 2010, pp. 221-246. Feodorov 2011 : Ioana Feodorov, Notes sur les mots non arabes dans le Voyage du patriarche Macaire d‟Antioche par Paul d‟Alep, in A Festschrift for Nadia Anghelescu, Editura Universităţii din Bucureşti, 2011, pp. 193-214. Feodorov 2012-a : Ioana Feodorov, Paul d‟Alep, Récit du voyage du patriarche Macaire Ibn alZa„īm. Héritage et évolutions récentes du projet d‟édition, in Relations entre les peuples de l‟Europe Orientale et les chrétiens arabes au XVII e siècle. Macaire III Ibn al-Za„īm et Paul d‟Alep. Actes du Ier Colloque international, le 16 septembre 2011, Bucarest, Éd. de l‟Académie Roumaine, Bucharest, 2012, pp. 9-30. Feodorov 2012-b : Ioana Feodorov, „Friends and Foes‟ of the Papacy as Recorded in Paul of Aleppo‟s Notes, in “Revue des Études Sud-est Européennes”, Bucharest, t. L, 2012, no. 14, pp. 227-238. Feodorov 2012-c : Ioana Feodorov, Notes sur les livres et l‟imprimerie chez Paul d‟Alep, Voyage du Patriarche Macaire III d‟Antioche aux Pays Roumains, au „Pays des Cosaques‟ et en Russie, in Actes du Symposium International Le Livre. La Roumanie. L‟Europe, Bibliothèque Métropolitaine de Bucarest, 4ème édition, 20-23 Septembre 2011, t. III, Ed. « Biblioteca Bucureştilor”, Bucharest, 2012, pp. 200-209. Feodorov 2012-d: Ioana Feodorov, The Meaning of Ifranğ and Ifranğī in Paul of Aleppo‟s Journal, in Hommage à Andrei Pippidi, Iaşi, Ed. Universităţii “Alexandru Ioan Cuza”, 2012 (in print). Kilpatrick 1997: Hilary Kilpatrick, Journeying towards Modernity. The “Safrat Al-Batrak Makâriyûs” of Bûlus Ibn Al-Za„îm Al-alabî, in Die Welt des Islams, XXXVII/2, 1997, pp. 156-177. Pumpyan 1987 : G. Z. Pumpyan, Tureckie zaimstvovanija v Putešestvij Patriarha Macarija Antiohijskogo, in “Palestinskij Sbornik”, Moscow, 29, 1987, pp. 64-73. 115 Radu 1930-1949 – Basile Radu, Voyage du Patriarche Macaire d‟Antioche, texte arabe et traduction française, dans Patrologia Orientalis, R. Graffin, F. Nau (éds.), XXII, fasc.1/1930; XXIV, fasc.4/1933; XXVI, fasc.5/1949, Paris, Firmin-Didot et Cie Imprimeurs-Éditeurs. Walbiner 2003: Carsten-Michael Walbiner, “Images painted with such exalted skill as to ravish the senses...”: Pictures in the Eyes of Christian Arab Travellers of the 17th and 18th Centuries, dans La multiplication des images en pays d‟Islam: De l‟estampe à la télévision (17e - 21e siècle), Bernard Heyberger, Silvia Naef (éds.), Istanbuler Texte und Studien, Band 2, Würzburg, Ergon Verlag, 2003, pp. 15-30. Wehr 1994: Hans Wehr, A Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic (Arabic-English), edited by J. Milton Cowan, 4th edition, Ithaca, NY, 1994. 116 QUELQUES GRAPHÈMES LATINS POLYFONCTIONNELS QUI NOTENT LES CONSONNES DU PARLER ARABE DE SIIRT DANS UNE COLLECTION DE PROVERBES George Grigore Université de Bucarest Abstract. Our study is based on a corpus of proverbs or sapiential sayings in the Arabic dialect of Siirt (Turkey), published in a written collection, using the Latin alphabet, having the Turkish writing as point of reference, to which some adaptations have been made. Starting from these texts, we will try to point out the main phonological, morphological and syntactical features of the Arabic of Siirt, as well as the analysis of classical Arabic insertions. Furthermore, we shall analyse the solutions suggested by the text gatherers, regarding the reflection of some sounds in the used graphemes. Keywords: Arabic of Siirt, Mesopotamian dialects, Arab dialectology, proverbes, phonetics . I. Introduction Cette étude se fonde sur un corpus de proverbes, notés en alphabet latin, dans le parler arabe de la ville Siirt (désormais, le siirti), située dans le sud-est de la Turquie. Ce parler appartient à la branche anatolienne de l’arabe mésopotamien de type qəltu (Jastrow 1994 : 121) qui se caractérise, entre autres, par la réalisation de l’ancienne consonne /q/ telle quelle /q/, et par la présence de la voyelle finale /-u/, à la première personne du singulier de la conjugaison suffixale (Blanc 1964 : 5-11 et 160-171 ; Jastrow 1978). Le corpus de proverbes a été publié sur le site : www.siirtim.com/Gezi_Rehberi_Siirtin_Arapca_Atasozleri.htm. Les graphèmes employés pour noter ce texte sont ceux employés pour la langue turque, ainsi que les phonèmes du siirti qui n’ont pas d’équivalent en turc ont été notés, parfois, par des graphèmes qui ont une valeur différente en turc et, souvent, un graphème couvre deux ou trois phonèmes du siirti. Dans ce travail, on va analyser seulement les graphèmes plurifonctionnels qui notent des consonnes. II. Les graphèmes monofonctionnels Les graphèmes suivants notent une seule consonne: [b] note l’occlusive bilabiale sonore /b/ : bint / bənt « fille » ; [c] note l’affriquée palatale sonore /ğ/ : ceybu / ğayb-u « sa poche » ; [ç] note l’affriquée palatales sourde /č/ : izyeç / izyēç « clôture » (v. AC : siyāğ) ; 117 [g] note l’occlusive vélaire sonore /g/ : ygabbor « il accroît » ; [ğ] note la fricative vélaire sonore /ġ/ : ğebet / ġābat « elle est disparue » ; [l] note l’apicale latérale /l/ : laşka / lašqa « tache » ; [m] note la nasale bilabiale sonore [m] : karm « vigne » ; [n] note la nasale apico-alvéolaire sonore /n/ : nar / nār « feu » ; [p] note l’occlusive bilabiale sourde /p/ : kıppan / qabbān « balance », « bascule » ; [ş] note la fricative palatale sourde /š/ : şeyatin / šeyāt}īn « diables » ; [y] note la constrictive palatale /y/ : iye / īye « elle ». Observations : deux consonnes, la pharingale sourde /‘/ et l’occlusive glottale sourde /’/ ne sont pas notées dans le corpus analysé que dans la position médiale où elles sont marquées par un espace libre. III. Les graphèmes polifonctionnels III. 1. Le graphème [d] Le graphème [d] note á la fois, l’occlusive dentale sonore /d/ et l’emphatique /d}/. La dentale sonore /d/ est héritée de l’ancien arabe : dinyit il fene, mefiye le farha ule hene /dənyət əl-fəne, mā fīye lā farh}a w lā həne/ Le monde du néant (le monde périssable) ne renferme ni joie, ni aise. La consonne emphatique /d}/ n’est pas héritée de l’ancien arabe (celle-la est devenue /v}/ en siirti), mais elle provient des emprunts : le maldar u le deyndar /lā mald}ār w lā daynd}ār/ Ni aisé, ni débiteur. III. 2. Le graphème [f] Le graphème [f] note la labiodentale sourde /f/ qui peut provenir de l’ancien arabe, étant héritée telle quelle (ex. : farq « différence »), de la transformation de l’interdentale /t/, de l’emprunt aux langues voisines (ex. : fabrīqa « fabrique », du turc fabrika), et la labiodentale emphatique /f}/. La labiodentale /f/ qui est le résultat de la transformation de l’interdentale /t/ (fūm ← tūm) : fumeye it eyyep el basele /fūmāye it‘ayyəp ‘a-l-bas}ale/ Une gousse d’ail fait honte à un ognon. La labiodentale emphatique /f}/ est le résultat de la transformation de l’emphatique /v}/ qui provient à son tour de l’ancienne emphatique interdentale /d}/ qui, à son tour, couvre deux anciennes phonèmes la fricative emphatique /d}/ et 118 l’occlusive emphatique /d}/: a) dans la position finale : kelb ıl esved moyibyaf /kalb əl-aswad mō yəbyaf}[f}]/ Le chien noir ne devient pas blanc. b) au commencement du mot, parfois, sur l’influence de la consonne sourde suivante : harami fehhek /h}arāmī f}əh}hē} k/ Un voleur ridicule. fihk bele sebep, min nakos il/edep /f}əh}k bala sabap, mən naqos əl-adap/ Le rire sans motif c’est un manque de bienséance. III. 3. Le graphème [h] Le graphème [h] note beaucoup de phonèmes : a) la fricative glottale sourde /h/ La fricative glottale sourde /h/ a une position faible en siirti. Après une autre consonne, le /h/ initial des pronoms affixés – est systématiquement éliminé :qalb-u « son cœur à lui » ; qalb-a « son cœur à elle ». Aussi, le /h/ initial des démonstratifs, pronoms et adverbes est systématiquement éliminé lorsque celui-ci suit un mot terminé en consonne : ava « ce » (cf. AC hādā) ; avi « cette » (cf. AC hādihi) ; uwe « il » (cf. AC huwa) ; iye « elle » (cf. AC hiya) ; awn(e) « ici » (cf. AC hunā) etc. : beyt il-atik uve ma mor /bayt əl-‘atīq ūwe ma‘mōr/ La vieille maison est habitée (pleine de vie). À mon avis, la disparition du /h/ en cette position est passée par une phase intermédiaire, connue aussi dans beaucoup d’autres dialectes arabes, qui consiste dans la réduction du /h/ à l’occlusive glottale, /’/. Ensuite, l’occlusive glottale a été omise, ce qui ne serait qu’une illustration supplémentaire de la disparition quasi-généralisée de ce phonème en siirti. La consonne /h/ est encore préservée à l’intérieur des mots arabes hérités (vahap ← dahab): litrap sar bidu vehep /lə-trāp s}ār b-īd-u vahap/ La poussière a de l’or dans sa main. et aussi dans les mots empruntés (ham, cf Turc hem): hem minne, hem aleyne 119 /ham mənna, ham ‘alayna/ Il est de nôtres et en même temps contre nous. b) la fricative vélaire sourde // ilhayr yi rof sahibu /əl-h~ayr yə‘rof s}āh}əb-u/ Le bien connaît son maître. hammis hımsara /h}ammis} h~əms}ār}a/ Torréfie la grêle. kahve bele tattun, nome bele hatun /qah}we bala tattūn, nōme bala h~āt~ūn/ Café sans tabac, sommeil sans dame c) la pharyngale sonore /h}/ La pharyngale sonore /h}/ est le résultat aussi de la sonorisation de la pharyngale sourde /‘/ en finale absolue (t}alah} ← t}ala‘ ; yəsmah} ← yəsma‘) : inbağaş ceybu, talah eybu /ənbaġaš ğayb-u, t}alah} ‘ayb-u/ On a fouillé dans sa poche, et son défaut s’est révélé. le-yismeh u le-ytiş /lā yəsmah} w lā yt}əšš/ il n’entend pas et il ne voit pas. Sauf la réalisation de pharyngale sourde /‘/ comme sonore [ḥ] en finale absolue, les deux phonèmes commutent souvent dans les positions initiale et médiane : le /‘/ étymologique est remplacé par /ḥ/ : ‘aṭa – yəḥṭi « donner » (mais la racine est ‘ṭw), zaḥtar « thym » – šōṛḅat zaḥtar « soupe au gruau et au thym » – (mais la racine est z‘tr) ; le /ḥ/ étymologique est remplacé par /‘/ : na‘ne « nous » (mais la racine est nḥn), sa‘lab « boisson du salep » (mais la racine est sḥlb). La distribution de /‘/ et de /ḥ/ ne répond, en apparence, à aucun conditionnement. Parfois, le /‘/ et le /ḥ/ semblent être l’un l’allophone de l’autre : fnaḥš – fna‘š « douze ». Cette variation est aléatoire chez les mêmes sujets parlants. 120 III. 4. Le graphème [k] Le graphème [k] note, à la fois, l’occlusive vélaire sourde /k/ et l’uvulaire, l’occlusive sourde /q/, toutes les deux provenant de l’ancien fonds arabe : şi le moyici mil kalp, yijbe hara kelp /šī lā mo-yəğī mə-l-qalp, yižbe h~ar}a kalp/ La chose qui ne vient pas du cœur ressemble à une merde de chien. kırş fi kırş, yintitil kirş /qərš fī qərš, yəntilī l-kərš/ Piastre sur piastre, le ventre se remplie keysir şems, meke yızrok ele ehed. /ka-ys}īr šams, mā-kā-yəzroq ‘ala ah}ad/ S’il devient un soleil, il ne se lèvera pour personne. L’uvulaire /q/ est maintenue quelle telle dans le langage des hommes. Parfois elle peut apparaître dans le langage de ceux-ci au lieu de l’ancienne glottale sonore dans la position initiale : qarnabe « lièvre » (cf. AC ’arnab), qarf} « terre » (cf. AC ’ard}) : nasip, ye karnabe, ye vip /nas}īp, yā qarnabe, yā vīp/ C’est la chance: soit le lièvre, soit le loup III. 5. Le graphème [r] Le graphème [r] note la vibrante apicale /r/ héritée de l’ancien fonds arabe et sa correspondante emphatique /ṛ/ qui est une innovation. dirtu ele meksebi, hisirtu ras meli /dərtu ‘ala maksab-i h~əs}ərtu r}ās mēl-i/ J’ai cherché à gagner, mais j’ai perdu mon capital. La présence du /ṛ/ – comme celle de toute emphatique et consonne d’arrière – est mise en relief par la voyelle /a/ (ou /ā/, en variante longue) qui ne recule que juste un peu son point d’articulation (devenant plus grave), ce qui empêche sa transformation par imala. Donc, dans ce contexte, les voyelles /ā/ médiale et /a/ finale n’évoluent jamais vers /ē/ ou /e/ : vırra iye mırra. /v}ər}r}a īye mər}r}a/ La co-épouse est amère. 121 III. 6. Le graphème [s] Le graphème [s] note l’apicale sourde /s/ et sa correspondante emphatique /s/, toutes les deux héritées de l’ancien fonds arabe : alla me yhelli nefs fi-ş-şidde, apt fi-n-vika /al}l}a mā yh~alli nafs fī š-šidde, ‘apt fī n-v}īqa/ Dieu ne laisse pas une âme dans le malheur, un serviteur, dans le chagrin On note ici l’assimilation partielle de /l/ de l’article qui devient /n/. armale imme tipki, sahbət iz zovceyn imme tipki /armale əmme təpki, s}āh}bət əz-zowğayn əmme təpki/ La veuve pleure, celle qui a deux époux pleure aussi III. 7. Le graphème [t] Le graphème [t] note, à la fois, l’occlusive dentale sourde /t/ et l’occlusive dentale emphatique /t}/ : harezeye mo tıpka fi sandok ıl attar. /h~arazāye mō təpqā fī s}andoq əl-‘at}t}ār/ Ni même une rasade ne reste dans la boite du parfumeur (le vendeur de choses pour les femmes). eğzer minnok keme şeyatin. /aġzar mənnok kama šayāt}īn/. Les plus petits que toi sont comme les diables. On note ici la métathèse aġzar← azġar. La dentale sourde /t/ peut provenir aussi de l’assourdissement de la dentale sonore /d/, en finale absolue : akol yilzem mil meht heyyel leht. /‘aqol yilzem mə-l-maht heyye l-lah}t/ L’intelligence est nécessaire du berceau jusqu’au tombeau fi indu izbip sut /fī ‘ənd-u izbīp sūt/ Il a des raisins secs noirs. III. 8. Le graphème [v] Le graphème [v] note la labiodentale /v/, la labiodentale emphatique /v/ et la constrictive /w/. La labiodentale /v/ provient des emprunts aux langues voisines et de la transformation de l’ancienne interdentale /d/ (əvayne ← ′udayna « petite oreille »; 122 ‘avrā ←‘adrā’ « vierge »): ışkat tıgbar il iveyne, tismeh kileyme. /əšqat təgbar əl-əvayne, təsmah} kəlayme/ Plus l’oreille grandit, plus elle entend la moindre parole. bint il-beyt iye avra. /bənt əl-bayt īye ‘avrā/ La fille de [bonne] famille est vierge. la constrictive bilabiale /w/ héritée de l’ancien fonds arabe (hawā « air ») : asfor fi ibbi, u le başok fil heve /‘asfōr fī ‘ibb-i, w lā bāšōq fī l-hawa/ Un moineau dans ma manche et pas d’aigle dans l’air. L’emphatique /ṿ/ est le résultat de la transformation de l’ancienne emphatique /ḍ/ qui, à son tour, couvre deux anciennes phonèmes la fricative emphatique /d}/ et l’occlusive emphatique /d}/ (bayv}a ←bayd}a « œuf » ; h}av}v}ar ← h}ad}d}ar « préparer ») : bayvıt hamra bid yetim /bayv}at h}amrā b-īd yatīm/ L’œuf rouge est dans la main de l’orphelin. bayvıtu iye safaraneyn /bayv}at-u īye s}afarānayn/ Son œuf a deux jaunes. havvor il mi lef kablil faras /h}av}v}or əl-mə‘laf qabl əl-far}as/} Prépare l’écurie avant [d’avoir] le cheval ! Bibliographie Blanc, Haim. 1964. Communal Dialects in Baghdad. Cambridge, MA : Harvard University Press. Grigore, George. 2003. « Quelques traces du contact linguistique dans le parler arabe de Mardin (Turquie) », Romano-Arabica 3 : 119-134. Grigore, George. 2007. L’arabe parlé à Mardin – monographie d’un parler arabe périphérique. Bucarest : Editura Universităţii din Bucureşti. Grigore, George. 2011a. « Les principales caractéristiques de l’arabe parlé a Siirt (Turquie) », Andrei A. Avram, Anca Focşeneanu et George Grigore (ed.), A Festschrift for Nadia Anghelescu. Bucarest: Editura Universităţii din Bucureşti: 255-277. Grigore, George. 2011b, « Les categories grammaticales de la classe nominale de l’arabe parlé à Siirt (Turquie) », Research Topics: A Selection of Papers presented at the Annual 123 Conference of the Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, Bucarest: Editura Universităţii din Bucureşti: 14-20. Grigore, George. 2010 « Le système consonantique de l’arabe parlé à Siirt (Turquie) », Revue Roumaine de Linguistique, LV, nr.3: 223-235. Jastrow, Otto. 1978. Die mesopotamisch-arabischen qəltu-Dialecte. vol. 1. Phonologie und Morphologie. Wiesbaden : Steiner. Jastrow, Otto. 1994. « The qəltu dialects of Mesopotamian Arabic », Actas del Congreso Internacional sobre interferencias lingüisticas arobo-romances y paralelos extra-iberos. Zarogosa : 119-123. 124 ZANKA FLOW: RAP EN ÁRABE MARROQUÍ Jairo Guerrero Universidad de Cádiz Abstract. This paper deals with the topic of rap in Moroccan Arabic. We present a rap group from Tangiers (Zanka flow) and four of its songs. Each song has been transcribed and translated into Spanish. Finally we conduct a linguistic analysis of the songs lyrics and we consider the possible transformation undergone by the dialect of Tangiers. Keywords: rap, protest songs, Linguistics, Arabic dialectology, pre-Hilali dialects, Moroccan Arabic, Tangiers Del 19 al 20 de noviembre de 2009 se celebró en la Facultad de Letras y Filosofía de la Universidad de Cádiz el coloquio internacional “Creación artística en árabe dialectal: de Egipto a Mauritania”, en dicho coloquio participé con una ponencia titulada “Rap tangerino: Zanka flow”. El trabajo que sigue más abajo se corresponde con el tema de esa ponencia. Quisiera agradecer al profesor George Grigore y a todo el departamento de árabe de la Universidad de Bucarest por invitarme a publicar en esta revista. 1. Introducción Con este trabajo pretendo dar a conocer el rap marroquí en árabe dialectal en tanto que fuente susceptible de aportar valioso material de carácter sociolingüístico. A título de ejemplo, he seleccionado un grupo de rap marroquí sobre el que daré una breve introducción para proceder después a la transcripción, traducción y análisis lingüístico de cuatro de sus canciones. El rap es un estilo musical emparentado con el hip hop que surge a mediados del siglo XX entre la comunidad negra de los Estados Unidos. Consiste en cantar una determinada composición en verso utilizando como base una pista rítmica denominada beat1. Es muy probable que el rap fuera introducido en el Magreb de manos de los magrebíes inmigrantes en Europa y principalmente de los inmigrantes en Francia. Casi con toda certeza fue en las banlieux parisinas y marsellesas donde se 1 Sobre el rap, véase Krims, Rap music and the poetics of identity. 125 empezó a rapear en árabe por primera vez. Luego, estos inmigrantes o sus hijos habrían llevado este nuevo estilo musical a sus países de origen 2. Hacia la década de los años ochenta aparecen en la escena musical marroquí los primeros grupos de rap del país. En un principio sólo cantarán en inglés, pero luego acabarán haciéndolo en francés, árabe marroquí o en una mezcla de estas tres lenguas, lo cual constituye un verdadero ejemplo de lenguas en contacto 3 . En un primer momento el fenómeno del rap no tendrá mucha acogida entre la población y no será hasta finales de los años noventa cuando empiece a hacerse un hueco en el panorama musical marroquí. A día de hoy el rap marroquí posee numerosos fans entre la juventud del país. Estos jóvenes escuchan a grupos de la talla de Bigg, Casa crew, Gamehdi, el7a9ed (los cuatro de Casablanca), H-kayn (Marrakech) o Fez City Clan (Fez). El grupo Zanka flow4 nace en Tánger en 1998 de la mano de Mohamed el Hadi, alias Muslim y Jamal, alias L3arbi. Mohamed el Hadi nace en Tánger en 1981 y ya por el año 1995 empieza a componer sus primeras canciones de rap. En 1996 conoce a un grupo de nigerianos con los que compartía el mismo estilo y con los que decide crear una agrupación que no tarda en desintegrarse. Más tarde Muslim se encuentra con L3arbi y Made Killah junto a los que funda el grupo Out-life que llega a editar un álbum. Esta formación desaparecerá pronto. Pasado un tiempo, Muslim se une de nuevo con L3arbi para fundar Zanka flow. Pese a la práctica ausencia de recursos materiales, el grupo logra componer varios títulos en los que se aprecia un estilo hardcore de crítica y denuncia de las injusticias sociales5. Las letras de sus canciones emplean un argot propio que ellos denominan zanqāwi 6 “callejero” y con el que pretenden llegar a los jóvenes 7 . 2 Otra fuente de la cual bebe el rap marroquí es el rap norteamericano, y en el caso de Tánger el rap español, lo cual se constata en el empleo de préstamos españoles relativos al campo léxico del rap: ṛāpēṛo “rapero”, rīma “rima”. 3 Para otro ejemplo de discurso mixto en representaciones artísticas musicales veáse el articulo de Meouak, & Aguadé; “La rhorhomanie et les beurs: l’exemple de deux langues en contact”. 4 También puede encontrarse escrito zan9a flow [zənqa flōw], cuya traducción literal es “el fluir de la calle”, pero el propio grupo suele traducirlo como “los reporteros de la calle”. 5 http://www.casafree.com/modules/newbb/viewtopic.php?topic_id=14604 6 A título de ejemplo pueden citarse expresiones como: žmăʕ kəṛṛək “muévete, despierta” (lit. recoge tu culo), l-ḥăyāt mqăwwda “la vida es una mierda” (lit. la vida está prostituida), səlʕa d-əlbăqq “escoria” (lit. partida de chinches). 7 En el siguiente fragmento de la canción nº 14 del album Tanjawa daba, puede observarse cómo se intenta que cualquier joven del barrio del cantante se vea representado en la letra de la canción: d-dṛāri bla ma nsəmmi “los chavales, no hace falta que diga sus nombres”, lli f-əl-ġuṛba yfəttəš ʕla ṣlāḥu “el que haya emigrado que busque aquello que le conviene”, lli f-əl-ḥăbs məṭlūq sṛāḥu “el que se encuentre en la cárcel, que sea puesto en libertad”, w-lli māt xălla f-əl-qălb žṛāḥu “y el que murió, en el corazón dejó sus heridas”. 126 Según Muslim, el tono de voz del estilo hardcore permite al artista expresar sus sentimientos de rabia ante las injusticias que ve. En cuanto a los temas más frecuentes de las letras de sus canciones, caben destacar: -La exaltación de la ciudad de Tánger y el orgullo de pertenencia a la misma. -Exaltación de los barrios de donde proceden los integrantes del grupo. -Crítica a raperos “enemigos”: Rofix (barrio de Beni Makada, Tánger), Bigg (Casablanca). -Agradecimiento a las figuras del padre y la madre. -Denuncia del neocolonialismo y del capitalismo en tanto que sistema opuesto a los valores del Islam. -Denuncia de la política de marginalización que ha sufrido hasta ahora la región del norte de Marruecos. -Denuncia de la corrupción que infesta las administraciones e instituciones del Estado, especialmente la corrupción de la policía y del Ministerio de Justicia. -Denuncia de las injusticias y la pobreza que sufre la masa de la población en contraposición a la opulencia en la que vive la clase acomodada. -Crítica de la emigración ilegal, la prostitución y las drogas como supuestas soluciones a la “tragedia” que vive el pueblo. -Exhortación al arrepentimiento y a la observancia de la religión con la esperanza de una vida mejor en el Más allá 8. El primer álbum Tanjawa daba9 [ṭānžāwa dāba] “tangerinos ahora” ve la luz en 2001. A éste le seguirá Jebha [ž-žəbha] “el frente” en 2004, un maxi single de Muslim 9atera [qăṭṛa] “gota” en 2005, otro single Strictly for my souljaz 8 En muchas canciones se le pide perdón a Dios por la vida de crimen y drogadicción que algunos de los integrantes del grupo llevaron en el pasado. 9 Los nombres de los discos y de las canciones suelen aparecer escritos en lo que Montserrat Benítez denomina “transcripción popular” (véase, Benítez, “Transcripción al árabe marroquí de mensajes de teléfono móvil”, p. 158 ). Los fonemas del árabe marroquí se transcriben con los siguientes caracteres latinos y números arábigos: /ʔ/= 2; /b/= b; /t/=t; /ž/=j; /ḥ/=7, h; /x/=5, kh; /d/=d; /r/=r; /z/=z; /s/=s, ss; /š/=ch; /ṣ/=s; /ḍ/=d; /ṭ/=t; /ʕ/=3; /ġ/=gh, r; /f/=f; /q/=9, k; /k/=k; /l/=l; /m/=m; /n/=n; /h/=h; /w/=w; /y/=y; /č/=tch; /p/=p; /ā/=a; /ī/=i; /ū/=ou; /a/=a, e; /i/=i; /u/=u. Esta “transcripción popular” se basa principalmente en la ortografía de la lengua francesa (a saber /ġ/=r; /ž/=j; /s/=ss; /ū/=ou), sin embargo la utilización de números suele preferirse a la hora de transcribir fonemas inexistentes en francés, por ejemplo: zanka-zan9a, kachela-9achela. 127 “exclusivamente para mi soul jazz”10 y el álbum Dem w dmou3 [dəmm w-dmūʕ] “sangre y lágrimas” en 2006. Más tarde, la formación Zanka flow se unirá permaneciendo autónoma a otros artistas del rap tangerino para crear la agrupación Kachela [qăšla] “cuartel” que en 2006 edita su primer álbum Jib l3ez wəlla khez [žīb l-ʕăzz wəlla kḥăz] “lo que vales muéstrame y si no, apártate”. En este mismo año Muslim edita su nuevo single Bghini wəlla krahni [bġīni wəlla kṛəhni] “quiéreme u ódiame”. En 2007 Muslim anuncia su retirada, pero en 2008 sorprende a sus seguidores con su nuevo maxi Mor Ssour [mūṛ ṣ-ṣūṛ] “detrás de la muralla”. Su último disco es Mutamarred [mutamarrid] “rebelde”, editado en 2009-10. Muslim es muy conocido y escuchado en el norte de Marruecos11, lo que se debe en parte a su origen tangerino. Sin embargo en los últimos dos años su fama se ha extendido a ciudades tales como Rabat, Casablanca o Fez. 2.Transcripción y traducción de las canciones12 Canción: 7yat lmesjoun [ḥăyāt l-məšžūn] “La vida del preso”. Artista: Muslim. Album: Mor Ssour (2008). ʕālam xbīt bīn lə-ḥyūṭ bāš s-sāʕa tfūt xăṣṣa səttīn dqīqa fīha tmūt w-l-məšžūn yṣūṭ fŭkk w-xăbbəl f-əl-xyūṭ l-wăqt māt w-l-ḥăbs dxăl w-l-qălb măxrūṭ l-wāqiʕ wəžhu məkḥūt l-ḥăyāt bla malāmiḥ w-lmūt məbhūt Iblīs mšōkē15 məšlūṭ16 Un mundo cruel entre muros. Para que una hora pase hacen falta sesenta minutos en los que te mueres. El preso suspira. ¡Deshaz y enreda los hilos! El tiempo se ha detenido, la cárcel ha penetrado y el corazón está destrozado. El rostro de la realidad es voraz 13. Una vida sin alegría 14 , la (mismísima) muerte está desconcertada. El demonio está atónito, asombrado 10 El soul jazz es un estilo musical procedente del jazz que se caracteriza por melodías pegadizas, ritmos repetitivos e improvisación. 11 Muchas de las canciones de Zanka flow denuncian la dejadez y la marginalización que sufrió la región septentrional de Marruecos durante el reinado de Hassan II. 12 Todas las canciones aquí transcritas pueden escucharse en la web www.a1allzik.com. Quiero agradecer aquí la ayuda prestada por Ibrahim, Salim, Omar y Mohamed a la hora de transcribir las letras de las canciones. 13 Es decir que no presagia nada bueno. 14 Lit. “sin rasgos, sin facciones”. 128 fə-bani Ādam kīfāš wəlla məṣxūṭ 17 s-sbūʕa d-əz-zənqa hnaya qṭūṭ qlīl lli bāqi ṛāžəl w-l-bāqi qăwm Lūṭ ṣ-ṣăḥḥa w-l-ʕunf məšṛūṭ bāš ʕa-džīb ṛāṣək īda kŭnti ḍʕīf məẓḷūṭ19 plānto 21 f-əl-kăbṛān 22 məṛbūṭ flān dəxxəl flān xərrəž flān ṣbəḥ măxbūṭ š-šətwa l-bṛūda w-ṣ-ṣăyf ṣ-ṣhūṭ ḥăyāt l-məšžūn ktāba bla nqūṭ de cómo los seres humanos se han convertido en unos indeseables. Los leones de la calle son aquí unos gat(it)os. Raro es quien aún preserva su hombría18 y el resto son unos sodomitas. (Aquí) se imponen la fuerza y la violencia. ¿Cómo vas a hacerte respetar si eres débil y estás sin blanca20 . El esbirro depende del jefe de celda. Fulano ha metido (algo), fulano ha sacado (algo) 23 y fulano ha amanecido abatido (sobre el suelo). En invierno el frío y en verano la calor. La vida del preso es una escritura sin puntos 24. 15 mšōkē: conmocionado, atónito. Se trata de un préstamo del francés choquer, adaptado al esquema morfológico del participio en árabe. 16 məšlūṭ: boquiabierto, pasmado, asombrado, estupefacto. El verbo šləṭ significa degollar con un corte limpio y de una vez; jugarle a alguien una mala pasada cogiéndole desprevenido, cf. Marçais, Tanger, p. 348. 17 Se dice de un mal hijo quien, a causa de su desobediencia, ha sido maldecido por sus padres. Su antónimo es məṛḍi. 18 Lit. “pocos son todavía hombres”. 19 məẓḷūṭ: sin dinero, sin blanca, sin un duro, indigente, cf. Aguadé, Diccionario, p. 98. En árabe clásico la raíz ‫ زنط‬significa “desnudar, despojar”. 20 Aquí se hace referencia al soborno de los carceleros y jefes de celda para disfrutar de un trato de favor. 21 plānto: secuaz, esbirro; chivato. Se trata de un personaje carcelario que hace las veces de confidente. Aunque desconozco la etimología, el plural con -s me hace pensar en un préstamo de origen romance. 22 kăbṛān: mandamás de la celda. Con este mismo significado se emplea en Túnez, cf. Khémais Ksila, “Les prisons tunisiennes vues de l’intérieur”. Según Harrell, kăbṛān significa originalmente “cabo militar, capataz de obra”, cf. Harrell, Dictionary, p. 59. Para Marçais se trata del francés caporal, donde el fonema lateral /l/ habría pasado a /n/, vid. Marçais, Esquisse, p. 22. 23 Se hace referencia aquí al tráfico de drogas, armas y otros objetos que tiene lugar entre la prisión y el exterior. 24 En el alfabeto árabe los puntos son empleados para diferenciar distintas letras que tienen un mismo soporte gráfico, así el hecho de no escribir los puntos hace que las palabras se tornen ininteligibles. 129 Estribillo x2 ḥăyāt l-məšžūn bla lăwn (En) la vida del preso no hay color 25 fə-ṛăwḍət l-ḥăyy mədfūn bəyn aṛbʕa d-əl-ḥyūṭ . Enterrado en el cementerio del módulo 26. Arrinconado entre cuatro paredes. məṛkūn məskīn yəḥsən yʕāwnu Mūl l-Kūn l-qlīl lli yăʕṛăf ydŭwwəz ḥăbsu xăllāh f-əl-fašal dāxəl ʕlīh l-wăqt gāləs məhmūm f-əl-qănt yḥāsəb nəfsu k-yšūf snīn mə-ḥăyātu ḍāyʕa mūṛ l-grĭyya27 ʕšīri ṛāk məšžūn ġi nsa lḥuṛṛĭyya ma kāyən lāš ddŭwwēz ḥăbsək nādəm Ṛəbbi ʕāləm ṛāk məḍlūm wəlla ḍāləm ġi təkka ʕla l-mŭntĭf 28 dyālək ʕăskri f-əš-šambṛe 29 wmĭyyəz xyālək mən ʕădyānək Pobrecillo, lo mejor es que le ayude el Señor del Universo. Raro es quien sabe sobrellevar su condena, (condena) que le ha dejado fracasado. El tiempo ha podido con él. Sentado y apenado en una esquina se remuerde la conciencia al ver años de su vida desperdiciados tras las rejas. Amigo mío eres un preso, simplemente olvida la libertad. No merece la pena que pases tu condena arrepentido, bien sabe Dios si eres víctima o culpable, simplemente asume tu delito. (Cual) soldado en la celda 30, has de imaginarte quiénes son tus enemigos 25 Lit. “la vida del preso está sin color”. Los distintos módulos que conforman la prisión se denominan ḥăyy, pl. ʔaḥyāʔ y están numerados alfabéticamente. Este verso puede esconder un juego de palabras si traducimos ḥăyy por “vivo”: fə-ṛăwḍət l-ḥăyy mədfūn “enterrado en el cementerio del vivo”, es decir la cárcel como cementerio de los vivos. En la canción si lkadi del álbum Jebha se dice de la cárcel que es măqbāṛət l-ʔaḥyāʔ “el cementerio de los vivos”. 27 Francés grille. 28 mŭntĭf: causa legal, cuentas pendientes con la justicia. Puede que se trate del francés motif “alegato, motivo”. No abría que descartar una relación con mǝndǝf “mala pasada” y el argelinotunecino mǝndāf “trampa”. La forma de plural /CCāCīC/ que presenta mnātīf, a saber: mǝṛkəb pl. mṛākəb, midfăʕ pl. mdāfăʕ, etc... 26 130 ʕṛəf kīfāš džīb mʕāhŭm ṛāṣək qīs lli qāsək w-lli bāġi yqīsək sqīh səmm lli fə-kāsək la kānt z-zənqa fīha lḥŭgṛa hnāya trīplē w-īda l-măxzən f-əz-zənqa ḥăggāṛ hnāya rīglē31 ma nta ġīr məšžūn w-ddawla xāṣṛa ʕlīk mīzānĭyya f-əl-ḥăbs tōpī 33 lḥŭgṛānĭyya wāləf w-tsānəs w-ḥăbbəs l-ʕăqlĭyya ṛ-ṛăḥma mən ʕănd ṛ-Ṛəbb w-l-ʕăffa34 băṛṛānĭyya Estribillo x2 ḥăyāt l-məšžūn bla lăwn l-ḥāḍəṛ mkəttəf w-lmŭstăqbăl măṭʕūn w-l-māḍi măʕfūn bīn lə-ḥyūṭ mənsi y saber cómo imponerte a ellos: toca a quien te toque, y al que quiera tocarte sacúdele. Si en la calle hay abuso, aquí es el triple, y si en la calle la policía 32 abusa, aquí las malas pasadas (no tienen parangón). No eres más que un preso en el que el Estado se gasta un presupuesto. En la cárcel el abuso es enorme. Acostúmbrate y hazte a la idea de que estas en la cárcel, la misericordia se halla junto a Dios y la clemencia se encuentra fuera. (En) la vida del preso no hay color. Un presente ante el que no se puede hacer nada, un futuro marcado 35 (por las cicatrices del pasado) y un sucio 36 pasado. Entre paredes olvidado, 29 Francés chambre. En Marruecos las celdas (en teoría individuales) albergan a más de un recluso, por lo que hay que ser duro y severo como un soldado para hacerse respetar por los compañeros de habitación y ganarse, entre otras cosas, una cama. 31 rīglē: travesuras, malas pasadas. Existe igualmente el verbo trǝygǝl, ytrǝygǝl ʕla “tomar el pelo”. Pudiera tratarse del francés rigoler “bromear”. 32 El vocablo măxzən hace referencia al Estado y al conjunto de su estructura administrativa, cf. Aguadé & Benyahia, Diccionario, p. 98. No obstante, en este caso se refiere a la policía. Sobre el origen de este término y su evolución semántica, véase Buret, “Makhzan”, E.I.2, VI, pp. 131-135. Comparar con el argelino ḥukūma y el tunecino ḥākem, los cuales se refieren tanto al Gobierno como a la policía. 33 Español tope. 34 Cuando un hombre mira a una mujer con ojos lascivos o descaradamente se dice de él que es qlīl l-ʕăffa. Comparar con el árabe clásico ‫“ عفة‬continencia, castidad, honestidad, sobriedad, virtud”. 35 Se dice məṭʕūn de todo individuo que presenta una cicatriz en su rostro. También se emplean məšḥūṭ y məḍṛūb f-wŭžhu. 36 Lit. “podrido”. 30 131 škūn ysāl škūn yṣăqṣi ḥta lli f-əz-zənqa b-ṛəzqək məksi blāš tətsənna mənnu ttilifūn nsa lli nsāk w-ma yĭnsāk Mūl l-Kūn l-ḥăbs məḍṛāṣa təqṛa fīha ʕla bnādəm wl-qlūb l-ḥăyāt w-ʕālam lḥăbbāsa38 šḥāl mən məšžūn ṛəbba lkəbda ḥăyātu f-əz-zənqa ʕāṣya fəl-ḥăbs ḥăyātu zəbda l-bīʕ w-š-šṛa dṛōga 40 wġəbṛa41 w-ăyy ḥāža ăxṛa l-ḥăyāt mqăbbṛa w-ṛāh kŭll ši dāyəz w-lli tāb w-ṛžăʕ insān ždīd hŭwwa lli fāyəz w-d-dṛāri Ḷḷāh yĭṭlăq sṛāḥŭm Ṛəbbi b-wŭḥdu ʕāləm bəʕŭmq žṛāḥŭm Estribillo x2 hād š-ši ma ʕəštu-ši āna hād š-ši ʕāšu d-dṛāri ṣwḥābi wlād l-ḥăwma ¿quién pregunta (por ti)? ¿quién se interesa?. Ni siquiera aquel que en la calle vive de tu sustento37 no (vayas a) esperar de él una llamada. El que te olvidó te olvidó, pero el Señor del Universo no te olvidará. La cárcel es una escuela en la que estudias la gente, (sus) corazones, la vida y el mundo de los presidiarios. Cuántos presos hay que se han acostumbrado, en la calle sus vidas eran difíciles, pero en la cárcel sus vidas se tornaron hermosas 39. Compra-venta, droga, cocaína y cualquier otra cosa, una oscura vida, (pero) todo pasa y el que se arrepienta y se convierta en una nueva persona, ese es el que saldrá ganando. Que Dios conceda la libertad a los chavales, tan sólo Él conoce la profundidad de sus heridas. Esto no lo he vivido yo esto lo han vivido los chavales, mis amigos de mi barrio. 37 Lit. “visten con tu sustento”. Según Marçais esta palabra siempre se emplea en plural (ḥăbbāsa) y nunca en singular (ḥăbbās), y hace referencia a la “gente de la cárcel”, cf. Marçais, Tanger, p. 259. 39 Lit. “su vida es mantequilla”. 40 Español droga. 41 ġəbra: polvo, cocaína. 38 132 dyāli hūma lli ʕāwdu li ʕla lḥŭgṛa w-l-ʕunṣurĭyya w-ḍ-ḍŭḷm lli kāynīn təmma l-krīmi42 lli dāyəṛ təmma hē īda dəxlat ṣ-ṣḥāfa lkāmēṛa ʕa-twəswəs žmīʕ anwāʕ d-dṛōga w-l-muxaddiṛāt kāynīn təmma fḥāl lli f-əz-zənqa w-bnādəm lli mdəbbəṛ ʕāyəš fḥāl lli f-əḍ-ḍāṛ dyālu l-mūhīmm āna bġīt nwəṣṣəl hād š-ši hāda w-fə-nəfs l-wăqt nəhḍăṛ mʕa d-dṛāri lli ka-yfəhmūni: ṣ-ṣlā w-r-ryāḍa žīb l-ʕăzz wəlla kḥăz43 Ellos son los que me han contado acerca del abuso, la discriminación y la injusticia que allí hay, el crimen que allí se comete. Si entra la prensa las cámaras no se lo van a creer, allí se encuentran toda clase de drogas y estupefacientes, como si estuvieras en la calle, y el que sabe buscarse la vida vive como si estuviera en su (propia) casa. En fin, yo quería transmitir todo esto y al mismo tiempo hablar con los chicos que me entienden: rezad y haced deporte. Lo que vales muéstrame, y si no apártate. Canción: Lewa9i3 Lmehyab [l-wāqiʕ l-məhyāb] “La horrible realidad”. Artistas: Muslim & Mojahed Album: Strictly For My Souljaz (2005) mən bīn znāqi xāṛəž ṣăwti l-yūma yšŭqq l-ḥăyṭ bə-lsān kāʕi44 nṛāpī45 ma ḥăddu bāqi bla qăyd qālu ʕāyšīn fə-ġāba w-ma qālū-ši bəlli ḥnāya ṣ-ṣăyd kāmlīn ḍḥāya ʕāmlīn mustanqaʕ mgəlləs ḍăw š-šəms fīh msəlləs46 De entre las calles sale mi voz, hoy que-brando los muros. Con la lengua enfadada rapearé mientras siga sin ataduras. Han dicho que vivimos en una selva, pero no han dicho que nosotros somos la caza. Todos somos víctimas (mansas) cual pantano (de aguas) estancadas, en el que la luz del sol es oscura. 42 Francés crime. Sobre este verbo, véase Marçais, Tanger, p. 446. 44 kāʕi: estreñido. En la jerga de la calle significa enfadado. 45 Francés rapper. 43 133 fīh sāʕāt ṭwīla tgūz bəzəṛba qālu li fīh kīsān ktīra mən ġīr kīsān d-dəll qŭt 47lŭm škūn yšəṛba qālu li kāyən ḥṛūf w-afʕāl w-asmāʔ ma yžūz tʕăṛba qŭt lŭm ʕlāš bīn qṣăṛ w-qṣăṛ məlyūn xăṛba qālu li bīn ṣăḥḥ w-ṣăḥḥ məlyūn kədba nās žārīn mūṛ l-wăqt w-nās hāṛbīn mənnu nās ʕāyšīn tăḥt ḍṛāṣu wnās məḍḍāw lu sənnu nās mzəṛṛfīn49 nās l-fŭmm z-zmān lli ma yĭtməllăġ bə-lə-xḍăṛ bə-l-yābəs yĭmḍăġ ¿yĭmṛăġ? fə-l-məskīn lli tāləf bīn ṛəžlīh yfəttəš yĭẓṭăm fə-baṛṛ lāmān w-nās ẓāṭmīn ʕlā l-məskīn w-lāḥqīn kṛāsa f-əl-baṛlamān l-yūma qāḍīt gŭlsa lāḥăḍt bəlli l-mīkṛo ka-yšūf fĭyya bəšăwfa məqhūṛa ṣəqṣītu šənni kāyən šənni wqăʕ ṛədd ʕlĭyya bəlli l-ʕīša dəpōbṛē fə-hād z-zmān ṛəžʕāt En él, las largas horas pasan rápidamente. Me dijeron que hay muchos vasos. A excepción de los vasos del oprobio, les dije que quién se los bebe. Me dijeron que hay preposiciones, verbos y nombres que no puedes declinar 48 . Les dije que por qué entre palacio y palacio hay un millón de ruinas. Me dijeron que entre verdad y verdad hay un millón de mentiras. Gentes que corren tras el tiempo y gentes que huyen de él. Gentes que viven bajo sus muelas y gentes que le han afilado los dientes, gentes que se dejan influenciar y gentes que tienen labia. El tiempo que no bromea, mastica lo verde y lo seco, ¿___?50, en el pobre, quien perdido busca entre sus pies (para) pisar tierra firme. Gentes que pisoteando al pobre consiguen un escaño en el Parlamento. Hoy me senté y me percaté de (cómo) el micrófono me miraba angustiado, le pregunté: ¿qué pasa?, ¿qué ha ocurrido? Me respondió que en estos tiempos la vida del pobre se ha vuelto despreciable. 46 msəlləs: oscuro, tenebroso. En bereber encontramos asəllās “oscuridad”. /qŭlt/ → /qŭt/ “yo dije”. 48 Juego de palabras con el verbo del árabe clásico ‫“ أعرب‬expresar; declinar”, para referirse a la ausencia de libertad de expresión. 49 zəṛṛəf, yzǝṛṛǝf: dejar al abandono, dejarse llevar; cf. Marçais Tanger, p. 319. 50 No he logrado descifrar qué es lo que dice aquí. 47 134 məḥgūṛa ʕlāš dāyma ʕlīna bə-hād l-wāqiʕ ʕlāš ʕlīna bə-hād ṣ-ṣūṛa dəṛwīš pōbṛē ṛžăʕ ʕāyəš fə-xăyāl w-awhām məḥdūda bībān ʕlīh mə-žmīʕ l-žīhāt məšdūda hāda hŭwwa z-zmān lli səmmāwăh zmān d-dəll lă-ʕšīr kīfma kān bāṭəl lflūs yĭtbəddəl ṭ-ṭābāqa dyānna dāyman b-ən-nisba līlŭm zāyda mšāt wəlla žāt nāqṣa zāyda šənni hĭyya l-fāyda dāyman yĭlăʕbu bīna kīfma bġāw ṭlăʕ wəlla hăwwəd dīma nšūfūh mqăwwəd 52 ʕlāš ʕlīna bə-hād l-məktāb ʕlāš nwāžhu l-wāqiʕ lməhyāb ma năʕṛăf z-zmān lăʕʕāb yĭmkən mʕa l-wăqt yəqdăṛ yĭtbəddəl ma năʕṛăf yĭmkən l-ʕīša ž-ždīda dyānna ʕănd Aḷḷāh bdāt ka-ttʕăddəl wəlla ma năʕṛăf xəllīna nšūfu šənni māži ġədda Estribillo x2 š-šəmš təšṛăq w-tġīb lə-žbāl tăʕla w-trīb ¿Por qué nos toca siempre (hacer frente) a esta realidad? ¿Por qué nos toca (dar) esta imagen? El pobre infeliz vive de fantasías e ilusiones limitadas, en todas las direcciones se le cierran las puertas. Este es el tiempo al que llamaron “de la humillación”. El amigo, por dinero deja de serlo. En lo que a ellos respecta nuestra clase siempre está de más. Que se vaya o venga, que falte o sobre, ¿Qué más da? Siempre juegan con nosotros como quieren, sube o baja,51 siempre lo vemos jodido, ¿Por qué nos ha tocado este destino? ¿Por qué nos enfrentamos a la horrible realidad? No sé, el destino es antojadizo, puede que cambie con el tiempo. No sé, quizás nuestra nueva vida junto a Dios (ya) ha comenzado a prepararse, pero no sé, déjanos ver qué es lo que vendrá mañana. El sol sale y se oculta, los montes se elevan y se hunden, 53 51 En la jerga de la calle, ṭlăʕ y hăwwəd aluden a la acción de entrar y salir de la cárcel. mqăwwəd: fastidiado, jodido; hecho un asco, estropeado. qăwwəd, yqăwwǝd significa literalmente conducir a la persona prostituida hasta su cliente, o sea hacer de proxeneta. 53 Este verso y el anterior recuerdan mucho a las señales del Día del Juicio Final que describe el Corán en la sura de “Los enviados”: “Cuando las estrellas pierdan su luz. Cuando el cielo se 52 135 lə-qṛīb ywəlli ġrīb w-l-ʕāfya 54 ṛmād mən băʕd l-lhīb lli māži w-lli kān lli kān ywəlli zmān w-z-zmān ywəlli nəsyān w-yā kullu man ʕalayha fān hādi hĭyya l-ʕīša d-əbbāṛəḥ l-yūma w-ġədda dāyman ġăllāba ʕməl fə-bālək bəlli ddŭnya dāyman fə-hād z-zmān lăʕʕāba lli bġa yəṭġa ntīna byəddək wŭrri lu ṭ-ṭṛīq ḥīt ġăṛṛu ṛāṣu ʕāš mḍăxxăm58 ḍḥăk fə-ṣŭġṛu fə-kŭbṛu wnsa škūn lli ʕa-ywəṣṣīh fə-qăbṛu sbābna hĭyya d-dŭnya llăhhāya hādāk ʕāš malik w-ḥnāya el familiar se torna un extraño, y donde hubo fuego cenizas quedan. Lo que está por venir y lo que fue, lo que fue se convierte en tiempo (pasado), el tiempo se convierte en olvido y todo aquél que está sobre la tierra es mortal55. Esta es la vida de ayer, hoy y mañana, siempre difícil 56. Hazte a la idea de que, en estos tiempos, la vida siempre juega malas pasadas. Al que quiera rebelarse57, muéstrale tú mismo el camino, porque le ha sedudido (la idea de) vivir en la opulencia. Se reirá en su juventud y en su vejez, olvidando quien es el que va a recomendarle en la tumba. La vida mundana es la causa de (nuestra perdición). Aquel lleva la vida de un rey y hienda. Cuando las montañas sean reducidas a polvo”. Traducción de Julio Cortés, cf. Cortés, El Corán, p. 784. 54 ʕāfya es uno de los muchos eufemismos que encontramos en árabe marroquí: bayāḍ “carbón”, təsʕūd “nueve”, msəhhla “escoba”. 55 Versículo 26 de la sura “El Clemente” que dice así: ‫“ كم مه عهيها فان‬Todo aquél que está sobre ella es perecedero” y sigue en el versículo 27 ‫“ ويثقى وجه رتك ذو انجالل واالكراو‬Pero subsiste tu señor, el Majestuoso y Honorable”. Traducción de Julio Cortés, vid. Cortés, El Corán, p. 710. 56 Marçais dice que la raíz ġləb combina los sentidos de victoria y derrota, es decir la victoria del vencedor y la victoria sufrida por el vencido, cf. Marçais, Tanger, p. 404. Teniendo en cuenta lo que dice Marçais podríamos traducir l-ʕīša ġăllāba como “la vida que te derrota, que puede contigo”. La voz ‫“ غىانة‬dificultades” es lo que me ha llevado a traducir ġăllāba por difícil,véase Corriente, Diccionario árabe-español, p. 560. 57 El ṭŭġyān es la rebelión contra Dios; véase Prémare, Dictionnaire, vol. 8, p. 309. 58 mḍăxxăm: estupendo, fantástico, de maravilla. Marçais recoge la misma voz, pero con defaringalización de /ḍ/, véase Marçais, Tanger, p. 294. Mientras que en el norte se usa mḍăxxăm, en el centro y sur se prefiere mxăyyăṛ. 136 l-ʔabryāʔ hūma ḍ-ḍaḥāya kŭll nhāṛ yĭtzād w-l-ʕīša tqăwwəd kull nhāṛ yĭtzād w-l-ḥāla thăwwəd hādu hūma lli məktūb ʕlīhŭm yĭtkəbbṛu yĭtžəbbṛu w-ḥna məktūb ʕlīna ġīr nṣəbṛu ḥta lāyən ʕa-nəbqāw hāyda bə-hād l-xăṭya lə-ḥžāṛ nəṭqāt hā hĭyya l-yūma nāyḍa w-ḥna bāqīn gālsīn tābʕīn l-matal lli ka-yqūl z-zmān lăʕʕāb fə-ăyy wăqt yəqdăṛ yĭtbəddəl b-bāṛəḥ līli l-yūma līlīh ḥta bqīna ma fāhmīn wālu fə-hād l-ḥăyāt kŭll nhāṛ nətsannāw lmūt džīna ḥīt ʕṛăfna bəlli l-ʕīša dyānna ma-ši fə-hād l-ʕālam maši fə-hād lə-mdīna b-əl-ʕīn l-ḥămṛa nšūf bədəmmi nəktəb lə-ḥṛūf fə-līl ṭwīl ma ʕăndu qmăṛ fə-ʕālam ṣġīṛ ḥəkmu ššăṛṛ l-wăqt yḍĭyyăʕna w-ḥna nḍĭyyʕu l-wăqt tlāta w-ʕəšṛīn sna gāzt wəlla fīha ġṛăqt ʕkəlt 61 wəlla flətt wəlla 59 60 nosotros somos los inocentes, ellos son las víctimas. La vida nos jode cada día que 59 pasa. Cada día que pasa la situación empeora60. Se ha escrito que estos se enorgullezcan y abusen de su fuerza, mientras que a nosotros se ha escrito que seamos pacientes. ¿Hasta cuando vamos a seguir así? (Hasta) las piedras hablan de este oprobio, hoy incluso se han levantado. Mientras, nosotros seguimos sentados de acuerdo con el proverbio que dice: “el tiempo es caprichoso y en cualquier momento puede cambiar, ayer me tocó a mi y hoy le tocará a él”. (Así), hasta quedarnos sin entender nada en esta vida. Cada día esperamos que la muerte nos llegue, porque hemos comprendido que nuestra vida no está en este mundo, no está en esta ciudad. Con los ojos enrojecidos miro, con mi sangre escribo las letras, en una larga noche sin luna, en un pequeño mundo dominado por el mal. El tiempo nos echa a perder mientras nosotros perdemos el tiempo. Han pasado 23 años en los cuales me he hundido. Cayera preso o me escapara, Lit. “cada día que se añade”. Lit. “desciende”. 137 fhəmt wəlla ḥmăqt škūn lli fīna fāhəm w-šni hŭwwa l-məfhūm wāš l-məfhūm məfhūm wəlla ġīr əl-fāhəm fāhəm wəlla l-məfhūm ma məfhūm lli ma fāhəm mətfāhəm qālu li blāš təfhăm xăllīk mʕa lli ma fāhəm sāhəm īda fhəmtu l-məfhūm ma yĭbqa fə-žyūb s-slāhəm dṛāhəm dxŭl fə-žwāk w-šŭddu mlīḥ mūsīqa ḥămqa fūqa nbīḥ hākda wŭṣfūha xăllāwha dāyman ʕăks rrīḥ xăllīk fə-ḍlām l-līl žŭwwāl ṭāyr žrīḥ fə-qfăṣ yġănni lwəlwāl mŭwwāl ḥwāl n-nās blāš txăllīh yĭṭwāl ṛāh žnāḥək məksūṛ ʕŭmṛək tkūn ʕla ṭ-ṭayṛa ʕăwwāl ġənni w-smăʕ lə-ġnāk ġnāk ḥăddu smāk w-smāk ḥădda hnāk whnāk tšūfu ḥdāk w-ḥdāk ma comprendiera o enloqueciera, ¿Quién de nosotros comprende y qué es lo que hay que entender? ¿Se comprende lo que había que entender? (Hoy) tan sólo el listo entiende. (Hoy) lo que había que entender no se entiende, y el que no entiende hace como que entiende. Me han dicho que no hace falta que entienda, que simplemente me quede con los no entienden. Si entendéis lo que hay que entender, (comprenderéis) que en los bolsillos de los selhames 62 no quedan dirhams. 63 Métete en tus asuntos y no salgas de ahí. Una música enloquecida por encima del ladrido, así es como la han descrito, siempre la han dejado a contraviento. Quédate vagando en la oscuridad de la noche. En una jaula, un pájaro herido entona un gemido, no dejes que se prolongue el canto64 sobre la situación de la gente, fíjate, tus alas están rotas. Nunca podrás volar. Canta y escucha tu cante, tu cante cuyo límite es tu cielo, tu cielo cuyo límite está ahí, y ahí lo ves junto a ti, y junto a ti no hay escapatoria 61 ʕkəl, yăʕkəl: ser atrapado, ser capturado. En árabe literal existe el verbo ‫“ عكم‬poner trabas, retener”. 62 səlhām, pl. slāhəm: Especie de poncho sin mangas y con capucha. 63 Divisa del Reino de Marruecos. Un dirham equivale a unos diez céntimos de euro. 64 El mŭwwāl es una especie de balada o cantinela, cf. Prémare, Dictionnaire, vol. 11, p. 278. 138 mənnu slāk Estribillo x2 alguna de él. Canción: 3aychin [ʕāyšīn] “Vivimos” Artista: Muslim Album: “Mor Ssour” (2008) ʕāyšīn w-l-wăqt dəġya māši Vivimos mientras el tiempo pronto pasa. w-ʕāyšīn kīf l-bāṛəḥ kīf l- Vivimos como ayer como hoy, yūma w-šāyfīn ḥwāl n-nās lli mən ġədda xāyfīn nās lli mən ḥăyātum wəllāw mġăylfīn w-mwālfīn... wāxxa ttənkəl fə-hād lblād ḥăqq l-ītāma w-žāʕu wāxxa yəxdəm fə-hād lblād ġīr lli mʕāṛəf dṛāʕu65 wāxxa šbāb hād l-blād ġīr fə-lə-bḥăṛ ḍāʕu wāxxa bnāt hād l-blād ġīr f-əṭ-ṭṛīq yĭtbāʕu wāxxa d-dṛōga tḍūṛ f-əlḥăwma dyānna ktəṛ mə-l-ḥăṣṣ wāxxa n-nās lli nʕătṛu ʕlīhŭm f-əz-zənqa nāʕsīn ʕla ḍḍăṣṣ67 wāxxa l-maʕīša lli ġlāt wl-məskīn məzmūt wāxxa d-dṛāwəš lli fəṣpīṭāṛāt ka-tmūt wāxxa l-bāṛlāmān lli viendo las circunstancias de las gentes que tienen miedo del mañana. Gentes que se han acostumbrado a unas vidas que les dan asco. A pesar de que en este país los huérfanos pasen hambre y se coma lo que les corresponde por derecho. A pesar de que en este país solamente trabajen los que tienen contactos. A pesar de que la juventud de este país se haya perdido en el mar66. A pesar de que las chicas de este país se vendan en la carretera. A pesar de que en nuestro barrio la droga de más vueltas que un rumor. A pesar de la gente que nos encontramos en la calle durmiendo sobre el asfalto. A pesar de que la vida se encarezca y el pobre permanezca callado. A pesar de los pobres que mueren en los hospitales. A pesar de que, del Parlamento se 65 Lit. “los conocidos de su brazo”. Alusión a la trágica realidad de la inmigración ilegal. 67 dəṣṣ “hormigón de cal y arena machacado para cubrir el suelo”, cf. Prémare, Dictionnaire, vol. 4, p. 280. 66 139 xāṛža mənnu rīḥt l-bōs wāxxa l-ma w-ḍ-ḍăw lli ʕănd l-pōḅṛē kābūs wāxxa š-šăḥṭ w-l-baḥt wāxxa d-dəmm w-d-dmūʕ ʕāyšīn w-dāyman ṛāṣna məṛfūʕ Estribillo x2 wāxxa l-faqṛ wāxxa ž-žūʕ desprenda un olor a Boss68. A pesar de que el agua y la luz sean una pesadilla para el pobre. A pesar de los reveses y los problemas con la justicia 69 , a pesar de la sangre y las lágrimas. Vivimos, siempre con la cabeza (bien) alta. wāxxa d-dəmm wāxxa d- A pesar de la pobreza y el hambre, vivimos. A pesar de la sangre y las lágrimas. wāxxa l-qămʕ wāxxa ḍḍaġṭ ʕāyšīn A pesar de la represión y de la presión, vivimos. wāxxa l-kufṛ wāxxa ṣ-ṣăxṭ w-ʕāyšīn ʕāyšīn wāxxa dīnna wəlla məšbūh A pesar de la impiedad y la maldición, vivimos. Vivimos, a pesar de que nuestra religión se haya vuelto sospechosa. wāxxa l-ləḥya f-wŭžh lmuslim wəlla ši məkṛūh A pesar de que la barba en la cara del musulmán se haya vuelto algo aborrecible. A pesar de que las personas se inmolen por poco dinero 70. A pesar de que la sociedad se vuelva más dura y de que los corazones se petrifiquen. A pesar de que el poder, es decir la fuerza, equivalga a despreciar. A pesar de que el pueblo, es decir la debilidad, equivalga a aguantarse. ʕāyšīn dmūʕ wāxxa bnādəm wəlla ṛxīṣ yĭtbāʕ w-yətfəžžăṛ wāxxa l-mužtamaʕ yəqṣāḥ w-l-qlūb tətḥăžžăṛ wāxxa ṣ-ṣuḷṭa yăʕni lqŭwwa tsāwi tḥăggăṛ wāxxa š-šaʕb yăʕni ḍ-ḍŭʕf tsāwi yĭtwanṭăṛ71 68 Boss: famosa marca de perfumes. baḥt: instrucción judicial. 70 Alusión a los atentados que sacudieron la ciudad de Casablanca el 13 de mayo de 2003, los cuales fueron perpetrados por jóvenes procedentes de los barrios de chabolas. 69 140 wāxxa ṣ-ṣăḥḥa ṭāḥt w-ttaqāʕud žūž də-fṛānk wāxxa ḍ-ḍyūṛ rābət wxallītūna ġīr b-əz-zənk wāxxa ma šŭfna wālu mən hādūk lli tṛəššḥu wāxxa ma ṣŭwwətnāhŭm ma ʕrăfna kīf nəžḥu wāxxa l-mŭnkăṛ w-lă-ʕṛa wəlla ʕādi wāxxa ṛ-ṛəšwa wāṣla ḥta n-sīdi l-qāḍi wāxxa l-wăqt ṣʕāb w-ṭăṛf d-əl-xŭbz ʕāṣi wāxxa ma bqāw ṣḥāb w-lxāwa ywǝlli qāṣi wāxxa ṛ-ṛəḥma wālu lʕăffa ma kāyna-ši ʕāyšīn w-l-wăqt dəġya māši ʕāyšīn Estribillo x2 wāxxa l-faqṛ wāxxa ž-žūʕ ʕāyšīn wāxxa d-dəmm wāxxa ddmūʕ A pesar de que (el servicio) sanitario sea deplorable y de que las pensiones sean de 2 francs72. A pesar de que las casas se vengan a bajo y nos dejéis viviendo en chabolas 73. A pesar de que no hayamos visto nada de aquellos que se presentaron como candidatos (a las elecciones). A pesar de no haberlos votado, no sabemos cómo (pero resulta que) han ganado. A pesar de que la injusticia y la desnudez 74 se hayan convertido en algo normal. A pesar de que los sobornos lleguen hasta el (mismísimo) señor juez. A pesar de que estos tiempos se hayan vuelto difíciles y cueste (conseguir) un trozo de pan. A pesar de que ya no queden amigos y de que el colega75 se vuelva duro. A pesar de que no haya piedad alguna y el pudor no exista. Vivimos mientras el tiempo pronto pasa. Vivimos. A pesar de la pobreza y el hambre, vivimos. A pesar de la sangre y las lágrimas. 71 twanṭăṛ, yətwanṭăṛ: aguantarse, soportarse. Tiene su origen en el español aguantar y es un verbo típico de los dialectos del norte: Tánger, Ceuta, Tetuán, Chaouen, Larache, Arcila y Alcázarquivir. 72 100 francs equivalen a 1 dirham. 73 Lit. “y nos dejéis con zinc”, es decir uno de los metales con los que se construyen las bidonvilles. 74 Cuando se ve a una chica que viste moda occidental (a saber: faldas cortas, pantalones ajustados, escotes altos, etc...), se dice de ella que va ʕăryāna “desnuda”. 75 Lit. xāwa “hermano”. 141 wāxxa l-qămʕ wāxxa ḍḍaġṭ ʕāyšīn wāxxa l-kufṛ wāxxa ṣ-ṣăxṭ w-ʕāyšīn ʕāyšīn wāxxa lə-ʕmăṛ ḍāʕ bīn lə-ḥyūṭ ʕāyšīn wāxxa lə-snīn tfūt w-l-kŭll məšlūṭ ʕāyšīn wāxxa l-mustaqbal fīna kāʕi ʕāyšīn wāxxa ṛbīʕ ṛṛaʕāya yəṛʕāha ṛ-ṛāʕi ʕāyšīn wāxxa ṣāxṭīn ʕla hād l-ăṛḍ ʕāyšīn wāxxa ẓāṭmīn ʕla šūk l-wərd ʕāyšīn wāxxa nyāb l-faqṛ ṭāḥna ʕāyšīn wāxxa yədd lməḥna dəbḥatna ʕāyšīn wāxxa l-hmūm fəqlūbna mzāḥma ʕāyšīn wāxxa l-mūt yĭmkən ṛəḥma ʕāyšīn wāxxa ĭyyāmna ġīr iʕāda ʕāyšīn wāxxa dmūʕ ṣ-ṣăxṭ hăwwāda ʕāyšīn wāxxa dəmmna fəz-znāqi mhăṛṛăq ʕāyšīn wāxxa ṭhăṛna bəd-dăqq mzăṛṛăq A pesar de la represión y la presión, vivimos. A pesar de la impiedad y la maldición, vivimos. Vivimos, a pesar de que una vida se haya echado a perder entre paredes76. Vivimos, a pesar de que los años pasen y todo el mundo se quede atónito. Vivimos, a pesar de que el futuro esté enfadado con nosotros. Vivimos, a pesar de que la hierba del rebaño la paste el pastor77. Vivimos, a pesar de haber maldecido esta tierra. Vivimos, a pesar de estar pisando sobre las espinas de la rosa. Vivimos, a pesar de que los colmillos de la pobreza sean trituradores. Vivimos, a pesar de que esta prueba es más fuerte que nosotros. Vivimos, a pesar de que las preocupaciones se amontonan en nuestros corazones. Vivimos, pese a que tal vez la muerte sería una misericordia. Vivimos, a pesar de que nuestros días no sean más que una rutina. Vivimos, a pesar de que las lágrimas del rechazo corran (por nuestras mejillas). Vivimos, a pesar de que nuestra sangre se encuentre derramada por las calles. Vivimos, a pesar de que nuestra espalda esté amoratada por los golpes. 76 Alusión a aquellos que se encuentran en prisión. Metáfora en la que el ganado sería el pueblo, el pastor el rey y la hierba las riquezas del país. Es también un juego de palabras ya que, en árabe literal, ṛaʕāya significa tanto rebaños como súbditos. 77 142 ʕāyšīn wāxxa ḥăyātna mātət ʕāyšīn w-hādi snīn fātət Vivimos, a pesar de que nuestra vida haya muerto. Vivimos, y ya hace años que esto pasó. Estribillo x2 Canción: Zna9i tanja [znāqi Ṭānža] “las calles de Tánger”. Artistas: Muslim & La-N Album: Strictly For My Souljaz (2005) Estribillo x2 bīn znāqi Ṭānža nšūfu lkrīmi dālăʕ78 w-bīn znāqi Ṭānža bnādǝm n-əs-sǝmm bālăʕ bīn znāqi Ṭānža bnādǝm b-əž-žūʕ šābăʕ w-bīn znāqi Ṭānža bnādǝm mǝtbūʕ w-tābăʕ w-l-ḥăyāt vīw79 d-dṛāri tǝstăḥlāha ddṛōga ydǝllīw š-šṛāb ygǝllīw ḥūmăq ywŭllīw b-băyṭa l-kăḥla ṣ-ṣăḥḥa qātla l-wālīda ʕăqla xṛăž la fə-bālŭm hādīk hĭyya ṛṛŭžla d-dṛari yšŭmmu s-sīli82 l-ʕālam wǝlla yšǝmkǝṛ 83 āṛa ši kăbba84 līli Entre las calles de Tánger vemos el crimen vagando. Entre las calles de Tánger las personas ingieren veneno. Entre las calles de Tánger las personas están saciadas de hambre. Entre las calles de Tánger las personas son perseguidas y persiguen. La vida loca, a los chicos les encanta. Engullen la droga, hierven el alcohol y se vuelven locos. La blanca y la negra 80 han destrozado la salud. La madre ha perdido la cabeza 81. Para ellos, la hombría (consiste en) esto. Los chicos esnifan pegamento. El mundo (entero) se ha puesto a drogarse, dame una dosis a mí. 78 dlăʕ, ydlăʕ: vagabundear, errar; dejarse llevar, cf. Prémare, Dictionnaire, vol. 4, p. 320. Ha sido un informante quien me ha explicado el significado de esta extraña palabra. 80 Metáforas de la cocaína (blanca) y la heroína (negra). 81 Lit. “a la madre se le ha salido su intelecto”. 82 sīli < sīlīsyūn: pegamento empleado como droga. Parece que se trata del francés silicium “silicio”, elemento químico empleado en la elaboración de adhesivos como la silicona. 83 šǝmkǝṛ, yšǝmkǝṛ: esnifar, drogarse. Verbo denominativo de šǝmkāṛ “vagabundo; drogadicto”. En Fez me contaron que el origen de esta palabra pudiera ser la unión de šǝmm “esnifar” y kāṛ 79 143 žǝṛṛǝbt l-ʕīša ṛāṣi wǝlla tqīl kīf r-rīša ḍʕăft dxŭlt fə-băʕṭi ṛžăʕt kmīša ʕămmǝṛ, lŭwwi, lǝṣṣăq, tǝṛtăq, sqi nqăṣdu ṭ-ṭabīʕa zăʕma nšŭmmu hwa nqi yā Ḷāṭīf ʕfu d-dṛāri ẓǝṭmu f-əl-xāwya bġāw ywŭllīw ʕla ṭ-ṭṛīq tǝlfu ma lāḥăḍtū-ši mǝlli ndūxu tǝfṭăn b-əl-făšăl tḥăss bṛāṣǝk flōxo r-rīḥ lli ža yĭddīk ma tǝmma wālu dāba ntūbu b-əl-ḥăqq ma-ši fḥāl lli tāb wǝlla mǝ-ddṛāri yǝnfǝṛ ʕlīhŭm ynǝggǝṛ yĭšṛăḥ yḥăllǝl yfǝssǝṛ ā ḥna ma kunna-ši nʕăṛfu bǝlli žīn ysǝkkǝṛ ka-nšūf sbăʕ yĭglǝs ḍbūʕa ybānu Yo he experimentado (esta) vida 85 , mi cabeza se volvió del peso de una pluma, Enfermé y me debilité (hasta) convertirme en muy poca cosa. ¡Rellena!, ¡lía!, ¡pega!, ¡explota!, 86 ¡riega! Nos dirigimos a las zonas verdes 87 como si fueramos a respirar aire puro. ¡Dios mío, perdón! Los chicos han caído en la trampa88, quieren volver por el camino, (pero) se han perdido89. No os habéis dado cuenta que cuando nos mareamos te sientes impotente y flojo. El viento que llega te lleva, (como si) hay no hubiera nada. (Decís:) ahora nos arrepentimos, pero que no sea como aquel que tras arrepentirse huye de los chicos, les critica, explica, analiza y se excusa (diciendo): ¡Ah!, nosotros no sabíamos que el Gin tonic embriagaba. Veo un león sentarse, las hienas aparecen90, “autobús”, ya que son muchos los que, para drogarse, inhalan el humo que desprenden los tubos de escape de los vehículos. 84 kăbba: ovillo de hilo o lana, cf. Prémare, Dictionnaire, vol. 10, p. 508. Por extensión se refiere también a la cantidad de pegamento que se apelotona en la mano para ser esnifado. 85 Es decir, la vida de la drogadicción. 86 Todos estos verbos en imperativo se refieren al consumo de distintos tipos de drogas: ʕămmǝṛ se refiere a llenar con pegamento la bolsa en que se esnifa; lŭwwi, lǝṣṣăq y tǝṛtăq aluden a la acción de liar, unir y encender el porro; sqi hace alusión a llenar un vaso con una bebida alcohólica (probablemente provenga del árabe clásico ‫)اسقىي خمرا‬. 87 Las zonas verdes de las ciudades marroquíes suelen ser los sitios en los que se esconde la gente para consumir drogas. 88 Lit. “han pisado sobre el vacío”. 89 O sea, que es demasiado tarde para dejar el vicio. 144 ylăʕbu lu bīn bnānu yxăwwṣu91 lu snānu ma ḥăddu sbăʕ gŭwwǝz zmānu kḷāḷǝt 92 yǝtḥăllu tăḥt žnāḥu l-mḍăxxăm fīhŭm yĭnʕăs ʕla kǝṛšu w-l-mǝšya dyālu tfǝrršu yǝṣbăḥ f-əl-ḥăwma yṛăʕṛăʕ dži tšūfu qāʕu bāqi mlăʕlăʕ bə-klām Bilāl ygǝžmu 94 zăʕma ḥăbbāsa yfǝhmu ʕla d-dǝrwīš yzăʕmu mʕa s-sākǝt ynǝdmu hākda hĭyya l-ḥăyāt lli žāri bīha l-ʕamal f-əz-zǝnqa lʕīša ḥămqa ma nʕăṛfū-ši bǝlli ddŭnya ʕlīna ġāmqa l-ḥăyāt xăṣṣa tǝtʕăwwǝṭ l-insān xăṣṣu yʕīš tṛankīlo ma yǝṭlăʕ ma yhăwwǝd āna ʕāṛǝf ẓ-ẓhăṛ mqăwwǝd juguetean entre los dedos de sus pies y le limpian los dientes. Mientras sea un león con un historial a sus espaldas los palurdos se pavonearán bajo su abrigo. El número uno de entre ellos duerme sobre su vientre,93 sus andares le delatan, amanece en el barrio gimiendo. Si te fijas su culo aún está caliente. Bromean con palabras de Bilal95 que tan sólo comprenden los presidiarios. Se atreven con el pobre, (pero) con el que callado se arrepienten. 96 Así es como funciona la vida en la calle, una vida loca. No sabemos que esta vida se nos ha echado encima. La vida tiene que arreglarse y el ser humano tiene que vivir tranquilo, que no suba y que tampoco baje. Yo sé que la suerte es jodida. 90 En este contexto, sbăʕ y ḍbūʕa se refieren al matón del barrio y a sus secuaces. En la cultura marroquí el león es símbolo de fuerza y poder, mientras que la hiena simboliza la cobardía y la estupidez (ver Prémare, Dictionnaire, vol 6, p. 26; vol 8, p. 162). 91 xăwwǝṣ, yxăwwǝṣ: limpiar los dientes con un mondadientes. Puede que provenga del árabe clásico ‫“ خىصة‬hoja de palma; trenza”, ya que hay un tipo de montadientes natural empleado en Marruecos, que se elabora a partir de la Ammi Visnaga (‫ خهة‬en árabe), y cuyo tallo forma un nudo que se va retorciendo. Igualmente se presenta en forma trenzada el swāk, una corteza seca de nogal que posee propiedades antisépticas contra la gingivitis. 92 kǝḷḷēṭ, pl. kḷāḷǝṭ: palurdo, estúpido, ignorante. 93 Es decir que se acuesta con él. 94 gžǝm, yĭgžǝm: contar trolas, bromear, véase qžǝm en Prémare, Dictionnaire, vol.10, p. 239. 95 Chebb Bilal es un cantante argelino de Raï famoso en todo el Magreb. Hay quien dice que las letras de sus canciones no tienen mucho sentido, mientras que otros creen ver en sus temas un lenguaje metafórico. 96 Se arrepienten en el sentido de que cuando ven a la otra persona (aparentemente tímida y débil) enfadarse, se les baja la bravuconería y la fanfarronería. 145 šǝnni ṭḥăn 97 ḥna nṣǝmmṛu ʕla lǝ-ḥdīd īda sxān nḍăṛbūh bla ḥṛīq la dŭxxān žǝṛṛbu yā lli ʕla băʕṭkŭm tqăfzu tʕămlu fḥāl l-pōbṛē kīfāš yḥăḍḍăṛ xubzu Estribillo x2 fāḍǝt l-făwḍa l-ʕăyn bəl-ʕăyn s-sīf b-əs-sīf d-dǝmm bəd-dǝmm l-fīnāl98 f-əṛ-ṛăwḍa99 z-zǝnqa fə-Ṭānža ṛǝžʕāt mqăwwda d-dṛāri ġămmṭǝt ʕăyna w-xăllāt Iblīs mgŭwwda mṛăyyḥa ʕla… 100 wxăssa lli ynŭwwḍa bla ḥta ši sǝbba 101 102 yttǝṛtăq lǝ-mḍa yttǝšmăx103 b-əd-dīn w-lmilla ṣ-ṣmāṭi 104 tǝtḥăll s-syūf tǝtʕălla Bueno, nosotros clavamos clavos en el hierro que se ha calentado, lo golpeamos sin fuego ni humo. Intentad(lo) vosotros que rivalizáis para ver quién es el más listo. Haced como hace el pobre para procurarse su pan (de cada día). El caos ha estallado: ojo por ojo, puñalada por puñalada, sangre por sangre, el final (será) en el cementerio. La calle en Tánger se ha vuelto jodida. Los chicos han cerrado sus ojos y han dejado que el Diablo les guíe, sentados sobre… necesitan alguien que les levante. Sin motivo alguno se abre una navaja. Se empieza a calentar la cosa con (insultos) a la religión y la comunidad musulmana105. Los cinturones se abren y los 97 Expresión empleada para mostrar aceptación o acuerdo. Español final. 99 ṛăwḍa: cementerio En árabe clásico significa jardín. Podemos aventurarnos a decir que el símil entre ambos lugares es el que, diacrónicamente, produjo el corrimiento léxico. Traigo a colación el yemení mağannǝh “cimitero” (Rossi, Ṣan'ā’, p. 200), el cual pudiera tener alguna relación con ‫“جىة‬walled garden” (Lane, Lexicon, vol.1, p. 463), aunque tampoco hay que olvidar los significados de ocultar y cubrir que existen en esta raíz. 100 En este trozo de la grabación se escucha un pitido, es decir que se trata de una especie de autocensura. Creo que la palabra omitida es kəṛṛ “culo”. 101 El empleo de tǝṛtăq “estallar, explotar, crujir” con el significado de abrir una navaja, pudiera deberse al sonido que se produce en el momento de la apertura. 102 Se trata del elativo del adjetivo māḍi “afilado”, Prémare lo define como “bon couteau”, cf. Prémare, Dictionnaire, vol. 11, p. 219. 103 šmăx, yĭšmăx: empezar a arder un fuego, alcanzar su intensidad máxima, cf. Prémare, Dictionnaire, vol. 7, p. 179. 104 ṣǝmṭa, pl. ṣmāṭi: cinturón. Posiblemente se trate del español cinta. 98 146 bnādǝm yṭlǝb ṣ-ṣŭlla bə-nǝfsu ka- š-Šīṭān b-ṛāṣu dxăl lu lxīndo 106 qāl lǝk fə-l-ăwwǝl kān ġīr ka-yĭtfǝlla mʕa mǝn kattfǝlla? w-d-dṛāri ṣ-ṣāḥi fīhŭm mǝšṭa d-əl-ḥăbba dǝlla l-mǝṛḍi fīhŭm ĭṃṃāh lḥăbs mǝn ḍāṛa ḥsǝn la ḥŭbba l-wǝlda mǝn qălba zāl la w-tqūl ʕlāš wlǝdtīh lžawāb dyāla mužarrad zǝlla l-xāwa wāš fhǝmti wǝlla ḥīt fīk l-ḥălla ʕa-tqūl la l-ḥāla fə-Ṭānža fə-ʕăynu ʕuqda škūn yḥŭlla škūn yḥălla d-dīn awlla l-ḥukūma aḥzāb b-yĭdda ʕăndna mǝḥkūma f-əl-kūma fə-kǝlmat l-ḥăqq katǝṛžăʕ mǝbkūma ḥīt bə-gūma Made in l- machetes se elevan. Las personas que tienen amor propio evitan (verse envueltos en semejante pelea). Al mismísimo Satanás le ha entrado el pánico. Al principio decía que tan sólo estaba bromeando, ¿con quién bromeas? El más sobrio de los chicos se ha tragado una tableta107 de pastillas. El que es más buen hijo de todos ellos, a su madre más le valdría que estuviera en la cárcel en vez de estar en su casa. Su amor por su hijo ha cesado en su corazón y (si) le dices: ¿por qué le diste a luz? su respuesta es: por un simple error. Hermano, ¿has comprendido? o porque eres un chulo vas a decir que no. La situación en Tánger es por sí misma un problema que quién deshará, quién solucionará, ¿la religión o el gobierno? Para nosotros los partidos políticos no tienen utilidad alguna, 108 cuando hay que decir la verdad son silenciados, porque con goma Made in el Estado 105 En muchos insultos se maldice la religión de la familia del increpado, por ejemplo: yənʕăl dīn būk “maldita sea la religión de tu padre”, yǝnʕăl dīn žǝddǝk “maldita sea la religión de tu abuelo” (cf. Boudot-Lamotte, “Malédiction”, p. 56). 106 xīndo: miedo, cobardía. También existe el verbo txīndăṛ, yĭtxīndăṛ “asustarse, acobardarse”. Se trata de una palabra propia de la jerga juvenil y me consta que sólo es conocida en el norte. El profesor Federico Corriente me sugirió como una posible etimología para xīndo el caló jindama, que a veces se abrevia en jinda (véase Ropero, “Gitanismos”, p. 47). 107 mǝšṭa “planchette disposée obliquement le haut dans la chambre”, cf. Prémare, Dictionnaire, vol. 11, p. 208. 108 Lit. “los partidos están en estado de coma”. 147 măxzǝn d-dăqqa z-zăṛqa katǝbqa f-əṭ-ṭhăṛ mǝṛsūma ka-nʕāwǝd nūzǝn lʕuqda də-Ṭānža ka-džbăṛ lmăxzǝn ăwwǝl wǝžha mǝthūma šarikāt d-əl-xwāḍ 109 wfə-ṣūq l-būṛṣa mšăxxṣa ḥīt ṭālʕa shūma dāba hādi mǝfhūma žbǝṛna ʕla mǝn ʕa-nḥŭṭṭu l-lūma w-ntūma ʕa-tǝbqāw gambēṛṛos110 ḥăyātkŭm kāmla f-əz-zǝnqa pēṛṛos 111 xāyfīn mǝ-l-ḥămla f-əl-ḥăwma hyēṛṛos 112 f-əl-ḥăbs fīkŭm zzzz…113 los cardenales se quedan dibujados en la espalda. Hago balance de nuevo: (en lo que respecta) al problema de Tánger te encuentras con que el Estado es la principal parte imputada. Empresas de negocios sucios que aparecen en bolsa cuando suben las acciones. Ahora esto está claro, hemos encontrado a quién echar la culpa. Y vosotros vais a seguir siendo unos gamberros toda vuestra vida, en la calle unos perros temerosos de la redada (de la policía), en el barrio unos héroes, en la cárcel unos… 3. Estudio linguístico 3.1 Fonología 3.1.1. La qāf del árabe clásico suele realizarse como /q/ oclusiva uvular sorda114. Ejemplos: dqīqa “minuto”, qṭūṭ “gatos”, qīs “toca”, qlūb “corazones” qālu “han dicho”, qṣăṛ “palacio”, yšŭqq “él desgarra”, məqhūṛa “angustiada, apenada”, lāḥqīn “alcanzan”, ka-yqūl “él dice”, ṭṛīq “camino”, qmăṛ “luna”, ḥăqq “verdad, parte, derecho”, yəqṣāḥ “él se endurece”, mzəṛṛăq “amoratado”, dăqqa “golpe”. Hay algunas palabras en las que /g/ aparece como reflejo de /q/: ḥŭgṛa, ḥŭgṛānĭyya “desprecio, abuso”, ḥăggāṛ “que desprecia, abusón”, məḥgūṛa “despreciado, despreciable”, tḥăggǝṛ “ella desprecia, abusa” (< á.c. ‫)حقر‬, ynǝggǝṛ “él picotea, critica” (< á.c. ‫)وقر‬, ygǝllīw “ellos fríen” (< á.c. ‫)قهى‬, mgŭwwəd “él ha 109 xwāḍ: estado de algo que se encuentra turbio o confuso; lío, enredo; xwāḍāt “negocios sucios”, cf. Prémare, Dictionnaire, vol. 4, p. 173. 110 Español gamberro. 111 Español perro. 112 Inglés heroes. 113 Creo que la palabra que sigue y que no llega a pronunciar es zəmla “amaneramiento, afeminamiento”. 114 Esta es la realización normal de qāf en los dialectos sedentarios mientras que en los beduinos se realiza como [g] oclusiva velar sonora, c.f. Aguadé, “Fonemas”, p. 86. 148 conducido” (< á.c. ‫)قىد‬. Estos vocablos en los que /g/ refleja /q/ no pueden ser considerados todos como préstamos beduinos y, como dice Colin 115, habría que realizar un estudio detallado para determinar las condiciones de permutación de ambos fonemas en los dialectos del norte de Marruecos. En la palabra wăqt “tiempo”, /q/ no se realiza /x/ tal y como lo recogen Marçais e Iraqui-Sinaceur para el dialecto de Tánger.116 3.1.2. El fonema /g/ puede representar á.c. /q/ y aparece también en préstamos de otras lenguas: español droga > dṛōga, español goma > gūma. Existe el siguiente par mínimo: mqăwwəd “jodido” ǂ mgŭwwəd “él condujo”. 3.1.3. Tal y como sucede en la mayoría de dialectos marroquíes, las interdentales han sido sutituidas por sus correspondientes oclusivas 117: ṯalāṯatun > tlāta “tres”, baḥṯun > baḥt “instrucción”, ḏillun > dəll “humillación”, kiḏbun > kədba “mentira”, ḏạ lāmun > ḍlām “oscuridad”. 3.1.4. He encontrado los siguientes ejemplos de ensordecimiento del fonema /ḍ/118: ṣuhūdun > ṣhūḍ > ṣhūṭ “calor, bochorno”, ḏạ hrun > ḍhăṛ > ṭhăṛ “espalda”, yaṣdimu > yəṣḍəm > yəẓḍəm > yəẓṭăm “él pisará”, bayḍāʔu > băyṭa “blanca”, ġammaḍat > ġămmṭət “ella cerró los hojos”, tataʕawwaḍu > tətʕăwwəṭ “ella se enderezará, se arreglará”. 3.1.5. El fonema /ǧ/ se realiza chicheante /ž/119: ḥāǧatun > ḥāža “cosa”, raǧaʕa > ṛžăʕ “él regresó, él se volvió”, ǧadīdun > ždīd “nuevo”, ǧāʔa > ža “él vino”. 3.1.6. Ocasionalmente la preposición l “para, por” se realiza n120: bnādǝm n-əs-sǝmm bālăʕ. El paso /l/ > /n/ es frecuente en dialectos con un sustrato o adstrato bereberes121. 115 Colin, “Taza”, p. 42. Marçais, Tanger, p.492; Iraqui-Sinaceur, “Tanger”, p.134. 117 Aguadé, “Fonemas”, p. 67. 118 El ensordecimiento de /ḍ/ es un rasgo típico de los dialectos del norte de Marruecos (Aguadé, “Fonemas”, p. 69; Colin, “Taza”, p. 40; Iraqui-Sinaceur, “Tanger”, p.134 ; Assad, Tanger, p. 3) y de otros prehilalíes: Djidjelli (Marçais, Djidjelli, p. 7), maltés (ʔarḍun > art “tierra”). 119 Esta es la realización normal de /ǧ/ en los dialectos magrebíes sedentarios, c.f. Vicente, Manual, p. 58. 120 Esta preposición indica dirección y nunca va seguida de pronombre personal sufijado. En algunas ocasiones puede realizar las funciones de la preposición l, cf. Moscoso, Larache, p. 51. 121 Aguadé, “Fonemas”, p. 72. 116 149 3.1.7. La diptongación se conserva en las siguientes voces: ṣăyf “verano”, lăwn “color”, ṛăwḍət “cementerio”, ḥăwma “barrio”, ṣăwt “voz”, ḥăyṭ “muro”, ḍăw “luz”, šăwfa “mirada”, ka-yqūl “él dice”, dāyman “siempre”, băyṭa “blanca”, ʕăyn “ojo”, băyn “entre”. Sin embargo en estas otras palabras se ha perdido el diptongo: mūt “muerte”, fūq “encima”, ʕīša “vida”, bīʕ “venta”, kīf “como”, ġīr “solo, solamente”, sīf “espada”, lūma “crítica, censura”, rīḥa “olor”. 3.1.8. Asimilaciones y disimilaciones: -Por sonorización /t/+/d/: [d]. tdŭwwəz → ddŭwwəz. -Por sonorización /t/+/ž/: [d]. tžīb → džīb, tži → dži, ka-tžbăṛ → ka-džbăṛ. -Por sonorización /s/+/ž/: [š]. məsžūn → məšžūn. -Por sonorización /ṣ/+/ḍ/: [ẓ]. yəṣḍəm → yəẓḍəm → yəẓṭăm “él pisará”122. -Por nasalidad /l/+/n/: [n]. dyālna → dyānna.123 -Por bilabialización /l/+/b/: [b]. l-băyṭa → b-băyṭa, l-bāṛəḥ → bbāṛəḥ. -Por faringalización /ṭ/+/r/: [ṛ]. ṭrīq → ṭṛīq. -Por faringalización /s/+/ṭ/: [ṣ]. săxṭ → ṣăxṭ. -Por defaringalización /ṭ/: [t]. ṭǝṛṭăq: [tǝṛtăq] 3.1.9. Relajación del fonema /h/ de los pronombres sufijos: xăṣṣha > xăṣṣa “ella necesita”, qŭt lhŭm > qŭt lŭm “yo les dije”. 124 3.1.10. Inserción de una vocal breve /ă/ entre la 3ª persona plural del verbo y algunos de los pronombres sufijos: səmmāwh → səmmāwăh “lo llamaron”. 3.2. Estudio de la morfología verbal 3.2.1. Empleo del preverbio ka-: ka-yšūf “él mira”, ka-ttʕăddəl “ella se prepara”, ka-yqūl “él dice”, ka-tmūt “ella muere”, ka-tǝbqa “ella se queda”. Este preverbio es característico de dialectos de tipo prehilalí como los de Fez, Rabat, Tetuán, Larache o Tánger125. 122 Sobre este verbo, véase Marçais, Tanger, p. 320. Es lo que Marçais denomina “accomodations de liquides”, žbǝnna por žbǝlna, qunna por qulna, cf. Marçais, Tlemcen, p. 27. 124 En cuanto a este fenómeno, véase Moscoso, “Tánger”, p.189. 125 Acerca de este preverbio, veáse Aguadé, “Preverbios”, pp. 199-200 y Ferrando, “Preverbe ka-”. 123 150 3.2.2. La partícula ʕa- se antepone al imperfectivo del verbo para expresar el tiempo futuro: ʕa-nəbqāw “nos quedaremos”, ʕa-tqūl “tu dirás”, ʕa-nḥŭṭṭu “nosotros colocaremos”.126 3.2.3. Las pasivas de los verbos se forman prefijando t- o tt- a la raíz verbal, por ejemplo: yĭtfəžžăṛ “él explota”, tətḥəžžăṛ “ella se petrifica”, yĭtwanṭăṛ “él se aguanta”, ka-ttʕăddǝl “ella se arregla”. Cuando se trata de un verbo cóncavo, la vocal radical débil pasa a /ā/: yĭtbāʕu “ellos se venden”, yĭtzād “él se suma, se añade”.El verbo kla “comer” construye la forma pasiva mediante el empleo de un doble reflexivo: n- + tt-: ttənkəl. El primer prefijo se corresponde con la forma VII (‫ )اوفعم‬del árabe clásico y el segundo a las V (‫ )تفعم‬VI ( ‫) تافعم‬ formas. 3.2.4. Los verbos de las formas IX y XI presentan una vocal larga /ā/ entre la segunda y tercera radical: yəqṣāḥ “él se endurecerá”, yəḥmāq “él se voverá loco”127. 3.2.5. El participio activo del verbo ža “venir” es māži. Esto pudiera deberse a la analogía con māši, participio del verbo mša “ir, irse”. 3.2.6. Las oraciones verbales se niegan anteponiendo ma al verbo y añadiéndole el sufijo -ši128. Ejemplos: hād š-ši ma ʕəštu-ši ana “esto no lo he vivido yo”, ma qālu-ši “ellos no han dicho”. 3.3. Estudio de la morfología nominal 3.3.1. El pronombre reflexivo se expresa mediante las voces nǝfs, yədd o ṛāṣ129: ʕa-džīb ṛāṣək “tú te impondrás”, yḥāsəb nəfsu “él se arrepiente”, š-Šīṭān bṛāṣu “el mismísimo demonio”, aḥzāb b-yədda “los partidos, ellos mismos”. 3.3.2. Hay que destacar el uso del adverbio fḥāl “como” con pronunciación de /f/ en lugar de /b/, rasgo típico de los dialectos del norte130. 126 Las partículas ʕa- y māši son características de los dialectos urbanos del norte de Marruecos. En el resto del país la partícula de futuro más común es ġādi y sus variantes ġād y ġa-. En la región oriental fronteriza con Argelia se usa rāyəḥ. 127 Sobre este tipo de verbos, véase Assad, Tanger, pp. 59-51. 128 El sufijo de negación -ši es típico del norte de Marruecos, cf. Herrero, Gramática. Sobre la negación en árabe magrebí, véase Caubet, Négation. 129 Se trata de un calco semántico del bereber para formar el reflexivo, así en Tašelḥit tenemos sugayyu-nnəs “él mismo” (literalmente: “con su cabeza”), cf. Aguadé, “Preverbios”, p. 208. 151 3.3.3. Empleo del adverbio bāqi131 “todavía, aún”: qlīl lli bāqi ṛāžəl , bāqi bla qăyd. 3.3.4. La anexión del presentativo ṛā a los pronombres sufijos se emplea como una variante de los pronombres personales 132: ṛāk məḍlūm “eres inocente”, ṛāh kŭll ši dāyəz “todo pasa”. 3.3.5. La expresión bnādəm (persona, ser humano) se trata morfológicamente como una sola palabra y no dos como ocurría en árabe clásico: ‫“ تىى ادو‬hijos de Adán”, así en marroquí la palabra concuerda en singular, pero sigue haciendo referencia a un colectivo. 3.3.6. El pronombre personal de segunda persona singular es ntīna. Para la primera persona plural se emplea ḥnāya. En ambos casos se trata de formas aumentativas de nti y ḥna133. 3.4. Sintaxis 3.4.1. La posesión puede expresarse de dos formas: -mediante anexión directa: ḍăw š-šəms “la luz del sol”, ṣŭġṛu “su juventud”, wəžh l-muslim “la cara del musulmán”, dǝmm “nuestra sangre”, ḥăyātna “nuestra vida”. -mediante las partículas dyāl y d-: l-mŭntĭf dyālək “tu delito”, lḥwāmi dyānna “nuestro barrio”; s-sbūʕa d-əz-zənqa “los leones de la calle”. 3.4.2. En algunas ocasiones el verbo y los pronombres sufijos concuerdan en femenino singular con los plurales de los sustantivos masculinos. Ejemplos: ddṛāwəš lli fə-ṣpīṭāṛāt ka-tmūt “los pobres mueren en los hospitales”, ḍ-ḍyūṛ ṛābət “las casas se han derrumbado”, d-drāri xăllāt Iblīs mgŭwwda “los chicos han dejado que el demonio los conduzca”. 4. Conclusión El habla empleada en la canción presenta los rasgos típicos del dialecto estándar de Tánger, es decir, un dialecto de tipo urbano con ciertas influencias 130 El adverbio fḥāl está atestiguado en los dialectos de Tánger (Iraqui-Sinaceur, “Tanger”, p. 137), Anjra (Vicente, “Anjra”, p. 127), Chefchaouen (Natividad, “Chefchaouen”, p. 117) y Tetuán (Singer, “Tetuan”, p. 263). 131 Según Marçais, este adverbio es de uso frecuente en Tánger, cf. Marçais,Tanger, p. 234. 132 Sobre el presentativo ṛa- en los dialectos magrebíes, véase Marçais, Esquisse, p. 74. 133 Cf. Marçais, Esquisse, pp. 188-189. 152 rurales de la región de Jbala: ensordecimiento de /ḍ/, conservación de la diptongación, etc...134. Sin embargo hay ciertos aspectos descritos por W. Marçais que no se hallan presentes en las letras de las canciones analizadas: realización de /q/ como fricativa posvelar sorda: /x/ en la palabra wăqt, uso exclusivo del verbo gāz, ygūz (hoy día en Tánger se usan tanto dāz como gāz). Para explicar esto hemos de tener en cuenta la influencia que el éxodo rural viene ejerciendo desde hace casi dos décadas en el reino alawí. Ciudades como Casablanca, Marrakech, Fez, Salé, Larache, Tetuán y Tánger han visto cómo el crecimiento de su población se ha disparado a un ritmo vertiginoso135. En el caso de Tánger, los inmigrantes proceden en su inmensa mayoría de la región de Jbala, pero también hay otros que vienen del centro y sur del país. Este conglomerado de población con orígenes diversos puede hacer que el dialecto de la ciudad se vaya transformando paulatinamente. Otro factor que hace que los dialectos locales se vayan diluyendo en una variante dialectal que podríamos calificar de estándar, es la acción de los medios de comunicación y de los centros de enseñanza. Hoy por hoy, el dialecto de Casablanca es la base de esta koiné dialectal. En una de las canciones analizadas vemos que se hace uso de galicismos tales como grĭyya “reja”, šambṛe “celda” o mŭntĭf “causa legal”. El hecho de que se trate de préstamos de la lengua francesa y el campo léxico al que pertenecen (institución penitenciaria) pueden ser argumentos suficientes para afirmar que todo este vocabulario data, en Tánger, del periodo que sigue a la independencia de Marruecos, es decir, el periodo en el que se reunifica el Estado y en el que comienza una política de centralización que persigue someter todas las regiones al control de Rabat. No obstante, la cercanía de Tánger con España y la emigración a este país, hacen que el número de palabras españolas en el dialecto tangerino aumente de manera progresiva. Ejemplo de estos préstamos recientes son: xwīs “juez”, ṭālēgo “cárcel”, ēmēpēṭṛēs “mp3”, wəṛqa də-lībṛo “papel de fumar”. 134 Muchos de estos rasgos son compartidos por otros dialectos norteños como son los de Anjra, Tetuán o Chaouen. 135 A título de ejemplo, Casablanca pasa de tener 20.000 habitantes en 1907 a 680.000 en 1952. Hoy día se estima que la ciudad tiene unos 4.000.000 de habitantes. c.f. Aguadé “Textos marroquíes urbanos: Casablanca 1”, p. 194. 153 6. Anexo: Fotos136 136 Entrevista de prensa a Muslim Muslim y L3arbi con Tánger al fondo. Carátula del disco Jebha Carátula del disco 9atera. Todas las imágenes proceden del blog de Muslim: muslim-aka-mottamarred.skyrock.com 154 Carátula del disco Strictly 4 my souljaz Carátula del disco Tanjawa daba. Carátula del disco Dem w dmou3. Carátula del disco Jib l3z wlla khez. Carátula del disco Mor Ssour. Carátula del disco Mutamarred. 155 Bibliografía Aguadé, Jordi & Benyahia, Laila; Diccionario árabe marroquí. Cádiz, Quorum, 2005. Aguadé, Jordi; “Estudio descriptivo y comparativo de los fonemas del árabe dialectal marroquí”. Estudios de dialectología norteafricana y andalusí 7 (2003), pp. 59-109. Aguadé, Jordi; “Textos marroquíes urbanos: Casablanca 1”. Estudios de dialectología norteafricana y andalusí 6 (2002), pp. 193-219. Aguadé, Jordi; “Notas acerca de los preverbios del imperfectivo en árabe dialectal marroquí”. Estudios de dialectología norteafricana y andalusí 1 (1996), pp. 197-213. Assad, Mohamed; Le parler arabe de Tanger. Göteborg, Tesis doctoral, 1978. Benítez, Montserrat; “Transcripción al árabe marroquí de mensajes de teléfono móvil”. Estudios de dialectología norteafricana y andalusí 7 (2003), pp. 153-163. Boudot-Lamotte, A.; “L’expression de la malédiction et de l’insulte dans les dialectes árabes maghrébins. Recherches lexicographiques et phraséologiques”. Arabica, 21 (1974), pp. 53-71. Chaker, Salem & Caubet, Dominique; La négation en berbère et en arabe maghrébin, Paris, L’Harmattan, 1996. Colin, Georges S.; “Notes sur le parler arabe du nord de la région de Taza”. BIFAO 18 (1921), pp. 33-119. Corriente, Federico; Diccionario árabe-español. Barcelona, Herder, 1991. Cortés, Julio; El Corán. Barcelona, Herder, 1999. Ferrando, Ignacio; “Quelques observations sur l’origine, les valeurs et les emplois du preverbe kadans les dialectes arabes occidentaux (maghrébins et andalous)”. MAS-GELLAS 7 (Nouvelle Série), pp. 115-144. Herrero, Bárbara; Gramática de árabe marroquí para hispano-hablantes. Almería, Universidad de Almería, 1998. Iraqui-Sinaceur, Zakya; “Le dialecte de Tanger”, Peuplement et arabisation au Maghreb occidental. Dialectologie et histoire. Aguadé J., Cressier P., Vicente A. (ed.) MadridZaragoza, Casa de Velázquez-Universidad de Zaragoza, 1998, pp.131-140. Krims, Adam, Rap music and the poetics of identity. Cambridge, University Press, 2001. Ksila, Khémais ; “Les prisons tunisiennes vues de l’intérieur”. Féderation internationale des droits de l’homme. Comité pour le respect des libertés et des droits de l’homme en Tunisie, www.euromedrights.org/files.php?force&file=publications/emhrn/...pdf. Lane, Edward William; An Arabic-English lexicon. London, Williams & Norgate, 1863. Marçais, Philippe; Esquisse grammaticale de l’arabe maghrébin, Paris, Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient, 1977. Marçais, Philippe ; Le parler arabe de Djidjelli (Nord constantinois, Algérie). Paris, Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient, 1956. Marçais, William; Le dialecte arabe parlé à Tlemcen. Grammaire, textes et glossaire. Paris, Ernest Leroux, 1902. Marçais, William; Textes arabes de Tanger. (Transcription, traduction anotée, glossaire). París, Ernest Leroux, 1911. Meouak M. & Aguadé J.; “La rhorhomanie et les beurs: l’exemple de deux langues en contact”. Estudios de dialectología norteafricana y andalusí 1 (1996), pp.157-166. Moscoso, Francisco; “El dialecto árabe de Tánger (basado en los textos recogidos por W. Marçais)”. Al-Andalus-Magreb, 8-9 (2000-2001), pp. 177-206. Moscoso, Francisco; Estudio lingüístico del dialecto árabe de Larache (Marruecos) a partir de los textos publicados por Maximiliano Alarcón y Santón. Cádiz, Universidad de Cádiz, 2003. 156 Natividad, E.; “Le dialecte de Chefchaouen”, Peuplement et arabisation au Maghreb occidental, pp.109-119. Prémare de, A. L.; Dictionnaire Arabe-Français. Paris, L’Harmattan, 1996. Ropero, Miguel; “Tratamiento lexicográfico y sociolingüístico de los gitanismos del español en el DRAE”. Sociolingüística andaluza 15. Estudios dedicados al profesor Miguel Ropero. Sevilla, Universidad de Sevilla, 2007. Rossi, Ettore; L’arabo parlato a Ṣan'ā’. Grammatica, testi, lessico. Roma, Istituto per l’Oriente, 1939. Singer, H. R.; “Grundzüge der Morphologie des arabischen Dialektes von Tetuan”, Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenlandischen Gesellschaft 108, 1958, p. 229-265. Vicente, Ángeles; “Un dialecte de type montagnard au Maroc: le parler d’Anjra”. Peuplement et arabisation au Maghreb occidental, pp. 121-130. Vicente, Ángeles & Corriente Federico; Manual de dialectología neoárabe. Zaragoza, Instituto de Estudios Islámicos y del Oriente Próximo, 2008. V.V.A.A., Encyclopédie de l’Islam, Nouvelle Édition. Leyde: E. J. Brill/Paris: Maisonneuve & Larose, 1991. 157 158 UN CAS DE TÉRATOLOGIE DÉRIVATIONNELLE EN ARABE ? LE VERBE ISTAKĀNA Pierre Larcher Université d’Aix-Marseille Résumé. Un verbe istakāna (« s’abaisser, se soumettre ») apparaît deux fois dans le Coran. Grammairiens et lexicographes arabes anciens hésitent entre plusieurs dérivations, privilégiant cependant une dérivation à partir de miskīn. Si cette dérivation est satisfaisante sur le plan sémantique, elle n’en pose pas moins un problème sur le plan morphologique, reconnu par les auteurs anciens qui voient dans istakāna l’ « allongement » (išbā‘) de VIII istakana, dérivé de I sakana, lui-même dérivé de miskīn lu comme mif‘īl. On pourrait aussi bien voir dans cet « allongement » la « compensation » d’une hapolologie à partir de X *istaskana. Mais une phrase étonnante relevée dans le Lisān al-‘Arab que istakāna est en fait un istaf‘ala (donc une forme X) tiré de sakana suggère finalement d’y voir une forme « hybride », déguisant en formation trilitère une base quadrilitère s-k-y-n. Istakāna relève ainsi au premier chef de la dérivation « formelle », la forme même du verbe participant à la reconnaissance de sa base, et au second chef de la dérivation pivot, dans le mesure où en ont été dérivés régressivement IV ’akāna (« abaisser, soumettre ») et I kāna-yakīnu (« être abaissé, soumis »). Ce faisant, l’arabe retrouve ce qui est peut être l’étymologie de l’akkadien, muškênu, où se laisse reconnaître, à côté du préfixe m- de dérivé nominal, le š de la forme factitive et entre k et n une radicale faible. Mots-clefs : Arabe classique ; dérivation lexicale ; istikāna ; miskīn ; hybridation forme trilitère/base quadrilitère ; dérivation « formelle » ; dérivation « pivot » ; emprunt ; akkadien ; muškēnum Wa-l-istikāna istif‘āl min al-sukūn (Lisān al-‘Arab, art. SKN) Par deux fois, on trouve dans le Coran, un verbe istakāna. Une première fois en 3,146 : (1) wa-mā d}a‘ufū wa-mā stakānū « ils ne faiblirent pas et ne s’abaissèrent pas ». Et une seconde fois en 23, 76 : (2) Wa-mā stakānū li-rabbihim wa-mā yatad}arra‘ūn « ils ne s’abaissèrent pas devant leur Seigneur et ne s’humilient pas ». Le verbe est paraphrasé (Tafsīr al-Ğalālayn, p. 57 et 289) par mā h~ada‘ū (à peu près « ils ne se soumirent pas) en 3, 146 et mā tawād}a‘ū (à peu près « ils ne s’abaissèrent pas ») en 23, 76. 159 Ce verbe se désigne comme une forme X istaf‘ala d’un verbe creux. On pense d’abord au verbe kāna-yakūnu (« être, exister, se trouver »). Lisān al-‘Arab de Ibn Manz}ūr (m. 711/1311) signale à l’article KWN (t. III, p. 316) « al-istikāna dans le sens de h~ud}ū‘ » (al-istikāna al-h~ud’ū‘), mais sans autre forme de commentaire ni le relier au reste de l’entrée. On ne voit pas en effet comment on arriverait à un verbe X istakāna de ce sens. De kāna-yakūnu est seulement dérivé un II kawwana (« créer ») et de II un V takawwana (« être créé »). Wriġt (18961898, II, 304), il est vrai, cite un lā kāna wa-lā istakāna « may he not be (may he perish), and never come to life », mais une note de De Goeje nous apprend que « istakāna in this sense is of rare occurrence. The old expression was lā kāna walā takawwana. In the Chrestom. of Kosegarten, p. 16, l. 12 seq. we must read with Dozy lā kuntu wa-lā istakantu would that I had never come to life ». Autrement dit, cet istakāna n’est rien d’autre qu’un doublet de takawwana. Il existe un autre kāna-yakūnu, mas}dar kiyāna, de sens « répondre pour quelqu’un, se porter caution pour lui », auquel correspond un VIII moyen yaktāna-yaktīnu. Il n’explique pas davantage le X istakāna avec le sens qui est le sien. Les verbes creux peuvent avoir pour 2ème radicale soit w, soit y, leur forme X étant homonyme. Or si l’on consulte Lisān al-‘Arab, on trouvera une entrée KYN (t. III, p. 323) avec ceci : istakāna al-rağul h~ad}a‘a wa-dalla ğa‘alahu Abū ‘Alī istaf‘ala min hādā l-bāb (« il s’est humilié et soumis et Abū ‘Alī en a fait un istaf‘ala relevant de cette entrée »). Par Abū ‘Alī, il faut sans doute entendre Abū ‘Alī al-Fārisī (m. 377/987). Lisān al-‘Arab ne donne cependant pas de verbe kāna-yakīnu, mais seulement un nom kayn, paraphrasé par lah}ma dāh~il farğ almar’a (« chair à l’intérieur de la vulve de la femme », i.e. clitoris) et un verbe IV ’akāna, en citant un certain Abū Sa‘īd (probablement al-Sīrāfī, m. 368/979) : yuqāl ’akānahu llāhu yukīnuhu ’ikānatan ’ay ’ah~da‘ahu h}attā istakāna wa’adh~ala ‘alayhi min al-di/ull mā ’akānahu (« c’est-à-dire il l’a soumis jusqu’à ce qu’il se soit humilié et l’ait affecté d’assez d’humilité pour l’abaisser »). X est donc compris comme le réfléchi de IV, même si celui-ci n’est pas compris comme un factitif de kāna-yakīnu, pourtant donné par d’autres dictionnaires arabes, comme le Asās de Zamah~šarī, m. 538/1144 (art. KYN, p. 401 : kāna al-rağulu yakīnu kaynatan wa-istakāna istikānatan ’idā h~ad}a‘a wa-’akāna-hu ’ah~ad}a‘a-hu) et, par suite, arabisants, par exemple celui de Kazimirski (art KYN, t. II, p. 950 « kāna, f. i se faire humble et s’abaisser devant quelqu’un av. li- de la p. »). Mais Lisān al-‘Arab propose une autre étymologie : wa-ġayruhu yağ‘alu ifta‘ala min al-maskana (« mais d’autres [i.e. que Abū ‘Alī] en ont fait un ifta‘ala tiré de maskana »). La même opinion est répétée un peu plus loin, comme venant 160 d’Ibn al-Anbārī 1, mais sous une forme différente : ifta‘ala min sakana (« c’est un ifta‘ala tiré de sakana). Il y a bien un article MSKN (t. III, p. 483-484) dans le Lisān al-‘Arab, mais où n’est enregistré qu’un mot : muskān (« arrhes »). Maskana, lui, est à rechercher à SKN. La raison en est simple et apparaît à cette entrée (t. II, p. 176). Maskana est le nom tiré de miskīn, dont Lisān al-‘Arab, un peu plus haut (t. II, p. 175) écrit : al-miskīn wa-l-maskīn wa-l-’ah~īra nādira li’annahu laysa fī-l-kalām maf‘īl (« miskīn ou maskīn, mais ce dernier est rare, car il n’y a pas dans le langage de maf‘īl »). Pour les arabisants, miskīn n’est pas un mot arabe, mais un emprunt à une autre langue sémitique. Au vrai le mot est présent dans le domaine sémitique depuis longtemps puisqu’on le trouve en akkadien sous la forme muškēnu(m) (variante : maškēnu) (Black et alii, 2000 : 222) « dependant, bondsman of the palace ; poor man ». De ce dernier est dérivé un nom abstrait muškēnūtu(m) « dependence on the palace, status of a muškēnum » ; « impoverishment, poverty ». Mais miskīn a été lu comme une forme mif‘īl, c’est-à-dire une forme intensive d’adjectif avec deux augments m et y et, par suite, trois radicales s, k et n. Par suite, il a fait l’objet d’une double dérivation. La première, sur la base entière, avec outre maskana, le verbe tamaskana, cf. Lisān al-Arab (t. II, p. 176), citant al-Layt (ibn al-Muz}affar, m. 131/748) : maskana mas}dar fi‘l al-miskīn wa’idā ištaqqū minhu fi‘lan qālū tamaskana al-rağul ’ay s}āra miskīnan (« maskana est le mas}dar du verbe de miskīn, mais quand on en a dérivé un verbe, on a dit tamaskana, c’est-à-dire il est devenu miskīn »). L’hésitation de maskana entre simple nom et nom verbal tient au fait qu’il a la forme d’un mas}dar, sans que lui corresponde de verbe. Cette situation se retrouve avec d’autres emprunts, cf., par exemple, faylasūf (« philosophe »), falsafa (« philosophie »), tafalsafa (« philosopher »). L’autre dérivation se fait sur miskīn, lu comme mif ‘īl et donc analysé en augments et radicales. En a été tiré un verbe de base sakana (« devenir pauvre, misérable »). A ce verbe de base correspond un ’askana avec deux emplois : l’un transitif, factitif du verbe de base de sens « rendre pauvre, misérable » (cf. Lisān al-‘Arab, t. II, p. 176 : yuqāl ’askanahu llāhu wa-’askana ğawfahu ’ay ğa‘alahu miskīnan « on dit ’askanahu llāhu et ’askana ğawfahu, c’est-à-dire il l’a rendu misérable ») et l’autre intransitif de sens « devenir pauvre, misérable », qui peut sans doute être considéré comme factitif, mais implicitement réfléchi (« [se] faire 1 Il peut s’agir soit de Abū Bakr (m. 328/940), fils de Abū Muḥammad al-Anbārī (m. 304/916 ou 305/917), soit de Abū al-Barakāt Ibn al-Anbārī (m. 577/1181). 161 pauvre, misérable »). On trouve encore un V tasakkana « se montrer pauvre, misérable », de même sens que tamaskana. Le verbe de base sakana est ainsi homonyme d’un autre sakana, bien connu, de sens « être immobile ». Lisān al-‘Arab (t. II, p. 175) cite un certain Abū Ish}āq (probablement al-Zağğāğ, m. 311/923-924) qui les relie : al-miskīn alladī ’askanahu al-faqr ’ay qallala h}arakatahu (« le miskīn est celui que la pauvreté a immobilisé, c’est-à-dire dont elle a réduit le mouvement »). Mais Lisān al-‘Arab ajoute : wa-hādā ba‘īd li-’anna miskīnan bi-ma‘nā fā‘il wa-qawluhu alladī ’askanahu al-faqr yuh~riğuhu ’ilā ma‘nā maf‘ūl (« mais cela est éloigné, parce que miskīn a le sens de fā‘il, alors que son expression de « celui que la pauvreté a immobilisé » l’amène en direction de maf‘ūl »). C’est l’occasion de rappeler que si la racine consonantique n’est pas pour les grammairiens et lexicographes arabes anciens la base de la dérivation, mais un principe de classement des dictionnaires, l’existence d’une même racine consonantique peut néanmoins être l’occasion de jeux de mots ou de fausses étymologies… Si le rapprochement de istakāna avec miskīn est satisfaisant sur le plan sémantique, il n’en pose pas moins un problème sur le plan morphologique. Il ne suffit pas que miskīn ait été lu comme mif‘īl, d’où le verbe sakana et ses dérivés. Encore faut-il expliquer le ā. Les partisans de cette étymologie le font de la manière suivante (Lisān al-‘Arab, art. SKN, t. II, p. 176, cf. églt art. KYN, t. III, p. 323) : istakāna al-rağul h~ad}a‘a wa-dalla wa-huwa ifta‘ala min al-maskana ’ušbi‘at h}arakat ‘aynihi fa-ğā’at ’alifan (« istakāna al-rağul : il s’est abaissé et soumis ; c’est un ifta‘ala tiré de maskana, dont la voyelle brève de la deuxième radicale a été allongée et est devenue ainsi un alif »). Cet « allongement » (’išbā‘) est justifié par des exemples en poésie : unz}ūr (pour unz}ur), šīmāl (pour šimāl), yanbā‘ (pour yanba‘)… Mais le grammairien Rad}ī al-dīn al-Astarābādī (m. 688/1289) a fait ici une juste observation. Il commente la Šāfiya d’Ibn al-H}āğib (m. 646/1249), qui, au sujet de istakāna écrit (Šarh} al-Šāfiya, I, 67) : wa-istakāna qīla ifta‘ala min alsukūn fa-l-madd šādd wa-qīla istaf‘ala min kāna fa-l-madd qiyāsī (« istakāna : c’est soit un ifta‘ala tiré de sukūn et l’allongement est irrégulier, soit un istaf‘ala tiré de kāna et l’allongement est régulier »). Dans son commentaire, Rad}ī al-dīn al-Astarābādī (Šarh} al-Šāfiya, I, 69) écrit : qawluhu istakāna qīla ’as}luhu istakana fa-’ušbi‘a l-fath} kamā fī qawlihi yanbā‘u min difrā ġad}ūbin ğasratin / zayyāfatin mitli l-fanīqi l-mukrami ’illā ’anna al-’išbā‘ fī istikāna lāzim ‘inda hādā l-qā’il bih~ilāf yanbā‘u (« On a dit : il a pour base istakana et la voyelle a a été allongée, comme dans le vers de ‘Antara : ‘[Lui] sourdant de derrière l’oreille : ire d’une / géante, altière, pareille au mâle mordu’. Sauf que l’allongement dans istakāna est 162 nécessaire 2, selon cette opinion, au contraire de yanbā‘ »). Autrement dit, istakāna n’est pas une variante conditionnée (par exemple métriquement comme yanbā‘ pour yanba‘ dans le vers de ‘Antara) de istakana : au vrai istakana ne semble exister que comme base supposée de istakāna et doit donc être noté *istakana. Existerait-il, qu’on devrait se demander comment VIII istakana aurait le sens de « s’abaisser ». Il n’y a que deux solutions. Le verbe de base sakana étant de forme fa‘ala d’une part, de sens « devenir miskīn » d’autre part, VIII istakana en serait alors un pur moyen (sur le modèle de ğahada/iğtahada « s’efforcer »). Une autre solution consisterait à faire de VIII istakana le réfléchi de IV ’askanahu (« abaisser quelqu’un »), par le phénomène que nous avons appelé « surdérivation sémantique » (Larcher 20031, 20122). Il ne manque pas, en effet, de VIII qui sont les réfléchis de IV, et non de I : citons par exemple pour la langue ancienne iqtana‘a (« se convaincre de quelque chose »), réfléchi de IV ’aqna‘ahu (« convaincre quelqu’un »), lui-même factitif de I qani‘a (« être convaincu ») ou encore, dans la langue moderne, it}t}ala‘a (« être informé »), réfléchi de ’at}la‘ahu (« informer quelqu’un »). Le problème morphologique posé par la dérivation de istakāna à partir de miskīn est bien résumé par cette phrase étonnante que l’on relève dans le Lisān al‘Arab et que nous n’avons pas résisté au plaisir de mettre en exergue. Aussitôt après avoir exposé l’hypothèse de istakāna comme allongement de istakana (art. SKN, II, p. 176), Lisān al-‘Arab ajoute : wa-l-istikāna istif‘āl min al-sukūn. Voir dans istakāna un istaf‘ala tiré de sakana, cela revient à traiter s à la fois comme un augment et une radicale et par suite à compter dans une forme d’apparence trilitère, non pas trois, mais quatre radicales : s-k-y-n. C’est cette double anomalie qui nous a fait nous demander si nous n’étions pas devant un cas de tératologie dérivationnelle… La phrase du Lisān al-‘Arab est d’autant plus étonnante qu’un istaf‘ala de sakana est parfaitement formable et interprétable : ce serait *istaskana, à comprendre comme le réfléchi (« s’abaisser ») de IV ’askana-hu (« abaisser quelqu’un »), lui-même factitif de I sakana. On pourrait alors faire l’hypothèse d’une haplologie, due à la succession des deux s : au lieu que ce soit VIII istakana qui ait été allongé en istakāna, ce serait *istaskana qui se serait « simplifié » en istakana… 2 Ou inséparable. En bon logicien, Raḍī al-dīn al-Astarābādī entend sans doute ici lāzim au sens étymologique de ġayr mufāraq (« inséparable »), qui, avec son contraire mufāraq (« séparable »), qualifie l’accident (‘araḍ). 163 On soupçonne que c’est une haplologie de ce type qui fait qu’on a à la fois X istasqā et VIII istaqā dans le sens de « demander à boire », même si le fait que I saqā est doublement transitif (« donner à boire quelque chose à quelqu’un ») permet la formation d’un moyen à sujet non agentif (« se faire donner à boire quelque chose »). De manière générale, le phénomène de l’haplologie est bien attesté. On en rencontre un exemple célèbre, dans le Coran même, avec ist}ā‘a (pour istat}ā‘a) en 18, 97 : fa-mā st}ā‘ū ’an yaz}harūhu wa-mā-stat}ā‘ū lahu naqban « ils ne purent escalader ce rempart et ils ne purent y pratiquer une brèche ». Ici l’haplologie paraît garantie par le fait que le même verbe est répété dans le même verset, une fois sans t et une fois avec. On trouve le même verbe ist}ā‘a (pour istat}ā‘a) dans la même sourate, en 82 : dālika ta’wīlu mā lam tast}i‘ ‘alayhi s}abran « c’est là l’explication de ce envers quoi tu n’as pu être patient ». Là encore, l’haplologie est suggérée par le fait que le verset est parallèle à 67, d’une part (qāla ’inna-ka lan tastatī‘a ma‘ī s}abran « Il a dit : tu ne pourras avec moi être patient »), 72 et 75 d’autre part (’a-lam aqul laka ’inna-ka lan tastat}ī‘a ma‘ī s}abran « ne t’ai-je pas dit que tu ne pourrais avec moi être patient ? »). Dans les deux cas, l’haplologie apparaît comme un lapsus calami, mais possible reflet graphique d’un lapsus linguae. Dans le cas particulier de istakāna cependant, il n’y aurait pas seulement une haplologie (istaskana > istakana), encore cette haplologie serait-elle « compensée » par un allongement de la voyelle (istakana > istakāna). Là encore, ces phénomènes de « compensation » (‘iwad}) sont bien attestés, mais l’un, tout particulièrement, nous intéresse. C’est celui, signalé par Sībawayhi (m. 179/795 ?) au début du Kitāb (I, 25), de ’ast}ā‘a-yust}ī‘u (à ne pas confondre avec ist}ā‘ayast}ī‘u, rencontré ci-dessus) et ainsi expliqué par lui : wa-qawluhum ’ast}ā‘a yust}ī‘u wa-’innamā hiya ’at}ā‘a yut}ī‘u zādū al-sīn ‘iwad}an min dahāb h}arakat al‘ayn min ’af‘ala (« c’est en fait ’at}ā‘a-yut}ī‘u, mais on a ajouté le s, pour compenser la disparition de la voyelle de la seconde radicale de ’af‘ala »). L’explication de Sībawayhi paraît quelque peu controuvée, ne se fondant sur aucun parallèle. Si ’ast}ā‘a/yust}ī‘u est bien une variante de ’at}ā‘a/yut}ī‘u, on penserait plutôt à une forme hybride, croisement de l’ancienne forme factitive *sat}ā‘a et de la nouvelle ’at}ā‘a, favorisé par le fait que la forme X istat}ā‘a a gardé l’ancien préfixe factitif s- : istat}ā‘a, à côté de son sens de « pouvoir », est bien enregistré dans le sens d’« obéir », sens dans lequel X apparaît comme un pur moyen de IV. Et ici on peut invoquer un parallèle : celui de ’ahrāqa (« verser »), attesté à côté de harāqa, où apparaît l’autre préfixe factitif du sémitique h-, et de ’arāqa. Si hybridation il y a, on voit en quoi son résultat nous 164 intéresse : on a, à la fois, un s et trois radicales t}, w, ‘… Et l’ancien préfixe peut devenir une radicale dans le cadre d’une régularisation ultérieure, par exemple ’ahraqa (< ’ahrāqa) et haraqa (< harāqa) « verser ». On comprend pourquoi Fleisch (1979 : 284) qualifie ’ahrāqa d’« insolite » : bien que sujet à flexion (inaccompli yuhrīqu, mas}dar ’ihrāqah), il n’est rapportable à aucune forme trilitère ni quadrilitère. Dans ce contexte, l’hypothèse que nous avons faite d’une haplologie/compensation devient peut-être inutile. Istakāna pourrait être, plus simplement et plus directement, compris comme le réfléchi en t- d’un éventuel *’askāna, régularisé ensuite en ’askana, d’où sakana, et lui-même tiré de miskīn, lisible comme *muskīn, c’est-à-dire comme le participe actif d’un tel verbe 3. Avant de conclure, je voudrais revenir sur les deux autres dérivations proposées. Le grammairien Rad}ī al-dīn al-Astarābadī, que l’on a vu sceptique sur l’hypothèse d’un *istakana allongé en istakāna, donne en effet quelques détails : wa-qīla istaf‘ala min al-kawn wa-qīla min al-kayn wa-l-sīn li-l-intiqāl kamā fī istah}ğara ’ay intaqala ’ilā kawn ’āh~ar ’ay h}āla ’uh~rā ’ay min al-‘izza ’ilā al-dilla ’aw s}āra ka-l-kayn wa-huwa lah}m dāh}il al-farğ ’ay fī al-līn wa-l-dilla (« On a dit : c’est un istaf‘ala tiré de kawn et on a dit : de kayn et le sīn est pour le transfert, comme dans istah}ğara, c’est-à-dire il est passé à un autre être, c’est-àdire à un autre état, i.e. de la puissance à l’abaissement ou bien il est devenu comme le kayn, qui est la chair à l’intérieur de la vulve, c’est-à-dire dans la douceur et l’abaissement »). La comparaison avec istah}ğara (« se pétrifier ») suggère que X istakāna est compris ici comme étant, morphologiquement, un dénominatif, et, sémantiquement, avec sa base dans la relation que Rad}ī al-dīn alAstarābādī appelle plus loin (Šarh} al-Šāfiya, I, p. 111) « métamorphose » (tah}awwul). Bien qu’apparaisse dans sa paraphrase le nom kawn, mas}dar du verbe kāna, la paraphrase elle-même semble faire allusion au sens d’un nom particulier, kīna, enregistré avec le sens de « état, condition » d’une part, « adversité » d’autre part. Le premier sens s’explique aisément si on fait de kīna un fi‘la lié au verbe kānayakūnu, w devenant y pour des raisons phonologiques. Et le second sens s’explique non moins aisément, si on admet que le mot kīna s’est « incorporé » 3 On soupçonne que muskān (« arrhes »), probable emprunt à une autre langue sémitique, est pareillement à l’origine de kāna-yakūnu-kiyāna (« être caution »), les arrhes étant une garantie. De même, si sakana (« être immobile ») provient de *sakāna, ancien factitif de kāna-yakūnu, il faut passer par un *askāna, régularisé en ’askana, faute de quoi sakana et ’askana devraient avoir le même sens, alors que le second est le factitif du premier. 165 (tad}mīn) celui d’une collocation, qui est kīnat sū’ (« condition déplorable »). Si kīna fait une base possible sur le plan morphologique (comme pont entre kwn et kyn) et sur le plan sémantique (par tad}mīn), il y a néanmoins plusieurs arguments contre une telle dérivation. L’un est formel et est suggéré par un parallèle dans la langue moderne : qīma (« valeur ») est à qāma-yaqūmu (« se tenir droit ») ce que kīna est à kāna-yakūnu, mais le verbe qui en est dérivé est II qayyama (« évaluer ») et a pour réfléchi V taqayyama (« être évalué ») 4. On attendrait donc *(ta)kayyana. L’autre est sémantique : dans les X dénominatifs de métamorphose, la base nominale est la désignation d’un objet, être ou chose, concret et, en outre, quand le nom a pour 2ème radicale un w ou un y, celui-ci est maintenu. On attendrait donc *istakayna. Si la seconde condition n’est pas remplie par kawn/kīna, en revanche elle l’est par kayn « clitoris ». La paraphrase que donne Rad}ī al-dīn al-Astarābādī vient rappeler que dans les X istaf‘ala dénominatifs de métamorphose, le sens implique en fait une comparaison. Istanwaqa, dit du chameau, ou istatyasa, dit de la chèvre, ce n’est pas se faire chamelle ou bouc, mais faire la chamelle ou le bouc, c’est-à-dire se comporter comme eux. Que penser d’une telle dérivation ? Bien sûr qu’elle est affreusement misogyne (mais ce n’est pas vraiment étonnant, s’agissant de ces latitudes !). Au delà, c’est elle que visait al-Fārisī, comme l’indique Lisān al-‘Arab (art. SKN, t. II, p. 176), confirmant au passage que Abū ‘Alī est bien al-Fārisī : wa-ğa‘alahu Abū ‘Alī al-Fārisī min al-kayn alladī huwa lah}m bāt}in al-farğ (« Abū ‘Alī al-Fārisī l’a considéré [i.e. istakāna] comme tiré de kayn, qui est la chair à l’intérieur de la vulve, parce que celui qui est soumis et humble est caché »), ajoutant wa-šubbiha bi-dālika li-’annahu ’ah~fā mā yakūnu min al-’insān (« et comparaison a été faite avec cela [i.e. kayn], parce qu’il est la partie la plus secrète de l’être humain »). Autrement dit, Fārisī voit dans istakāna un dénominatif de kayn de sens métaphorique, mais la liaison avec bassesse/soumission se fait par l’intermédiaire d’une autre idée, celle de secret. Cette double idée se retrouve dans le Asās (art. KYN, p. 401) de Zamaḫšarī, à propos de VIII iktāna (« s’affliger »), ainsi paraphrasé : iktāna ’idā ’asarra al-h}uzn fī ğawfihi (« On s’afflige, quand on tient secrète la tristesse en son sein »), ajoutant wa-štuqqa min al-kayn wa-huwa lah}m bāt}in al-farğ (« et c’est dérivé de kayn qui est la chair à l’intérieur de la vulve »). Autrement dit, il y voit un terme métaphorique (tenir secrète la tristesse en son sein comme un clitoris dans sa vulve), ajoutant : wa-qīla al-baz}r li-’annahu fī ’asfal mawd}i‘ wa-’adallihi 4 Reig (1983) donne, dans le même sens que II, un X istaqāma : il s’agit d’un réfléchi indirect, de sens moyen. 166 (« et on a dit : le clitoris, parce qu’il se trouve à l’endroit le plus bas et le plus vil »). Ici, baz}r apparaît comme le nom propre du clitoris et kayn, à l’inverse, comme une appellation figurée. Si l’idée de secret procède directement de la physiologie, la liaison clitoris/bassesse rappelle immédiatement à un linguiste lecteur d’Emile Benveniste un des plus célèbres « problèmes sémantiques de la reconstruction » évoqués par ce dernier (Benveniste, 1966) : celui du chêne (drus en grec) qui serait à l’origine de la notion de fidélité (anglais trust, allemand Treue), via l’idée du chêne comme symbole de la fidélité, l’évolution se faisant de la désignation concrète vers la signification abstraite. A l’inverse, Benveniste a montré que et la désignation concrète, qui n’est pas chêne en particulier, mais arbre en général (anglais tree) et la signification abstraite de fidélité (anglais true, allemand treu) proviennent d’une seule et même racine de sens général « être ferme, solide, sain » (le nom de l’arbre n’est donc qu’une qualification métonymique). Ceux des auteurs de langue arabe faisant une liaison entre clitoris et bassesse hésitent visiblement sur le sens dans lequel la relation est ordonnée : de la désignation concrète vers la signification abstraite pour les uns, mais de la signification abstraite vers la désignation concrète pour les autres... Conclusion. Dans leur majorité, grammairiens et lexicographes arabes ont rapproché istakāna du nom miskīn. Mais ils ont hésité entre un VIII *istakana, allongé en istakāna (en ce cas, le s est radical et il faut expliquer l’allongement !) et un X istakāna (en ce cas le s devient un augment et le alif est la marque d’une radicale w ou y). C’est cette hésitation qui, pour nous, est révélatrice de l’hybridation de istakāna : tout en ayant l’apparence d’une forme X tirée d’une base trilitère, il déguise en réalité en formation trilitère une base quadrilitère : s-k-y-n. En ce sens, il relève d’abord de la dérivation « formelle » (Larcher 20031, 20122), dans la mesure où la forme même du verbe participe à la reconnaissance de la base. Mais il relève aussi de la dérivation « pivot » (Larcher 20031, 20122), dans la mesure où en ont été dérivés régressivement ’akāna et, peut-être, kāna-yakīnu. Ce faisant, l’arabe retrouve ce qui est sans doute l’étymologie de l’akkadien : muškēnum se désigne comme le participe (m-) d’un verbe quadrilitère dont l’infinitif est šukênum (radicales š-k-’-n), variantes šukennu, šuka’’unu(m), et qui signifie to prostrate « [se] prosterner » (Black et alii, 2000 : 381). Mais š peut être vu comme le préfixe de la forme causative et par suite šukênu(m) rapproché de kanu « to bow down » (Jeffery 20072 : 265, n. 1). 167 Bibliographie Benveniste, Emile (1966). Problèmes de linguistique générale I. Paris : Gallimard. Black, Jeremy, George, Andrew et Postgate, Nicholas (2000). A Concise Dictionary of Akkadian, 2nd (corrected) printing, coll. SANTAG Arbeiten und Untersuchungen zur Keilschriftkune, herausgegeben von Karl Hecker und Walter Sommerfeld, Band 5. Wiesbaden : Harrassowitz. Fleisch, Henri (1979). Traité de philologie arabe. Vol. II : Pronoms, Morphologie Verbale, Particules. Beyrouth : Dar El-Machreq. Ibn Manz}ūr, Lisān al-‘Arab = Ibn Manz}ūr, Lisān al-‘Arab al-muh}īt}, éd. Yūsuf H~a yyāt~, 4 vols., Beyrouth : Dār Lisān al-‘Arab. S.d. Jeffery, Arthur (20072[19381]). The Foreign Vocabulary of the Qur’ān, with a foreword by Gerhart Böwering and Jane Dammen McAuliffe, coll. Texts and Studies on the Qur’ān, vol. 3. Leiden-Boston : Brill [1ère édition, Baroda : Oriental Institute]. Kazimirski-Biberstein, Adrien de (1846-1847). Dictionnaire arabe-français, 2 vols, Paris : Théophile Barrois. Larcher, Pierre (20031, 20122). Le système verbal de l'arabe classique. Collection Didactilangue. Aix-en-Provence : Publications de l'Université de Provence ; 2ème édition revue et augmentée, Collection Manuels. Aix-en Provence : Presses universitaires de Provence. Rad}ī al-dīn al-Astarābādī, Šarh} al-Šāfiya = Muh}ammad b. al-H}asan Rad}ī al-dīn al-Astarābādī, Šarh} Šāfiyat Ibn al-H}āğib, éd. Muh}ammad Nūr al-H}asan, Muh}ammad al-Zafzāf et Muh}ammad Muh}yī al-dīn ‘ābd al-H}amīd, 4 vols., Le Caire, 1358/1939 [réimp. Beyrouth, ‘Ālam al-kutub, s.d.]. Reig, Daniel (1983). Dictionnaire Arabe-Français, Français-Arabe As-Sabil, collection Saturne. Paris : Larousse. Sībawayhi, Kitāb = Abū Bišr ‘Amr b. ‘Utmān b. Qanbar Sībawayhi, al-Kitāb. Ed. ‘Abd al-Salām Hārūn. 5 vols. Beyrouth : Dār al-Kutub al-‘ilmiyya, s.d. Tafsīr al-Ğalālayn = Tafsīr al-imāmayn al-ğalīlayn Ğalāl al-dīn Muh}ammad b. Ahmad al-Mah}allī wa-Ğalāl al-dīn ‘Abd al-Rah}mān b. Abī Bakr al-Suyūt}ī. Le Caire: al-maktaba al-ša‘biyya. S.d. Wright, William (1896-1898). A Grammar of the Arabic Language, Translated from the German of Caspari and edited with numerous additions and corrections, 3 e éd., 2 vol. Cambridge : Cambridge University Press. Zamah~šarī, Asās = Ğār Allāh Abū al-Qāsim Mah}mūd b. ‘Umar al-Zamah~šarī, Asās al-balāġa, éd. ‘Abd al-Rah}īm Mah}mūd. Beyrouth : Dār al-Ma ‘rifa. 1399/1979. 168 LA ZABBŪBIYYA DE ‘ABD AR-RAḤMĀN AL-KĀFĪ. UN POÈME OBSCÈNE DE L’ÉPOQUE DU PROTECTORAT EN TUNISIE Giuliano Mion Université « G. d’Annunzio » de Chieti-Pescara Résumé. Cet article présente l’analyse d’un poème du poète tunisien nationaliste ‘Abd ar-Ramān al-Kāfī, un barde originaire du village de Jendouba qui militait, au début du XXème siècle, contre le Protectorat français en Tunisie. Composé en arabe dialectal, ce poème a circulé longtemps dans la clandestinité et, considéré comme obscène pour son langage et ses contenus, est souvent rappelé encore aujourd’hui sous le nom de Zabbūbiyya. L’article propose un encadrement historique et culturel du poème, ainsi que sa transcription scientifique à partir du dialectal, sa traduction, et une analyse linguistique du dialecte employé. Mots-clefs: dialectologie arabe, arabe dialectal tunisien, littérature populaire, poésie dialectale, Protectorat français en Tunisie, ‘Abd ar-Ramān al-Kāfī. Introduction Les lignes qui suivent se proposent de présenter un exemple du rapport existant entre oralité, poésie et contestation politique, à l’époque du colonialisme français en Afrique du Nord et, en particulier, en Tunisie. Ce rapport se concrétise dans le phénomène de la poésie populaire, c’està-dire une forme de poésie composée en arabe dialectal par des bardes et des chanteurs populaires, qui en Afrique du Nord appartiennent pour la plupart à des confréries mystiques et qui traditionnellement jouent dans des places publiques. L’exemple choisi ici est un poème du poète tunisien nationaliste ‘Abd ar-Ramān al-Kāfī qui, en tant qu’obscène dans son langage et son style, est souvent rappelé sous le nom de Zabbūbiyya. Comme il a été déjà souligné ailleurs1, malgré la complexité formelle et stylistique de ces compositions, le caractère dialectal de la langue employée a toujours rejeté l’ensemble de cette production au-dehors des cercles littéraires considérés d’habitude comme « officiels ». En Afrique du Nord, la tradition de la poésie populaire est très ancienne et bien représentée par le genre du məlūn. Avec ce mot, on entend communément la poésie en arabe dialectal qui, en tant que rimée, est susceptible d’être à l’occurrence aussi chantée. Tandis que le mot məlūn est employé comme terme général pour désigner une composition dans une variété d’arabe différente de la fuā, les spécialistes distinguent aussi des sous-genres, souvent de type régional, comme par exemple le awfī et le zaal. 1 Cf., par exemple, Lagrange (2007 : 583). 169 Parmi les régions du monde arabe qui ont été étudiées de ce point de vue, la Tunisie n’a pas reçu jusqu’à présent une grande attention. La production moderne et contemporaine de ce pays, telle que les colonnes des journaux locaux ont rapporté, ne semble pas être liée au domaine strictement religieux, comme par exemple au Maroc, mais plutôt à la sphère sociopolitique en exaltant les aspirations nationales face au colonialisme français. En ce qui concerne la production dialectale tunisienne, je crois qu’il est intéressant de reprendre le cas de la qaīda obscène de ‘Abd ar-Ramān al-Kāfī présentée ici. Ce poème, techniquement une « malzūma », est bien connu jusqu’à nos jours dans les milieux tunisiens et algériens en général, au point d’avoir été repris plus récemment même par les bloggeurs de la « Révolution des Jasmins ». En outre, exception faite pour une traduction française fragmentée de Mustapha Khayati (1989) dépourvue de tout apparat philologique, ainsi que pour la mention très rapide de F. Lagrange dans sa présentation de la poésie dialectale contenue dans le manuel de littérature arabe moderne de Hallaq-Toelle (2007), ce poème n’a pas bénéficié d’une attention approfondie. Le poème sera ici présenté dans une transcription scientifique de type dialectologique basée, à son tour, sur la version en écriture arabe tirée par le Dīwān d’al-Kāfī, publié à Tunis (sans date) sous la direction de Fayal alManūrī. Les pages en écriture arabe originale, de toute façon, sont reproduites dans une Annexe. Finalement, pour signaler des petites variantes, je me suis servi aussi de la version du poème reproduite en Bilūla (1978 : 186-191). Puisque l’emploi de l’alphabet arabe pour le dialectal rend difficile le décryptage du rapport graphème/phonème, pour la transcription je me suis basé sur une lecture du poème dans la variété citadine de Tunis dont je disposais et non pas dans la variété du village de Jendouba, dont le poète était originaire (ce qui peut rendre la lecture de certains aspects un peu différente). Avant tout, cependant, quelques données sur le contexte historique et sur l’auteur du poème seront fournies ci-après. 1. Le contexte historique L’instauration du Protectorat français sur la Tunisie, résultat de l’affaiblissement du pouvoir beylical, porte la date du 12 mai 1881, avec la signature du Traité du Bardo qui attribue la quasi-totalité des pouvoirs du Bey au Résident Général (al-muqīm al-εāmm). Deux ans après, le 8 juin 1883 le Bey et le gouvernement français signent les Conventions de La Marsa qui attribuent à la France la complète liberté de la gestion du Protectorat. À la base de l’apparition d’un nationalisme autochtone organisé face au Protectorat, il y a la naissance, en 1907, du Mouvement des Jeunes Tunisiens (arakat aš-Šabāb at-Tūnusiyyīn). Le Mouvement des Jeunes Tunisiens se transforme ensuite, en 1921, en Parti Libéral Constitutionnel (al-izb al-urr adDustūrī), au sein duquel en 1934 le Néo-Dustūr de Habib Bourguiba naît. 170 Toutefois c’est avec le Congrès Eucharistique de Carthage, au mois de mai 1930, que le nationalisme tunisien connaît un tournant dans l’histoire du pays 2. Organisé par l’archevêque de Tunis, Monseigneur Lemaître, le Congrès voit la présence à la session d’ouverture du Bey et du šayx al-islām, la charge religieuse la plus haute de la Tunisie, ce qui fait voir l’événement comme une ultérieure provocation croisée. Mais les bases idéologiques du nationalisme tunisien qui a porté le pays à l’indépendance de la France en 1956 ne doivent pas être recherchées seulement dans la période du Protectorat, puisqu’elles enfoncent leurs racines dans une époque plus lointaine, lors des insurrections populaires de 1864 contre le redoublement de la miba, l’impôt de capitation, décidé par Muammad a-ādiq Bey. Dans ce climat de défaite pour les attentes et les espoirs des Tunisiens, le malaise se manifeste aussi à travers la contestation des poètes populaires. L’histoire littéraire de ce pays compte plusieurs poètes populaires comme, pour ne citer que quelques noms, ‘Alī Bin Ġāhum, ‘Alī l-Garī, de la région de Gafsa, Ibrāhīm as-Sāsī et son fils asan as-Sāsī, amad Bin Sālim al-Barġūī et Amad al-Barġūī, et finalement le « prince du malūn » Qāsim Šaqrūn. Il est d’ailleurs intéressant d’observer que la plupart de ces poètes étaient plus au moins originaires des mêmes régions du Sud et du Centre-Ouest où aujourd’hui la Révolution des Jasmins a pris son essor. À ce propos, il faut rappeler qu’à l’occupation de la France des tribus entières du Sud tunisien émigrèrent en Tripolitaine, comme si ce départ en masse était un acte de dissidence face aux autorités coloniales étrangères. 2. L’auteur On pourrait affirmer que comme pour Ibn Khaldūn, par exemple, même ‘Abd ar-Ramān al-Kāfī est un héro qui au Maghreb est revendiqué par deux pays. Dans notre cas, ce sont l’Algérie et la Tunisie à concourir pour être le pays d’origine d’al-Kāfī. Le comédien de théâtre algérien Menad SaliEcolo charge le 2 janvier 2010 sur YouTube3 une version de ce poème en parlant d’al-Kāfī comme d’un barde algérien originaire de la ville de Guelma, condamné et pendu en 1912 après la publication du poème 4. 2 Cf. Abun-Nasr (1987 : 360). http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6qID2rxMls (dernière consultation : 04 septembre 2011). 4 En suivant le phénomène courant en littérature arabe du réaménagement arbitraire des trames littéraires déjà existantes, la circulation de ce poème doit avoir été tellement forte que la version chargée sur YouTube, bien qu’elle ait les mêmes contenus, présente une structure sensiblement différente de celle étudiée ici soit dans l’ordre des vers soit, dans plusieurs cas, dans le choix des mot utilisés. On ne dispose d’aucune information sur les sources employées pour réciter cette version. 3 171 Malgré sa célébrité dans les différents milieux qui commence surtout dans les années Vingt et continue jusqu’à nos jours, nous savons vraiment peu de sa vie5. Ayant recueilli en Tunisie des sources concernant al-Kāfī qui semblent être bien plus fondées par rapport aux sources algériennes, les données présentées ci-après sont évidemment en faveur d’une origine tunisienne du poète. Connu sous les épithètes d’«amīr šuεarā’ al-malūn» ‘prince des poètes du malūn’ et de «šayx al-amāεa» ‘cheikh du groupe’, ‘Abd ar-Ramān al-Kāfī est né probablement en 1885 dans le village de Jendouba, précédemment appelé Sūq l-Arb‘a, dans le Nord-Ouest de la Tunisie, actuellement proche des frontières algériennes. Il fait partie des Ulād Sīdi ‘Abīd 6, une tribu algérienne d’éleveurs spécialisés dans les échanges entre le Nord et le Sud, qui originairement se situe entre Tébessa et Souk Ahras, mais dont un certain nombre s’était fixé en Tunisie 7. Caractérisée par un statut maraboutique, cette tribu s’appliquait dans des pratiques de type soufi où le chant et la poésie jouaient un rôle important. Amad bin ‘Abdallāh al-Malikī, par exemple, est le nom d’un autre poète appartenant aux Ulād Sīdi ‘Abīd qui était contemporain d’al-Kāfī mais originaire de l’Algérie orientale. Le milieu culturel soufi reste donc bien évident dans toute l’œuvre d’alKāfī jusqu’aux poèmes considérés comme les plus communistes et rudes. En 1911 il prend part au ihād libyen contre l’occupation italienne et abandonne ensuite la Tripolitaine pour la Turquie, où il travaille dans un ammām de Smyrne. Ses traces se perdent jusqu’à l’époque de la Première Guerre Mondiale, quand il rentre à Tunis et en 1921 commence à militer dans le Parti Communiste Tunisien (al-izb aš-Šuyūεī t-Tūnusī), fondé en 1920. Il prend position très clairement contre le colonialisme français en publiant des poèmes patriotiques dans les journaux satiriques proches du Parti, comme uā, aū, an-Nadīm et al-Muik qu’il arrive à diriger lors de l’arrestation en mai 1922 de son propriétaire ‘Abd al-‘Azīz al-Maūb. Il est arrêté la première fois pour désertion de l’armée française entre 1902 et 1906, tandis que la seconde fois lorsque la police découvre dans l’Imprimerie de Robert Louzon8 trois mille copies d’une qaīda, accompagnée d’une traduction française de Muammad Bilasīn al-ibālī, incitant les Tunisiens à se révolter contre le Protectorat. Nous savons, finalement, qu’il meurt à la mi-mars 1932, car le 21 mars de la même année le journal az-Zamān publie la nouvelle de son décès. 5 Cf. Khayati (1989), et la Préface de Manūrī au Dīwān. L’ouvrage de Bilūla (1978) ne consacre à sa vie que quelques lignes dans des notes en bas de page. 6 Bilūla (1978 : 147). 7 Pour quelques données sur les Ulād Sīdi ‘Abīd, cf. le volume Tunisie (1896 : 448), et Valensi (1977 : 174). 8 Ingénieur de formation, R. Louzon (1882-1976) milita dans des différents mouvements syndicaux jusqu’à être arrêté et interné en Algérie durant la Seconde Guerre mondiale. 172 En conclusion, nous pouvons affirmer que le dīwān d’al-Kāfī représente un miroir des événements du mouvement nationaliste tunisien, notamment entre 1920 et 1926. Il diffuse des idées socialistes et s’exprime en faveur de la liberté du pays vis-à-vis de la France et contre la corruption du pays. 3. Le poème Le titre de la malzūma de ‘Abd ar-Ramān al-Kāfī qu’en principe est considéré comme « officiel » est a-abr li-Llǟh ‘La résignation est de Dieu’, c’est-à-dire les premiers mots du premier hémistiche qui normalement constituent une expression du langage de la piété populaire. Elle est quand même communément connue aussi sous des noms différents, qui sont tous basés sur le mot-écho «fi zəbbi» situé à la fin de chaque strophe. Elle est alors à la fois connue comme Maqāma zəbbiyya, bien qu’au niveau stylistique elle ne soit évidemment pas une maqāma, ou comme Malzūma zəbbiyya, ce qui s’adapte mieux à la réalité littéraire d’un poème. De toute façon, le nom avec lequel cette malzūma est plus souvent appelée et qui lui donne un air littéraire est sans aucun doute celui de Zabbūbiyya. Le poème emploie donc ce qu’en littérature arabe on appelle kalām fāiš ‘langage indécent’ et qui, en arabe tunisien, passe plutôt à klǟm zǟyd, à savoir une expression qui englobe aussi les insultes et en général les mots grossiers. Afin d’éviter le mot vulgaire, certaines versions du poème ont été publiées et/ou sont déclamées avec une substitution systématique du mot-écho «fi zəbbi» avec «fi lġarbi»9. Il s’agit d’un poème de quarante-deux vers, dont chacun est composé de deux hémistiches. Le mot-écho «fi zəbbi» délimite les strophes dont chacune, à l’exclusion de l’ouverture et de la clôture de la malzūma, est constituée de trois vers où la rime suit le schéma AA AB AB. 3.1. Les thématiques du poème Selon le point de vue algérien, la malzūma aurait été publiée en 1912 lors de la promulgation de la loi sur l’enrôlement obligatoire de tous les Algériens dans l’armée française, pour être finalement réimprimée et diffusée en Tunisie. Pour la version tunisienne, par contre, Bilūla (1978 : 191) écrit que (« fī aġlab a-ann » !) le poème aurait été composé pendant la dernière période de l’administration de Lucien Saint (1867-1938), qui occupa la fonction de Résident Général de 1921 à 1929. Le poème commence par la prière de confier en Dieu et une série d’injures contre l’Etat et les autorités politiques, notamment le Résident général et les autorités religieuses qui sont accusées d’être corrompues (vers 1-9). La 9 C’est le cas, par exemple, de la version contenue dans l’ouvrage de Bilūla (1978) où le motécho original n’apparaît jamais ni dans le texte ni dans les notes explicatives en bas de page. 173 critique touche ensuite les nouveaux riches et les parvenus (vers 10) pour arriver rapidement au système judiciaire (vers 11-12) et, successivement, aux agents de police et à tous ceux qui sont devenus des fonctionnaires du Protectorat en gagnant comme ça de l’argent facile (vers 13-18). Après la dénonciation d’une corruption qui à son avis serait arrivée jusqu’au système scolaire (vers 19), al-Kāfī reprend la liste des grands et des petits fonctionnaires de l’Etat, parmi lesquels il cite les Ministres de la Justice et de l’Armée, le Maire de la capitale, ainsi que toutes les autorités des affaires religieuses (vers 20-22). La cible des attaques virulents de la deuxième partie du poème est encore l’autorité coloniale, mais qui est maintenant accusée d’avoir corrompu même les confréries religieuses. Le poète conclut alors en affirmant de préférer la mort plutôt qu’une vie de soumission et de silence face aux injustices, parce que le seul devant lequel il vaut la peine de se soumettre est exclusivement Dieu. 3.2. Transcription du poème ə-abər li-llǟh w-ər-ržūε əlrabbi dūla ūla ər-ržǟ fə-l-mūla fīha bə-bbāyha b-muqīmha b- əš-šīx w-əl-hīdūq w-əlli bət-tǟžər waāla zīd dūsi w-əl-fallǟ w-ələl-lūsi w-kull ma ysammi l-ǟkim wkīl əd-dawla tūnsi aw sūsi d-dunya w-ǟhəlha əlli har w-əlli bqa mətxabbi b-tīžǟnhum bə-εrūšhum fi zəbbi b-riyyǟsha bə-mlūkha b-ə- b-šīx l-islǟm b-εudūlha bmuftīha εali w-wǟla mǟla amma mažmūla žmīε əd-duwal əl-kull dūla b-əlli qāīha zəbbi amma d-dunya w-ǟhəlha fi wālīha rəbbi ə εmǟla mεabbi zəbbi brūsi dəbbi fi zəbbi 174 b-riyyǟsha babbāha b-sulānha b-imǟmha bb-ər- l-mudīr w-əl-murāqba fi zəbbi ukkǟmha w-əlli w-qiyyǟd andūqa kull b-əl-flūs ən-nǟs əl-ġunya kasəbhum fi w-əlli yaddər f-l-akǟm atta atta t-trībūnāl w-žūž ədər-rayīs w-əl-aεā’ ukəmhum ma qrāwəš šǟwəš w-kǟlik əlli qrāw w-əlli ma l-būlīs l-εāləm rātəb nənsǟwəš w-əž-žandarmi w-š- w-əl-kǟtəb w-əlli tsamma w-ār yāxu w-muεalləm ə-əbyǟn fə-lmakǟtəb wzīr l-εadliyya w-šīx lə-mdīna w-rayyəs əžžamεiyya wzīr əl-qlam w-qāyəd əlarbiyya əl-mətkabbər εabbar w-əlli rkəb εla l-xyūl əlli w-əlli xub b-əl-kəb fūq əlmanbar əl-mudammər l-εawwǟd w-əl-qaāb w-əlli yzammər šīx ə-arīqa īa bdǟ mətxammər əš-šīx w-ət-talmūda w-əlli sammūha š-šābba lxandūda w-kull īd ləl-būs hiya mamdūda hǟa huwwa rabbi xlaqni līh εabdu huwwa əġu klǟmi yǟ rāri awwa əfham šāwəš zəbbi l-kǟhiya w-waīftu w-əl-bāš w-əlli məl arbūš walla kippi aεwǟn lə-kūma b-kullhum fi w-əlli twaəf f-aεla lmarātəb w-əlli yhaəb f-lə-εqūl rabbi w-əl-məddbīn εqūlhum fi zəbbi w-mudīrha w-nǟyəb əddǟxiliyya w-law kǟn ykūn žənsu εarbi zəbbi bə-slāhum bə-sūlhum fi əl-məstbədd fə-l-xalq w-əlmətžabbər w-əlli yəskun f ə-qar wəlla qurbi ǟhl əs-siyǟsa afkārhum fi zəbbi w-əlli muεammər kǟlik mətnabbi barəktu baεəttu frānsa əd-dərwīš w-əl- w-bnǟdru fi zəbbi w-əlli lbəs āntīk walla mūda w-əlli εšaq umm lə-ġī mžəbbi zəbbi uwwa zəbbi tawwa εaw ənqabbəlha nuha fi w-əlli ma εəžbūš yǟxu fə-lǟ nxāf lǟ nill wa-lǟ nxabbi w-īa ma fhəmtūši yəddkum fi xiyār duwwa 175 əl-adī qā mūš īa tži mən žǟnəb əl-uxuwwa w-īa nti žǟyni bə-l-quwwa āləf b-ymīni l-mūt marra barka yǟ āġīni əlli žanna mǟt thənna l-εazz fə-n-nār w-lǟ -ill fə-l- yəġnīni rabbi mənna hǟa fəkri əġt bīh əl-ġənna ǟna xdīm εabd līk əmrubbi nqūl-lək tǟxu fi zəbbi lǟ nəxaε l-maxlūq law w-lə-qsam ə msūgər fə-kfǟlət w-l-mūt asan mən yǟt əlmūt əš-šraf w-lǟ yǟt əl-kubbi aatha w-baεt fīha zəbbi 3.3. Traduction du poème Résignation à Dieu, chez lui nous reviendrons Et cette vie et tout ce monde peuvent aller chez mon XXX Je n’ai d’espoir qu’en Dieu Et de cette vie et de ses êtres, De tous le pays, l’un après l’autre Celui qui existe déjà et celui qui doit encore naître Avec leurs despotes, leurs rois et leurs autorités Avec leurs trônes et leurs sceptres, tous peuvent aller chez mon XXX Avec tout ce qu’ils possèdent Les présidents, les walis et les sultans Avec ses beys, le juge et le Résident 10 Les prêtres, les rabbins et les imams Le mufti, les εudūl11 et le šayx al-islām Le Directeur et le Contrôleur Tous peuvent aller chez mon XXX 10 Le muqīm al-εāmm ‘résident général’ était la figure de l’administration coloniale française qui détenait concrètement tous les pouvoirs (cf. par. 1 de cet article). 11 Dans le sens juridique, les εudūl (sg. εadl) sont des fonctionnaires qui assistent le qāī et/ou des témoins assermentés (en contraposition donc aux šuhūd). 176 Tous les walis Tous les princes, les qā’id et chaque province Le šayx, le hayduk et le possédant Celui dont la caisse est remplie d’argent Le marchand, l’agriculteur et les accointances Touts les riches, qu’ils aillent chez mon XXX Et encore l’huissier Celui qui juge dans les procès Tout ce que le juge appelle dossier Et encore le tribunal et le juge de paix Le procureur, qu’il soit tunisois ou soussien, Le président, la cour, leur jugement, peuvent tous aller chez mon XXX Et n’oublions pas Le Kāhiya et le Bach Chaouch Et ceux qui ont étudié et ceux qui ne l’ont pas fait Ceux qui portent le arbūš ou le képi12 Le policier, le gendarme et le chaouch Les agents d’autorité, q’ils aillent tous chez mon XXX Le savant et le scribe Celui qui occupe les fonctions les plus hautes Celui qui, une fois nommé, a commencé à toucher un traitement Celui qui forme les esprits et éduque les pensées Les maîtres d’école Les məddəbs13 des écoles coraniques, leurs esprits dans mon XXX 12 13 Le képi est le chapeau de l’armée française. Le mot məddəb corresponde au mu’addib de l’arabe classique, ‘maître d’école coranique’. 177 Le Ministre de la Justice, Son Directeur, le représentant de l’Intérieur, Le Maire de la ville, le président des biens abūs Même s’il est de famille arabe Le ministre de la plume et le chef des armées Avec leurs armes et flottes, qu’ils aillent chez mon XXX L’orgueilleux, Le dictateur et le tyran Celui qui monte les chevaux de race Celui qui habite un palais ou bien un gourbi Celui qui ment du haut du minbar Tous les politiciens avec leurs idées : voilà mon XXX Le destructeur Ceux que la France a envoyés coloniser Le luthiste, le flûtiste et le cornemuseur Et aussi le derviche et le faux prophète Le šayx de la arīqa quand il entre en transes, Sa baraka et ses tambourines, qu’ils aillent chez mon XXX Le šayx et les étudiants Celui qui s’habille à l’antique ou bien à la mode Celle qu’on appelle une bonne fille Et celui qui est un amant Et toute main tendue pour le baisemain, Au lieu d’un baiser je lui offre mon XXX Voilà c’est tout Et celui qui n’est pas content peut se le mettre là où je pense Dieu m’a créé pour être son esclave Je ne crains pas, je ne m’avilis pas et je ne cache rien 178 Ecoutez-moi bien enfants d’Eve! Et si vous ne comprenez pas, je vous offre mon XXX Comprends vite maintenant Les meilleurs propos sont les plus courts et non pas des bavardages Si tu arrives fraternellement, Je serai ton serviteur et ton esclave Mais si tu arrives par la force Alors je te dirai : prends mon XXX ! Je le jure avec ma main droite Je ne me soumets pas devant une créature même si elle m’enrichit La mort n’est qu’une fois, entendez ! Et mon destin est bien assuré par Dieu! Celui qui est mort repose maintenant en paix El la mort est mieux qu’une vie de soumission L’honneur dans l’Enfer sera mieux que l’humiliation du Paradis Et une mort d’honneur plutôt qu’une vie de soumission Voilà ma pensée en forme de poème Je l’ai signée et cacheté avec mon XXX ! 3.4. Liste des variantes Selon les versions (orales ou écrites), le poème connaît de menues variantes dont certaines sont reproduites dans la liste ci-après avec l’indication du vers entre parenthèses14. 3] Lecture du Dīwān [ əlli har w-əlli bqa mətxabbi [ wkīl əd-dawla tūnsi aw Variante əlli har mənha w-əlli bqā mətxabbi wkīl əd-dawla tūnsi walla 14 Les variantes de la version chargée sur YouTube, en étant trop différentes (cf. note 4), ne sont pas prises en considération. 179 13] 16] 28] 36] 37] 41] sūsi [ aεwǟn lə-kūma b-kullhum fi zəbbi [ šīx ə-arīqa īa bdǟ mətxammər [ īa tži mən žǟnəb əluxuwwa [ w-īa nti žǟyni bə-lquwwa [ l-εazz fə-n-nār w-lǟ -ill fə-l-žanna sūsi fi zəbbi aεwǟn lə-kūma l-kullhum šīx ə-arīqa īa bdǟ ytxammər kǟn žītni mən žǟnəb əluxuwwa w-īa žītni bə-l-quwwa žənna l-εazz fə-n-nār w-lǟ ill əl- Une variante un peu plus importante est offerte par la version du poème reproduite en Bilūla (1978), dans la partie conclusive, après le vers 38. Pour cette version, les vers 39 et 40 sont les suivants : li’anni l-aad w-lā aad w-əl-qsəm msūgər fi kfālət malik ymīni rabbi l-mūt marra barka ya āġīni w-əlli yεārəni yži ykalləm fi zəbbi Finalement, les derniers trois vers du poème correspondent dans toutes les deux versions mais, bien entendu, la seconde version devient ainsi un poème de quarante trois vers. 4. Observations linguistiques Le dialecte employé par le poète, après un coup d’œil superficiel, semble être un tunisien assez koïnisé tant dans la morphologie que dans les choix lexicaux principaux15. Cependant, des précisions majeures sont certainement possibles et, pour cela, les lignes qui suivent proposent des observations plus approfondies. La numérotation employée entre parenthèses indique les vers du poème auxquels l’analyse se réfère. [14, 15]. Certains aspects graphiques dans ces vers nous révèlent des caractéristiques qui peuvent être reconduites aux variétés tunisiennes noncitadines. En effet, une isoglosse commune à tous les parlers préhilaliens est la consonantisation du suffixe pluriel -w (< *-ū) à l’accompli comme à l’inaccompli des verbes défectueux (ex. : mšāw, yəmšīw), contrairement aux parlers hilaliens où la dernière radicale faible disparaît en faveur du même suffixe (ex. : mšū, 15 La brève analyse proposée dans ce paragraphe se limite, bien évidemment, au poème objet de cette étude. Pour tirer un bilan sur le(s) parler(s) employé(s) par al-Kāfī il faudrait naturellement étendre l’investigation à l’ensemble de sa production. 180 yəmšu)16. Ainsi, les verbes défectueux présents dans le poème alternent des traits préhilaliens à d’autres hilaliens. Les verbes défectueux aux vers 14 et 15 ont une conjugaison typiquement préhilalienne : ainsi < ‫ساوش‬ ِ ‫>ما نَ ْن‬, <‫ >قزاو‬et <‫ >ما ق راوش‬se lisent respectivement «ma nənsǟwə-š» ‘n’oublions pas’, «qrāw» ‘ils étudièrent’ et «ma qrāwə-š» ‘ils n’étudièrent pas’. Bien entendu, cette conjugaison pourrait être aussi le résultat d’exigences de rime avec le mot šāwəš, notamment si nous pensons qu’à Tunis la voyelle épenthétique dans ce cas serait très rare, la solution ma nənsǟw-š étant plutôt la plus ordinaire. Contrairement à ce trait préhilalien, au vers 30 ainsi qu’au vers 32, on trouve respectivement <‫ >س ّموىا‬et <‫ >اصغوا‬qui suggèrent des lectures «sammū-ha ~ səmmū-ha» ‘ils l’ont appelée’ et «əġu» ‘écoutez’, avec assimilation du suffixe personnel à la dernière radicale faible (cf. Tunis : səmmāw-ha, əġīw)17. [18]. Au vers 18 on trouve le verbe <‫>ياخذ‬, une graphie confirmée même dans la version du poème contenue en Bilūla (1978), qui se lit bien évidemment «yǟxu» ‘il prend’. Il faut cependant rappeler qu’en tunisois, un parler typiquement préhilalien, yǟxu s’alterne régulièrement avec la forme yǟxu, cette dernière avec chute de // au singulier (et donc : 1ère nǟxu et 2ème tǟxu ; impératif : xū ~ xū!) et conservation au pluriel (nǟxu, tǟxu, yǟxu ; impératif : xūu!)18. [26]. Le verbe <‫>بعاتو‬, au second hémistiche du verse 26, est problématique. À partir d’une prononciation tunisoise, dans notre transcription il a été lu «baεətt-u», mais il est évident que la graphie suggère une autre réalisation. En effet, la version du poème reproduite en Bilūla (1978) contient <‫( >بعثاتو‬p. 189) qui nous semble plus correcte de <‫ >بعاتو‬et se laisse lire «baεāt-u». Or, en tunisois, la 3ème pers.sg.fem. de l’accompli se termine par -ət, un suffixe qui connaît un redoublement consonantique en présence de pronoms joints commençants par une voyelle (par ex. : kətbətt-u). D’après Marçais (1950), l’alternance -ət/-āt oppose généralement en Tunisie les parlers préhilaliens aux parlers hilaliens19, bien que surtout aux frontières avec l’Algérie la situation réelle soit beaucoup plus intriquée. Finalement, sur la base du modèle tunisois ainsi que de la graphie <‫>و‬, le pronom suffixe de 3ème pers.sg.masc. ici a été lu «-u», mais il est nécessaire de mentionner la possibilité d’une lecture en «-a(h)» liée plutôt aux parlers hilaliens. Cette lecture pourrait être confirmée aussi par la graphie <‫>بْنا ْد َره‬ ‘ses tambourines’ du vers 28, où la présence d’une fata, s’il ne s’agit pas d’une 16 Cf. Mion (2004) sur le système verbal tunisois, et Durand (2007) pour une nouvelle analyse des données tunisiennes. 17 La version chargée sur YouTube, par contre, est récitée très clairement avec əġīw. 18 On rappelle qu’à Malte la situation est tout à fait semblable, avec <nieħu, tieħu…>, <nieħdu, tieħdu…> et <ħu!, ħudu!>. 19 La situation du Maroc central citadin, qui maintenant connaît surtout -āt, est bien évidemment tout à fait différente. 181 intervention arbitraire du typographe 20, pousserait à postuler un pronom -a(h) de type hilalien. Bref, le syntagme <‫ >بعثاتو< ~ >بعاتو‬sera interprété comme «baεāta», c’est-à-dire une lecture qui, étant donnée aussi l’harmonie vocalique de tout le vers, reste fort probable. [29]. On observe l’emploi du <‫ >د‬/d/ en mūda ‘mode’, tandis que toutes les variétés néoarabes intègrent cet emprunt toujours avec un // (← <‫)>ض‬. En tunisien // se réalise normalement interdental [] (← <‫)>ظ‬, mais ‘mode’ est mūa (avec []), pour laquelle le tunisien ne peut pas s’appuyer sur le graphème correspondant de l’alphabet arabe. [30]. L’adjectif xandūda est construit sur un schéma nominal CaCCūC(a) où, d’après la grammaire de Singer (1984 : 496), «finden ihren Platz […] Diminutivadjektiva». Sur l’origine de ce mot, on pourrait s’interroger sur la possibilité d’un lien avec le classique xinī (donc √x-n-) qui, selon certains dictionnaires modernes21, est «a-awīl a-ulb» ou «aš-šuāε»22. [35]. Le mot duwwa, au second hémistiche du vers 35, se rattache à la racine √dwy qui par exemple donne, en restant toujours dans le domaine maghrébin, en arabe marocain dəwwāy ‘grand parleur, babillard, bavard’ et dəyy ‘bavardage, paroles, discours’ signalés par le Dictionnaire Colin (vol. 3, p. 582). Outre les aspects jusqu’ici abordés, il est intéressant de constater le nombre des emprunts présents dans le texte qui témoignent la perméabilité linguistique durant les phases historiques et politiques de la Tunisie moderne. Sur la base de leur origine, les emprunts peuvent être partagés en deux groupes linguistiques appartenants à deux phases historiques différentes : lexique de l’époque précoloniale, et lexique de l’époque coloniale. Les emprunts du premier groupe sont tous originaires de l’époque beylicale et sont ainsi d’origine turque : [6]. babbā, du turc pāpāz, à son tour du grec byzantin παπάς papás, où le mot tunisien a préservé la postériorité de la voyelle turque /a/ à travers l’emphase. [9]. hīdūq. Il s’agit d’un mot d’origine problématique, souvent considérée comme turque. Du turc il serait arrivé dans les langues de l’aire balkanique où il indiquait une sorte de brigand/patriote qui combattait contre les Ottomans. Dans la Tunisie beylicale, ainsi qu’en Algérie et dans tout le Maghreb oriental, il doit être arrivé par influence ottomane en perdant son sens initial et en acquérant celui de combattent/condottiere (quelquefois même avec une nuance négative). [14]. kāhiya est l’arabisation du turc ottoman kyahya, un terme lié au ketxudā ottoman, à son tour d’origine persane. Dans la Tunisie de la domination 20 La version contenue dans l’ouvrage de Bilūla (1978), n’étant pas vocalisée, n’est d’aucune aide. 21 Par exemple, al-Munid fī l-luġa wa-l-aεlām, Beyrouth, 1997. 22 Un informateur tunisien explique que xandūda se dit d’une fille lorsque «qimmətha εālya» et/ou de quelqu’un qui «yaεməl kull šay li-irā’ l-məs’ūl mənnu». Par contre, un autre informateur, algérois, me dit que ce terme est pour lui inconnu. 182 turque le kahiya était le subordonné du qā’id, ou le gouverneur d’une kihāya (sorte de division administrative). En général, le terme désignait aussi l’assistant d’un haut official et/ou d’un directeur. [14]. bāš šāwəš est un terme qui se réfère commandant du corps des šuwwāš (sg. šāwəš), correspondant plus au moins au grade de sergent majeur. L’arabe tunisien šāwəš corresponde au classique šāwiš/šāwuš ~ šāwīš, à partir du turc čā’ūš (turc moderne : çavuş). Il faut rappeler que bāš, en étant d’origine turque, se réalise avec tafxīm, tandis que bāš avec imāla (< *b-āš, donc b[ε:]š) est la particule finale ‘afin de’. Les emprunts du second groupe, beaucoup plus nombreux, représentent des cas significatifs d’intégration de mots d’origine française : [11]. lūsi < *l’huissier, avec agglutination de l’article défini et catégorisation de /l/ comme première radicale d’une nouvelle racine √l-w-s-y (à l’instar, par exemple, de fr. *la gare > tun. lāngār et mar. lāgār ‘gare’). [11]. brūsi < *procès. En dialectal il présente la nouvelle signification, provoquée par déplacement sémantique, de ‘amende’ (consécutive à un procèsverbal). [12]. dūsi < *dossier. À l’instar des exemples précédents, il y a une rétraction de l’accent et en final de mot un passage de la voyelle moyenne française à voyelle haute /i/ en arabe. [12]. trībūnāl < *tribunal. Il s’agit d’un emprunt dont l’intégration n’a posé aucun problème dans toute l’aire maghrébine. [12]. žūž əd-dəbbi < *juge de paix. Il s’agit d’un cas intéressant de calque syntaxique du français à l’arabe, où le syntagme français /de paix/ est passé à l’arabe /dəbbi/ (avec une rétraction de l’accent et un haussement de la voyelle finale, comme en dūsi) qui, une fois déterminé par l’article (/əl/ → [əd]), a donné en arabe la possibilité de juxtaposer deux termes et de former ainsi un état construit. Si l’on pense à d’autres exemples maghrébins qui ne connaissent aucune intégration d’éléments en dental /d/, comme le tunisien krīz rūmātīzm (< *crise [de] rhumatisme) ou le marocain lākārt krīdi (< *la carte [de] crédit), le cas pris ici en examen se révèle assez singulier. [12]. būlīs < *police ; il s’agit d’un emprunt ordinaire dans toute l’arabophonie, tant dans l’Orient quant dans l’Afrique du Nord. [12]. žandarmi < *gendarme. L’arabe littéral connaît le collectif andarma, où l’unité s’indique par le syntagme «un agent de», tandis que le tunisois emploi plutôt žadārmi (pl. žadārmiyya) sans /n/. La présence du <n> dans la graphie pourrait donc représenter un cas d’interférence avec l’arabe littéral. [15]. kippi < *képi. En tunisois, la prononciation avec /p/ dépend de la capacité du locuteur de produire une bilabiale sourde, mais elle est de toute façon très courante. Le texte présente un double <b>, mais il n’est pas possible de se prononcer sur sa réalisation aux temps d’al-Kāfī. 183 [29]. āntīk < *antique. Le même vers contient aussi le mot mūda, déjà mentionné précédemment à propos de la question de <d> pour //. Bibliographie Abun-Nasr, Jamil M. 1987. A History of the Maghrib in the Islamic Period. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bilūla, Muammad ‘Alī. 1978. al-ihād at-tūnusī fī š-šiεr aš-šaεbī. 1855-1955. Mi’at εām min tārīx Tūnus. Tūnus: al-Ittiād al-εāmm at-tūnusī li-š-šuġl. Durand, Olivier. 2007. ‘L’arabo di Tunisi. Note di dialettologia comparata’. G. Lancioni, O. Durand (éd.), Dirāsāt Aryūliyya. Studi in onore di Angelo Arioli. Rome: Nuova Cultura. 243-272. Khayati, Mustapha. 1989. ‘Brèves remarques sur le poème libertaire ‘A-abr Lillah’ et son auteur’. Revue du Monde Musulman et de la Méditerranée 51. 137-142. Iraqui-Sinaceur, Zakia (éd.). 1993-1998. Le dictionnaire Colin d’arabe dialectal marocain. RabatParis: Al-Manahil. Lagrange, Frédéric. 2007. ‘La poésie dialectale et la chanson (1800-1945)’. B. Hallaq, H. Toelle (éd.), Histoire de la littérature arabe moderne. Tome I. 1800-1945. Paris: Sindbad/Actes Sud. 581-617. La Tunisie. Histoire et description. Sans nom d’auteur(s). Paris: Berger-Levrault. 1896. Manūrī al-, Fayal. Sans date. Dīwān ‘Abd ar-Ramān al-Kāfī. Tūnus: Dār saar li-n-našr. Marçais, William. 1950. ‘Les parlers arabes’. A. Basset (éd.), Initiation à la Tunisie. Paris: AdrienMaisonneuve. 195-219. Marzūqī, Muammad. 1971. aš-Šiεr aš-šaεbī wa-l-intifāāt a-awriyya. Tūnus: ad-Dār attūnusiyya li-n-našr. Mion, Giuliano. 2004. ‘Osservazioni sul sistema verbale dell’arabo di Tunisi’. Rivista degli Studi Orientali 78. 243-255. Singer, Hans Rudolf. 1985. Grammatik der arabischen Mundart der Medina von Tunis. BerlinNew York: De Gruyter. Sraieb, Noureddine. 1989. ‘Poésie populaire et résistance en Tunisie’. Revue du Monde Musulman et de la Méditerranée 51. 143-150. Valensi, Lucette. 1977. Fellahs tunisiens. L’économie rurale et la vie des campagnes au 18 e et 19e siècles. Paris-La Haye: Mouton. 184 Annexe Les deux reproductions ci-après reportent le texte original arabe tiré des deux pages (64 et 65) du Dīwān de ‘Abd ar-Ramān al-Kāfī, édité à Tunis (sans date) par Fayal al-Manūrī. Première page 185 Seconde page 186 TOPOGRAPHIE SACRÉE ET LÉGITIMATION SYMBOLIQUE DANS L’HAGIOGRAPHIE DE HACI BEKTAŞ VEL Luminiţa Munteanu Université de Bucarest Résumé. L’hagiographie de Hacı Bektaş, faisant partie d’un ensemble d’ouvrages similaires qui synthétisent l’idéologie de la confrérie mystique des Bektaşi, met en lumière l’ampleur de l’héritage préislamique qui informe l’histoire, ainsi que les rituels propres à l’ordre susmentionné. L’évolution du santon éponyme de l’ordre dans la communauté où il commence son activité missionnaire est marquée par nombre de gestes fondateurs, dont le but est de prendre en possession, de sacraliser l’espace qui l’hébergera et de le marquer de ses signes spécifiques. L’aspect particulier de ces signes, qui ne sont pas sans contrarier la piété prudente du bon musulman, découle de l’influence exercée par les cultes préislamiques sur les croyances et les rituels du futur ordre mystique turc, en voie de cristallisation. Les cultes de la montagne, de l’arbre, du feu, des sources d’eau, des grottes jouent un rôle de premier ordre dans l’existence rituelle des premiers Bektaşi ; ces éléments seront occultés par la suite, au fur et à mesure que l’ordre régulier des Bektaşi sera mis sous la surveillance de l’État ottoman. Mots-clefs : islam, soufisme, Turquie, Hacı Bektaş, cultes préislamiques, animisme Vers le milieu du XIIIe siècle faisait son apparition en Asie Mineure un personnage qui, pour des raisons plutôt obscures, relevant aussi bien des caprices de l’histoire que de la volonté de ses tenants et disciples (ce qui n’est pas rare dans l’histoire confessionnelle de l’humanité), allait marquer, sinon changer la géographie religieuse de la contrée et, surtout, du soufisme d’expression turque. Le protagoniste de cet épisode, également le protagoniste de notre article, deviendra célèbre sous le nom de Hacı Bektaş Veli et, suivant la tradition de la confrérie soufie qui s’en réclamera plus tard, venait du Khorasan iranien. (On ignore s’il était natif de la région susmentionnée ou s’il se trouvait parmi ceux qui fuyaient l’avancée mongole, comme le faisaient beaucoup de populations de l’Est à l’époque.) Le derviche de Khorasan, probablement d’origine turkmène, est évoqué de passage dans quelques sources contemporaines, intéressées surtout à d’autres milieux soufis1 et, d’une manière plus prégnante, dans l’hagiographie qui 1 Par exemple, dans Manâqib al-‘ârifîn, « Les légendes des gnostiques/initiés », ouvrage rédigé entre 1318-1353, en arabe, par Šams ad-Dîn Ahmad al-Aflakî (m. 1360). En voici une évocation de H. B. Veli, dans la traduction française de Cl. Huart : « L’émir Noûr-ed-dîn, fils de Djîdjà, était l’ami intime et le lieutenant considéré du Perwânè et en même temps gouverneur de la province de Qir-chéhir. Il racontait un jour, en présence du maître, dont il était le disciple, les miracles de Hàdji Bektâch le Khorasanien : Je me rendis une fois auprès de lui ; il n’observait nullement les apparences extérieures ; 187 lui est vouée ; ces sources viennent corroborer, outre l’aura presque mythique qui l’entoure, la réalité historique du personnage dont il sera question plus bas. L’hagiographie consacrée à Hacı Bektaş Veli, le santon éponyme de la confrérie mystique des Bektaşi (Bektaşiyya), dont l’histoire se confond, grosso modo, avec l’histoire de l’Empire ottoman, fait partie d’un ensemble de textes (connus sous le nom de manâkıbnâme/ menâkıbnâme ou vilâyetnâme) aux particularités relativement semblables, dédiés à des personnages réels ou imaginaires dont la congrégation s’est souvent servie pour soutenir sa propagande et ses activités missionnaires2. Il va sans dire que le « bektashisme » proprement dit n’existait pas à l’époque en question, à savoir la seconde moitié du XIII e et la première moitié du XIVe siècle, et que ces vitae ont été élaborées plus tard, mais ce qui nous semble significatif c’est que les héros de ce genre d’ouvrages se font remarquer par toute une série de traits communs qui trahissent l’idéal de sainteté chéri par les milieux auxquels s’adressait l’ordre et où ils recrutait leurs adeptes. Par conséquent, le caractère réel ou fictif des protagonistes de ces récits exemplaires, débordant de merveilleux et le plus souvent touchants par leur naïveté intrinsèque, nous paraît peu important par rapport à l’idéologie ultérieure de la congrégation qui allait les revendiquer ; ils sont instrumentalisés, n’ayant pour but que d’illustrer et d’éclaircir cette idéologie souveraine. De l’hagiographie de Hacı Bektaş Veli nous sont parvenues plusieurs variantes, soit en prose, soit en vers, comportant peu de différences en matière de contenu (épisodes s’agençant diversement, détails présents dans une certaine il ne suivait pas la coutume du prophète, et n’accomplissait pas la prière canonique. J’insistai auprès de lui en lui remontrant qu’il fallait assurément s’acquitter de ce dernier devoir. ‘Va, me dit-il, apporte de l’eau, pour que je procède aux ablutions, et que je me procure ainsi la pureté [nécessaire à la validité de la prière]’. Immédiatement, de mes propres mains, je remplis à la fontaine un gobelet de terre et je l’apportai devant lui. Il prit le vase et me le remit entre les mains, en me disant de lui verser l’eau sur les mains. Quand je le fis, l’eau pure se trouva changée en sang ; je restai abasourdi de ce phénomène. — Plût à Dieu, dit le Maître, qu’il eût changé le sang en eau, car il n’y a pas tant de mérite à souiller de l’eau pure. Le noble interlocuteur de Dieu [Moïse] a changé l’eau du Nil en sang pour un Égyptien (le Pharaon), et pour un des petits-fils a transformé le sang en eau pure ; c’était par suite de la perfection de son pouvoir, mais cet individu n’a pas tant de force. Cette transformation s’appelle du gaspillage. On a dit : ‘Les gaspilleurs sont les frères des démons’. La transformation particulière, c’est quand ton vin devient du vinaigre, quand les difficultés sont résolues, quand le cuivre vil devient de l’or pur, quand l’âme incrédule devient musulmane et s’abandonne [à Dieu], quand le limon de ton corps prend la valeur du cœur’. Immédiatement Noûr-ed-dîn s’inclina, renonça à l’intention qu’il avait manifestée, et dit : ‘Du moment que beaucoup de diables ont la figure d’hommes, il ne faut pas tendre la main à toute main’. » (Huart 1922 : 20-21) 2 On pourrait en faire mention des légendes de Hacım Sultan, Abdal Musa, Kaygusuz Abdal, Seyyid Ali Sultan, Sultan Şucauddin, Otman Baba, Demir Baba, etc. ; un aperçu utile de ceux-ci se trouve dans Ocak 2000 : 25-50. 188 variante et absents dans d’autres, etc.)3. Il s’agit de copies réalisées d’après un original perdu, dont la conception est difficile à reconstituer aujourd’hui, vu notamment les altérations survenues dans le processus de transmission. La plupart des spécialistes du domaine (dont il sied de mentionner Ahmet Yaşar Ocak et Irène Mélikoff) sont fort enclins à accepter l’hypothèse avancée par Abdülbâki Gölpınarlı, selon laquelle l’auteur de la première version écrite de cette vita (l’« original », tout relatif que puisse être ce terme dans notre contexte) serait le polygraphe ottoman Firdevs de Brousse/Bursa, connu également sous les pseudonymes de Firdevsi-i Rumi, Firdevsi-i Bursevi et Firdevsi4. Le même Abdülbâki Gölpınarlı apprécie que l’hagiographie remonte à la période 14811501, l’auteur en ayant fondé sa démarche sur les traditions orales qui circulaient à l’époque dans les cercles Bektaşi, ce qui suggère que ceux-ci lui étaient familiers et que, d’autre part, il y avait pleinement accès. Les exégètes cités plus haut estiment que Hacı Bektaş Veli était un derviche du type kalenderi, arrivé en Anatolie à la suite des grandes invasions mongoles du XIIIe siècle, sur la vague des migrations des tribus turques établies au Khorasan ; Hacı Bektaş aurait pu se trouver, tout comme d’autres cheikhs turkmènes illustrant la même typologie, à la tête d’une tribu, en tant que chef temporel et spirituel (Ocak 2002 : 170). Ce portrait ne correspond assurément pas à la façon dont il est dépeint par ses détracteurs, voire rivaux, au moment de son arrivée en Anatolie : çırçıplak bir abdal, « un abdal tout nu » (MHBV 5 1995 : 10), ce qui renvoie tout de suite à l’aspect saillant des derviches errants kalenderi, présentés le plus souvent comme déguenillés, sinon nus ou presque nus. Mais, remarque Hamiye Duran (2005 : 131-132), les vocables üryan et çıplak, « nu » ne sauraient être interprétées au pied de la lettre, mais plutôt dans le sens de garip, fakir, zavallı, tek, « pauvre, pitoyable, infortuné, digne de pitié » ; le mot çıplak continue par ailleurs d’avoir, dans certaines régions de la Turquie, le sens de fakir, züğürt, « pauvre, misérable, démuni » (Derleme Sözlüğü III : s.v.). Il n’en reste pas moins vrai que le terme abdal était employé notamment pour désigner les derviches d’orientation kalenderi, quoiqu’en raison de l’impopularité des 3 Voir Abdülbâki Gölpınarlı 1995a : XXIII-XXXIX. L’auteur, de son vrai nom Şerafeddin b. Hızır ou Şerafeddin Musa, était originaire de Brousse et fut contemporain des sultans Mehmed II Fatih, Bayezid II et Yavuz Selim (Selim I). Il devint fameux notamment pour son Süleymânnâme, « Le livre de Süleymân », un vaste ouvrage à caractère encyclopédique, composé sur la demande de Bayezid II, qui comptait 81 « cahiers » ou parties. À part cet ouvrage monumental, on lui attribue à peu près 40 autres œuvres, parmi lesquelles Davetnâme, « Le livre de l’invitation », qui se propose de synthétiser les croyances populaires de tout le monde islamique et qui fut problablement illustré par l’auteur même (Aksel 1960 : 162-172 ; Biçer 2005 : 245-261) ; son profil intellectuel surpassait donc le domaine strictement historiographique. 5 Le sigle MHBV se réfère à l’édition préparée par Abdülbâki Gölpınarlı (voir Bibliographie). 4 189 confréries mystiques dans certaines zones ou certaines époques, il arrivait souvent à être employé dans le sens générique de « derviche » (Gölpınarlı 1977 : 5-8). Néanmoins, étant donné que l’existence de Hacı Bektaş semble interférer sans cesse avec celle des milieux kalenderi, l’emploi accidentel de ce qualificatif nous paraît peu probable. Il s’agit, à notre avis, d’une épithète péjorative dont le but est de mettre en évidence, d’une part, l’indigence du personnage et, d’autre part, son identité problématique, d’« étranger » ou, plus encore, de « sans-abri ». Un peu plus tard, lors de son arrivée à Sulucakarahöyük, Hacı Bektaş est décrit comme coiffé d’un bonnet (tac) rouge et vêtu d’un manteau léger (Arabistan kerrakesi), ce qui nous fait penser à une tenue décente, conforme au statut de maître spirituel qu’il revendiquait (MHBV 1995 : 28). Y a-t-il lieu de supposer un déguisement, ou bien une interpolation tardive, visant à amender le personnage initial ? On l’ignore ; reste que les deux portraits ne semblent point converger ou, du moins, émanent de sources assez différentes. D’après Hamiye Duran (2005 : 133), rien dans l’hagiographie de Hacı Bektaş Veli ne serait de nature à prouver la pratique du rituel connu sous le nom de çahar darb, « quatre coups » (enlèvement des cheveux, des sourcils, de la barbe et de la moustache), spécifique des derviches kalenderi, et donc l’appartenance du santon khorasanien aux milieux hétérodoxes. Cette assertion nous semble assez étrange, car l’hagiographie revient à plusieurs reprises sur ce détail ; l’itération en serait tout à fait gratuite, à moins qu’il ne s’agisse d’un renvoi aux coutumes kalenderi. Les ceremonies d’initiation s’accompagnent, sauf exception, de la « tonsure » ou, plus exactement, du « rasage ». En voici un exemple péremptoire : [Lors de l’initiation d’un certain Bahaeddin Bostancı, « Bahaeddin, Le Gardien du potager »] : « Hünkâr rasa les cheveux de Bostancı conformément au canon, bénit son bonnet, lui conféra le diplôme d’investiture, passa sa main sur ses yeux et son dos et lui dit ‘tu a été initié’. » (MHBV 1995 : 23)6 Le fragment ci-dessus réunit la quasi-totalité des séquences de la cérémonie classique d’initiation Bektaşi, supposant l’imposition des mains, l’attribution d’une coiffure ou d’un vêtement nouveau (ici, le bénissement du bonnet ancien, portant le sens de renouveau) et le rasage/la tonsure rituelle. À d’autres occasions, on apprend que Hacı Bektaş se trouve justement sur le point de se faire raser les cheveux (non pas se les faire couper !) par Saru Ismail, à la fois son disciple bien-aimé et, son ibrikdar, ou par d’autres disciples : 6 Voir, pour d’autres exemples similaires, MHBV 1995 : 52-53, 53, 54-55, 60, 70-71, 76, 89. 190 « À cette époque-là, dans ce jour-là, Hacı Bektaş habitait chez Kadıncık Ana. Il dit à Saru Ismail : ‘Mes cheveux ont poussé long, viens, allons dehors, pour que je te les fasse couper.’ Saru prit la pierre à rasoir et le rasoir à main. Il sortit avec Hünkâr. Ils s’assirent dans une place qui se trouvait en bas du village, devant le tumulus (höyük). Alors, Hünkâr dit à Sarı : ‘Vas-y, mets-toi à raser [mes cheveux] !’. Sarı se mit à raser les cheveux de Hünkâr. Il avait à peine rasé la moitié des cheveux de celui-ci, lorsque Hünkâr lui dit ‘arrête, ça suffit !’, et Sarı Ismail s’arrêta court. » (MHBV 1995 : 40) « Hacı Bektaş dit un jour à ses califes ‘apportez le rasoir à main et la pierre à rasoir et rasez mes cheveux !’. Ils ont apporté le rasoir à main et la pierre à rasoir et se sont mis à raser [les cheveux de] leur santon. Lorsqu’ils étaient justement à la moitié du rasage, il leur fit un signe de sa sainte main, en leur montrant qu’il suffisait. Le barbier en retira sa main. » (MHBV 1995 : 68) Nous considérons que ce genre de contextes ne sont pas sans trahir la véritable typologie du derviche khorasanien, voire son appartenance aux groupes et à l’idéologie kalenderi. Dans la bonne tradition hagiographique, Hacı Bektaş Veli est crédité de nombreux miracles qui, de par leur nature, correspondent au schéma général des prodiges accomplis non seulement par les saints hommes de l’islam, mais par les saints de partout. Évidemment, la relation des merveilles attribuées aux les saints acquiert une fonction notamment utilitaire 7, car elle a pour but de justifier et d’alimenter, entre autres, le culte qui les entoure. On ne va pas insister là-dessus, car l’analyse comparée de ces faits vaudrait du moins une étude à part. En échange, on va se concentrer sur un ensemble de motifs qui revient avec insistance dans l’hagiographie du santon turc ; bien qu’analysé à plusieurs reprises (voir en premier lieu Mélikoff 1996 et 2000 ; Ocak 2000 : 128-140), certains problèmes qu’il soulève restent, à notre avis, insuffisamment éclaircis, ce qui nous amène à remonter, une fois de plus, aux sources, à savoir le texte proprement dit de la légende. À peine arrivé à Sulucakarahöyük, qui deviendra par la suite le centre de son culte, Hacı Bektaş a recours à toute une série de gestes fondateurs, précédés à chaque fois de rituels ascétiques par lesquels il « prépare » et sacralise l’espace qui l’hébergera. Ses actes sont destinés, d’une part, à le pourvoir de crédibilité aux yeux de la communauté à laquelle il s’adresse et, d’autre part, à jeter les fondements de plusieurs rites de substitution qui vont transformer 7 « Ce n’est pas pour le plaisir qu’on dénombre les souffrances, les aventures, l’héroïsme des saints, mais ‘dans un but d’édification’. À ce but large s’adjoint le but précis et local : convaincre les auditeurs de la puissance du saint et assurer ainsi à son culte des fidèles et des ressources. Ce double but, général et spécial, explique les grandes tendances de la formation des légendes hagiographiques. (Van Gennep 1912 : 127-128) 191 Sulucakarahöyük dans une « seconde Mecque ». Sa manière d’agir est loin d’être singulière dans le monde turc, notamment dans celui de l’Asie Centrale, dominée par la figure emblématique d’Ahmet Yesevi, « le pîr de Turkestan », dont le sanctuaire (ziyaretgâh) est assimilé, aujourd’hui encore, par les populations locales (Kazakhs, Kirghizes) à une « seconde Mecque » ; la visite rendue au sanctuaire d’Ahmet Yesevi est elle ausi assimilée à la visite au tombeau du Prophète de l’islam : « À Médine Muhammad, au Turkestan, Hoca Ahmet », affirment les autochtones (Yaman 2005 : 29). Autrement dit, à chacun son prophète, ou bien chacun avec son prophète. Les visites rendues aux tombeaux des nombreux saints locaux sont fréquemment associées à l’idée de « pèlerinage mineur » ; lors des visites pieuses, les autochtones adoptent souvent des rituels spécifiques du pèlerinage mecquois, par exemple la circumambulation ; qui plus est, ils font parfois ériger des répliques en miniature de la Ka‘ba mecquoise, comme c’est le cas de Khorasan Ata Kesenesi, au Kazakhstan (Yaman 2005 : 2930). Il est à noter que, dans toutes ces situations, le culte du saint se développe autour de sa tombe, plus ou moins authentique. La vénération des saints locaux, entretenue peut-être par l’ancien culte des ancêtres, est omniprésente dans le monde turc, impliquant toute une série de manifestations communes, faciles à reconnaître, tels la présence des arbres votifs à proximité des sépultures, l’aumône associée aux visites pieuses, les sacrifices, la croyance dans les valences thérapeutiques de la poussière ou de l’eau prise sur les lieux du pèlerinage, les fontaines, les sources, les puits et les arbres sacrés, les bougies ou les flambeaux allumés à côté des sépultures. D’autre part, bien des tombeaux faisant l’objet de ce genre de pèlerinages sont placés dans des endroits plus élevés que le reste du paysage, à savoir des montagnes ou des collines. Outre sa dimension islamique déclarée, ce phénomène est étroitement lié à l’ancien animisme et au culte de la nature ; à l’époque préislamique, chaque tribu ou clan vénérait une certaine montagne ou colline, mais il y avait aussi des montagnes révérées par l’ensemble des populations turques, par exemple la montagne d’Ötüken, située sur le cours supérieur de l’Orkhone, en Mongolie septentrionale, qui était regardée comme un véritable centre du pouvoir, notamment aux VII eVIIIe siècles. Les esprits étaient investis de valeur bénéfique ou maléfique, leur puissance étant circonscrite à la zone où se trouvait la montagne respective. Les grottes étaient à leur tour employées en tant que lieux de culte et de prière ; on y offrait également des sacrifices (Uraz 1967 : 126-131)8. 8 Les sanctuaires balkaniques des Bektaşi revêtent des particularités similaires. Nathalie Clayer (1996 : 179-180) remarque, par exemple, au sujet des deux « hauts lieux du bektachisme albanais », c’est-à-dire la grotte de Sarï Saltïk, située au-dessus de Krujë, et le tombeau d’‘Abbâs ‘Alî, situé au sommet du mont Tomor : « De fait, il s’agit de sites qui semblent avoir été prédestinés à l’exercice d’un culte. Leur situation sur une hauteur peut permettre de les classer 192 Une grande partie de l’existence de Hacı Bektaş tourne autour des « hauts lieux » (montagne, colline) situés dans le voisinage du village de Sulucakarahöyük. L’arrivée du derviche de Khorasan dans la petite agglomération rurale, évoquant plutôt un hameau qu’une bourgade, est précédée de plusieurs épisodes d’ascèse sévère, qui semblent la préparer et sont désignées dans l’hagiographie par les vocables çile, erbayin et riyâzat, au sens d’« ascèse, mortification du corps »9. Une fois arrivé à Sulucakarahöyük et accueilli, puis hébergé par ses premiers disciples, à savoir Kadıncık Ana et son mari Idris, Hacı Bektaş se fait aménager une retraite (halvet yurdu ou çilehane), qui deviendra bientôt son refuge de prédilection ; cette cellule sera également appelée par la suite kızılca halvet, « la cellule rougeâtre » (MHBV 1995 : 35, 36-37, 43, 49, 62). La cellule, à laquelle s’ajoutera plus tard un « couvent » (tekke), suggère dès le début l’orientation spirituelle de l’étranger, qui préfère se recueillir et prier dans des endroits peu conventionnels, totalement différents à la formule prescrite par l’islam dogmatique10. L’hagiographie fait souvent référence à la montagne d’Arafat (de fait, plutôt une colline), à la montagne du Manteau (Hırka Dağı) et à la montagne du Supplice (Çile/Çille Dağı), qui paraît être synonyme de la montagne du Manteau. dans la catégorie des sanctuaires liés au culte de la montagne. » S’y ajoutent « l’atmosphère magique et mystérieuse » créée par la source dans le rocher, les forêts de chênes, la montagne, etc. Cette observation reste valable pour maints lieux de culte Bektaşî, dans les Balkans comme ailleurs. 9 Quarante ans d’ascèse sévère avant d’assumer son activité missionnaire (MHBV 1995 : 8), un çile de quarante jours en Badakhchan (MHBV 1995 : 11), des erbayin dans tous les lieux saints où il s’arrête à l’occasion de son pèlerinage aux hauts lieux de l’islam – La Mecque, Médine, Nadjaf, Jérusalem, Alep (MHBV 1995 : 17) –, un erbayin dans la caverne des « Sept Dormants » (Ashab-ı Kehf) en Elbistan (MHBV 1995 : 18), un erbayin avant de monter sur la « montagne » d’Arafat, où se trouve une grotte (appelée çilehane) devant laquelle il fait jaillir une source qui sera nommée ensuite Zemzem, et un nouveau erbayin après cet exploit (MHBV 1995 : 26-28), un erbayin initiatique (MHBV 1995 : 61-62). Suivant Abdülbaki Gölpınarlı (1977 : 80-82), les termes çile et erbayin désignaient, dans tous les cercles soufis, le même type d’épreuve, à savoir une période de quarante jours durant laquelle le derviche se retirait du monde (d’habitude, dans un espace spécialement aménagé dans ce but, à l’intérieur d’un tekke) et se consacrait à la prière, tout en réduisant progressivement sa nourriture et son sommeil ; il ne quittait l’espace de son expiation que dans des circonstances impératives ; la période d’épreuve pouvait se répéter à plusieurs reprises si le cheik qui évaluait les pensées et les rêves du derviche le jugeait nécessaire, en raison de la nature négative de ceux-ci. Cette formule radicale n’était pas prescrite par les confréries des Bektaşi et des Mevlevi, qui mettaient plutôt l’accent sur le service du supérieur ; pourtant, elle n’était pas interdite à ceux qui désiraient la pratiquer. Rappelons aussi, au sujet de la durée de cet exercice spirituel, que le nombre quarante « est le nombre de l’attente, de la préparation, de l’épreuve ou du châtiment. » (Chevalier / Gheerbrant 1974 : 70) 10 Lors de son arrivée à Sulucakarahöyük, il est découvert en prière, dans une mosquée ; il ne semble plus y revenir ensuite. 193 Le texte fait également mention d’une colline située tout près de Kırşehir, qui offre une belle perspective de la ville et au sommet de laquelle se retrouvent souvent, pour bavarder, Hacı Bektaş Veli et Ahi Evran, le saint patron des corporations anatoliennes (MHBV 1995 : 51). D’autre part, le nom du village Sulucakaraöyük, appelé parfois Kara (H)öyük, « Le tertre noir », s’avère hautement significatif du cadre symbolique où évolue le protagoniste de la légende ; le vocable (h)öyük, assez fréquent dans la toponymie anatolienne d’hier et d’aujourd’hui11, désigne d’habitude un tertre artificiel, un tumulus 12, à savoir un lieu consacré aux inhumations ou, du moins, renfermant des vestiges d’ancienne date ; il este synonyme du vocable arabe tell, qui a le même sens. L’allusion impliquée par le toponyme Kara (H)öyük n’est pas très claire. Serait-ce question de la montagne d’Arafat, située à environ trois kilomètres du centre de l’agglomération actuelle ? Si oui, cela nous conduirait à l’idée que la soi-disant « montagne d’Arafat » était perçue par les autochtones comme une forme de relief artificielle, de longue date, associée peut-être à certains cultes immémoriaux, ce qui expliquerait le réflexe du derviche de Khorasan de se l’approprier et de lui conférer une fonction nouvelle, superficiellement islamique, selon le principe que « les gens prient toujours dans les mêmes endroits ». La montagne (colline) d’Arafat est donc mise par l’hagiographie en connexion explicite avec son homonyme mecquois ; le caractère délibéré de cette connexion est confirmé par le nom attribué à la source captée par Hacı Bektaş sur la même montagne, qui sera appelée Zemzem. Hacı Bektaş se retire parfois dans une grotte située sur l’Arafat, que l’on désigne par le vocable çilehane, « gîte du supplice » ; cette grotte n’est pas sans rappeler la grotte de Hirâ, dans la montagne de la Lumière (Jabal an-Nûr), où le Prophète de l’islam avait l’habitude de se retirer et de méditer avant qu’il ne reçût la Révélation. Les retraites pieuses sur les montagnes, les collines ou dans les grottes, de même que les prières ou les rituels accomplis dans de pareils endroits, constituent un motif courant dans les hagiographies vouées aux santons anatoliens, y compris 11 Certaines de ces agglomérations sont devenues célèbres notamment grâce aux fouilles et aux sites archéologiques qui s’y trouvent – par exemple, Çatalhöyük et Karahöyük (région de Konya), Alacahöyük (région de Çorum), Çayönü Höyüğü (région de Diyarbakır), Arslantepe Höyüğü (région de Malatya), Alişar Höyüğü (région de Yozgat), Has Höyük (région de Kırşehir), etc. 12 Voir, pour l’étymologie et les attestations de ce mot, Kâşgarlı Mahmût 2005 : 383 (« yer seviyesinden yüksekte olan her türlü zemin, örneğin bir tepecik [Oğuz lehçesi] » – « tout terrain plus haut que le niveau du sol, par exemple une petite colline [dialecte Oğuz]) ; Clauson 1972 : 271-272 (« an artificial mound, cairn, and the like », « any piece of raised ground like an artificial mound », « artificial mound ») ; Eren 1999 : 181 (« toprak yığını, yapma tepe » – « élévation, monticule de terre, colline artificielle »). Le vocable, qui apparaît aussi sous d’autres formes (üyük, hüyük, öyek), est attesté en moyen turc, plus exactement chez les Oğuz, sous la forme öyük, mais aussi chez les anciens Kiptchaques ; il provient de la racine öy-, au sens d’« empiler, entasser ». 194 celles consacrées à d’autres saints hommes assimilés par la tradition Bektaşi. Nous mentionnons, à titre d’exemple, quelques « témoins » albanais de cette pratique rituelle : la grotte de Sarı Saltık dans les parages de la ville de Krujë, le sanctuaire du même santon sur le sommet de la montagne de Pashtrik, la grotte de Balım Sultân dans la région de Martanech, le tombeau d’‘Abbâs ‘Alî sur la montagne de Tomor, etc. Dans tout ces cas, il s’agit de sanctuaires situés dans des régions montagneuses, d’accès difficile, qu’on ne peut atteindre qu’en été et qui constituent le but de plusieurs pèlerinages, annuels ou pas, collectifs ou individuels. Ceux-ci ont lieu d’habitude aux approches des fêtes de Saint Georges (vers le 6 mai) et de Saint Élias (vers le 20 août). Les sanctuaires, ainsi que d’autres lieux de culte des Bektaşi, s’associent à certaines sources réputés sacrées, auxquelles on attribue des propriétés curatives, comme celle de la grotte de Sarı Saltık, d’où s’écoule, goutte à goutte, une eau rougeâtre, fait qui ne reste pas sans explication dans les légendes locales 13 (Clayer 1996 : 169-172). Cette eau tirant sur le rouge n’est pas sans nous faire penser au refuge dit kızılca halvet, dont se servait Hacı Bektaş à Sulucakarahöyük. La montagne polaire de la tradition Bektaşi reste cependant Hırka Dağı 14, « la montagne du Manteau », mentionnée à plusieurs reprises dans l’hagiographie, et qui semble remplir un rôle central dans l’existence rituelle de la protocommunauté Bektaşi, en tant que montagne paradigmatique – un véritable « nombril du monde ». Voici quelques contextes fort parlants, qui le mettent en exergue : « [Hacı Bektaş] se dirigea vers la montagne du Manteau [Hırka Dağı]. Sur le sommet de la montagne se trouvait un genévrier. Hünkâr lui dit : ‘Ô genévrier, cache-moi un instant avec tes branches, pour que je te cache, moi aussi, jusqu’au Jugement dernier’. Le genévrier prit la forme d’une tente, tout en dirigeant son branchage vers la qibla, et Hünkâr entra [dans cette tente] et se mit à prier. Il y resta quarante jours. Cet arbre-là est appelé de nos jours ‘Devcik [Le Petit Géant]’. » (MHBV 1995 : 25) Saru Ismail, le disciple préféré de Hacı Bektaş, s’adresse un jour à son maître comme suit : « ‘Ô seigneur des saints, les gens ont vu brûler deux cierges sur la montagne du Manteau’. Hünkâr lui dit : ‘Ce sont les saints invisibles/cachés, ils sont venus nous voir. Ils se sont levés de leurs places et sont venus jusqu’ici, allons nous aussi [les rejoindre là-bas].’ Il se leva de sa place et monta sur la montagne du 13 « La source jaillit lorsque Sarï Saltïk frappe la roche de son bâton ; l’écoulement du liquide rouge proviendrait de la pastèque qu’il jeta en l’air lorsqu’on vint le prévenir des menaces qui pesaient sur lui. » (Clayer 1996 : 173) 14 Montagne volcanique culminant à 1683 mètres d’altitude, située à environ 15 kilomètres de la ville actuelle de Hacıbektaş (auparavant, Sulucakaraöyük). 195 Manteau, accompagné par Saru Ismail. Il bavarda avec les saints pendant trois nuits et rentra ensuite à Karaöyük. [Ses autres] califes/successeurs dirent à Saru Ismail: ‘Où êtes-vous allés ? Car tu est rentré très vite !’ Saru Ismail leur répliqua : ‘Comment ça, vite ?! On est resté sur la montagne du Manteau, en causant avec les saints invisibles/cachés, ni moins ni plus que trois jours et trois nuits.’ [Les autres] califes/successeurs [de Hacı Bektaş] rétorquèrent : ‘Comment ça, trois jours et trois nuits ?! Vous êtes partis aujourd’hui, en début d’après-midi, pour revenir avant le coucher du soleil.’ Saru Ismail se rendit compte qu’il s’agissait d’un miracle accompli par les saints, sur quoi il se tut. » (MHBV 1995 : 64-65) L’épisode relaté plus haut présente un intérêt tout à fait particulier, car il met en œuvre quelques motifs de prédilection non seulement pour les hagiographies, mais aussi pour les contes de fées, les récits et les légendes toponymiques de Turquie : les saints invisibles, intercesseurs pour l’humanité, rattachés à l’impondérable des cieux et, partant, à l’ésotérisme et à la « nuit de l’ésotérisme », ayant de ce fait l’habitude de se réunir sur les sommets des montagnes, et encore la lumière associée à l’idée de sainteté. Irène Mélikoff (1996 : 134-135) considère que les entités désignées par le syntagme ga‘ib erenler suggèrent, ou bien représentent les esprits tutélaires des chamans ; on ne saurait d’autre part ignorer le motif des « quarante saints invisibles/cachés », participants à une agape secrète présidée par le calife ‘Alî, qui aurait eu lieu dans la nuit de l’ascension céleste du Prophète de l’islam (al-Mi‘râj) – réunion qui allait constituer le prototype des réunions rituelles (cem) de la future confrérie des Bektaşi. Ces vénérables, dont l’identité réelle reste celée à leurs contemporains et qui constituent l’élite spirituelle, la fine fleur des initiés musulmans, comptent parmi les rijâl (Uludağ 1991 : 189, 392). Ils sont les saints médiateurs entre l’homme et Dieu, évoqués dans tout le monde islamique autant pour leur piété exemplaire, qui leur assure une relation privilégiée avec la divinité, que pour leur capacité de parcourir des distances appréciables en un clin d’œil, en veillant sur l’équilibre de l’univers. Ce motif a laissé des traces durables non seulement dans la littérature savante, mais encore dans la littérature populaire, et se retrouve dans maintes civilisations en terres d’islam ; à notre avis, il est d’origine préislamique. La relation de Hacı Bektaş avec les saints invisibles et notamment avec l’« imam » ‘Alî, dont il prétend être l’incarnation en tant que « mystère [sır] de ‘Alî » (voir MHBV 1995 : 21, où l’on évoque le signe vert dans sa paume), se laisse ausi déceler dans le chapitre consacré à la mort du santon15 : « ‘Tu est mon calife/successeur chéri. Aujourd’hui, jeudi, je vais quitter ce monde. Lorsque je vais passer de vie à trépas, quitte la chambre, verrouille la 15 Cette séquence est à peu près identique à la « tradition » concernant la mort du calife ‘Alî ; voir, pour détails, Birge 1994 : 139, 237 ; cf. Mélikoff 1998 : 82, n. 107. 196 porte et regarde vers la montagne du Supplice [Çile Dağı]. De ce côté-là va faire son apparition un homme montant un cheval gris, ayant le visage couvert d’un voile vert. Cet homme-là va laisser sa monture à la porte, entrer dans la pièce et réciter mon Yâ Sin. Quand il va descendre de son cheval et te saluer, tu dois répondre à son salut et lui rendre hommage. Il va apporter mon linceul, qui sera taillé du vêtement du Paradis [hulle donu], et va laver ma dépouille. Quand il en sera besoin, verse de l’eau [là où il te dira] et aide-le ! Confectionnez-moi un cercueil de noyer, couchez-moi là-dedans et puis enterrez-moi. Faites attention à ce que vous ne parliez avec lui !’ […] Après que Hünkâr parla ainsi à l’article de la mort, Saru Ismail se mit à pleurer et s’écria : ‘Dieu m’en préserve !’ Hünkâr le consola en lui disant : ‘On ne meurt pas, on ne fait que changer de forme’. Ensuite il se prosterna et glorifia le Prophète. Il récita son propre Yâ Sin, puis rendit son âme, en le confiant à Dieu. Saru Ismail accomplit son dernier désir, en lui recouvrant le visage de son manteau, et quitta la pièce, en verrouillant la porte de la cellule. […] Sur ces entrefaites, ils virent une [vague de] poussière s’élever du côté de la montagne du Supplice. Il s’approcha [d’eux] en un tournemain. Ce personnage-là tenait dans sa main, ainsi que les avait prévenus Hünkâr, une lance, son visage était dissimulé derrière un voile vert et il chevauchait un cheval gris. Il salua les saints et ceux-ci répondirent à son salut. Il enfonça sa lance dans le sol, descendit de son cheval et entra directement dans la cellule. Saru Ismail fut le seul à l’y accompagner. Kara Ahmed en garda la porte et ne permit à personne d’y entrer. Saru Ismail versa de l’eau [dans ses paumes] et l’homme au visage dissimulé derrière le voile lava la dépouille [mortelle de Hacı Bektaş]. Il transforma le « vêtement du Paradis » (hulle donu), qui se trouvait à sa portée, en linceul dont il recouvrit la dépouille [du saint], qu’ils placèrent ensuite [tous les deux] dans le cercueil. Ils l’emportèrent à la musalla. L’homme avec le cheval gris se plaça devant [eux] et dirigea la prière. Les saints se mirent sur soixantedix rangs et suivirent [ses gestes]. Ils accomplirent la prière des morts, puis la dépouille mortelle [de Hacı Bektaş] fut emportée et descendue dans la tombe. L’homme avec le cheval gris fit ses adieux aux saints, enfourcha son cheval et s’en alla. Saru Ismail se dit : ‘De qui s’agit-il, car s’il s’agit de Hızır, je l’ai certainement rencontré’, et il [le suivit et] le rattrapa. ‘Qui es-tu, dit-il, au nom de celui dont tu as fait la prière [des morts] et as vu le visage ? Dis-le-moi !’ L’homme chevauchant le cheval gris ne put résister à la supplication de Saru Ismail et enleva son voile. Et alors, qu’est-ce que vit Saru Ismail ? Hacı Bektaş surgit brusquement devant lui. Saru Ismail se prosterna aux pieds du cheval et exprima l’étonnement qui le maîtrisait : ‘Ayez pitié de moi, ô chah des saints, je suis à votre service depuis trente-trois ans, j’ai beaucoup de défauts, je ne suis pas arrivé à vous connaître, pardonnez ma faute !’ Hünkâr lui dit : ‘Saint est celui qui meurt avant de mourir, qui lave à lui seul sa dépouille mortelle. Va et fais de ton mieux [sur cette voie].’ Il disparut de ses yeux dès qu’il prononça ces paroles. » (MHBV 1995 : 88-89) La relation avec les saints invisibles et les personnages entourés d’une 197 aura de mystère, magique ou presque mythique, tel que al-Khidr (en turc, Hızır), constitue sans doute une manière implicite de se légitimer et s’ajoute à celle suggérée par l’identification de Hacı Bektaş avec le calife (imam) ‘Alî. Cette relation est, en quelque sorte, renforcée et confirmée par les miracles attribués au saint, que la religiosité populaire considère, un peu partout dans le monde, comme une preuve « tangible » de sainteté16. L’hagiographie consacrée à Hacı Bektaş Veli renferme également certaines réminiscences de dendrolatrie ; le culte des arbres était largement répandu chez les populations turques d’Asie Centrale et reste, même de nos jours, significatif en Turquie, notamment à la campagne. À l’époque préislamique, les arbres étaient censés abriter soit des esprits favorables, dont on cherchait l’appui dans des moments difficiles, soit des esprits malins, qui devaient être domptés ou neutralisés. On vénérait bon nombre d’arbres ou arbustes – sapin, mélèze, peuplier, cyprès, platane, genévrier, cèdre, chêne, mûrier, pommier, etc. –, appréciés pour leurs qualités intrinsèques, mais aussi pour leur valeur symbolique, surtout lorsqu’il s’agissait d’arbres solitaires ; on leur faisait des offrandes, ils étaient conjurés dans les circonstances défavorables, on les visitait à l’occasion des pèlerinages collectifs. Leur évolution était souvent comparée à l’existence de l’homme, de sorte que, chez certaines populations turques, les tombeaux étaient placés sous des arbres à feuillage pérenne 17. Certains arbres, vénérés par tradition, arrivaient à être mis en liaison avec tel ou tel saint, dont la tombe, réelle ou fictive, se trouvait à leur proximité ; d’autres arbres, impressionnants par leur aspect ou leurs dimensions hors du commun, étaient rattachés à toutes sortes d’événements historiques. Le culte de l’arbre reste, aujourd’hui encore, effectif au sein de certaines communautés rurales de Turquie, perçues comme intégralement ou « partiellement » hétérodoxes, tels les Tahtacı et les Yörük. Les Tahtacı s’occupent surtout du forestage ; leurs cimetières ont un aspect singulier, en raison des « sarcophages » en bois, en forme de ruches, agrémentant les tombes ou, en l’absence de ceux-ci, des clôtures de bois et des arbres les enjolivant. L’hagiographie de Hacı Bektaş abonde en réminiscences de l’ancienne dendrolatrie turque ; le texte fait tout spécialement référence au genévrier (ardıç), évoqué le plus souvent en liaison étroite avec la montagne du Manteau. Voici un 16 « Il y a un type idéal de saint, auquel tendent à ressembler tous les saints objets de légendes. C’est pourquoi les épisodes, les détails descriptifs, les noms même sont interchangeables. » (Van Gennep 1912 :128) 17 Dans le système cosmologique des Turcs préislamiques « la direction de l’élément arbre (igac) était l’est, sa saison – le printemps, son moment de la journée – le matin, sa couleur – le bleu azur, ses formes célestes (gök cisimleri) – la constellation Kök-luu (le ciel dragon), sa planète – Jupiter, appelée Igaç-yultuz (ağaç yıldızı) ou Ongay, ainsi que l’aspect des étoiles appelées Oiseau (Niao) lorsqu’au zénith. » (Esin 2001 : 25) 198 fragment que nous trouvons fort éloquent quant à la valeur symbolique que revêt le genévrier pour la communauté de Sulucakarahöyük, surtout lorsqu’il est associé à un autre motif fréquent dans la légende qui nous intéresse – celui du feu, rattaché plus d’une fois à la danse, probablement extatique : « Un jour, [Hacı Bektaş] sortit à la promenade avec ses derviches, en se dirigeant vers la montagne du Manteau [Hırka Dağı]. Une fois arrivés sur la montagne, il s’adressa à ses derviches comme suit : ‘Allez, dépêchez-vous et allumez un feu !’. Ses derviches empilèrent le bois mort et les brindilles qu’ils avaient ramassés dans les alentours et les allumèrent. Lorsque le feu se mit à brûler, Hünkâr [Hacı Bektaş] fut saisi par l’extase et commença à danser la semâ’ [la danse extatique des derviches]. Ses derviches le rejoignirent. Ils contournèrent le feu à quarante fois. Hacı Bektaş ôta alors son manteau, le jeta dans le feu, puis recula. Le manteau brûla entièrement et se réduisit en cendres. Ensuite, Hünkâr prit les cendres, les dispersa dans l’air et dit : ‘Qu’il pousse du bois partout où ces cendres sont tombées !’ ; après cela, il regagna sa place. Dès lors, le bois sur la montagne se multiplia d’un jour à l’autre. Les derviches allaient [sur la montagne], coupaient [la quantité de bois nécessaire], l’apportaient [à leur tekke], allumaient le feu et s’y chauffaient. C’est pourquoi la montagne [en question] fut appelée « la montagne du Manteau » [Hırka Dağı]18 ; son bois ne s’épuisera pas jusqu’à la fin du monde. » (MHBV 1995 : 36) Rappelons que c’est sur la même montagne, plus précisément sous les branchages du genévrier à l’abri duquel Hacı Bektaş avait l’habitude de passer ses loisirs, que se produisaient les rencontres avec les « saints invisibles/cachés » (ga‘ib erenleri), dont l’arrivée était signalée par deux bougies/flambeaux allumés sur son sommet (voir supra). Irène Mélikoff (1996 : 134-135; 1998 : 85-87; 2000 : 282-286) parle de l’effet hallucinogène de la fumée dégagée pendant l’incinération de la variété de genévrier appelée juniperus excelsa ou juniperus macropoda, qui pousse à haute altitude, au-delà de la zone des conifères, et garde sa verdure en hiver, ce qui serait de nature à expliquer son emploi dans les rituels chamaniques, afin de provoquer la transe. L’épisode relaté plus haut et d’autres pareilles témoigneraient donc d’une pratique archaïque, perpétuée à travers les rituels, ou du moins des réminiscences de rituels chamaniques, jamais complètement abandonnés dans le nouveau contexte anatolien où évoluaient les tribus turques immigrées d’Asie Centrale ou du Khorasan. À notre avis, les pratiques de ce genre, quoique souvent rencontrées dans les rituels chamaniques, dérivent plutôt de l’animisme, qui continue à coexister avec l’islam, surtout dans les régions rurales de la Turquie ; c’est justement à cet animisme latent que sont dues les pratiques apotropaïques comportant le 18 On reconnaît dans ce passage les traces d’une légende oronymique à l’usage des fidèles de l’ordre. 199 genévrier. Pertev Naili Boratav (1973 : 135-136) cite, parmi les mesures de protection contre les charmes employées en Turquie, la représentation du signe de la croix (il s’agit là d’une possible influence chrétienne) sur les seuils des maisons, au moyen du goudron de genévrier. Des traces de l’ancien animisme se retrouvaient non seulement chez les Turcs islamisés, mais aussi chez les Turcs manichéens, qui tenaient le genévrier pour sacré ; ils avaient l’habitude de couvrir chaque soir le feu avec du cendre, pour le rallumer le lendemain matin à l’aide d’une branche de genévrier que l’on promenait ensuite à travers toutes les pièces de la maison (Uraz 1967 : 122). Les branches de genévrier étaient également employées dans les tekke de certaines confréries mystiques pour des fumigations (tütsü). D’autre part, le genévrier compte aussi parmi les arbres ou les arbrisseaux plantés dans les parages de beaucoup de lieux de pèlerinage (yatır) en Turquie, à côté du sapin, du platane, du micocoulier, de l’hêtre, etc.19 ; l’abattage ou l’endommagement de ce type très spécial d’arbres passent pour néfastes et sont même regardés comme des péchés, bien que les populations locales aient du mal à éclaircir ces préjugés (Boratav 1973 : 65-66). En tout cas, il s’agit presque toujours d’arbres durables, résistants aux conditions météorologiques défavorables, donc atypiques par rapport à d’autres formes de végétation ; en vertu de cette qualité maîtresse, ils suggèrent l’impérissabilité et « la vie éternelle » ; enfin, certaines espèces poussent lentement, ce qui les rend d’autant plus précieuses. Les recherches contemporaines concernant l’espèce de genévrier dont parle Irène Mélikoff ne semblent pas en confirmer les effets hallucinogènes ; elles prouvent en outre que juniperus excelsa/juniperus macropoda continue d’être employée, et même à grande échelle, dans certaines régions du monde, surtout dans l’économie domestique et dans la médicine populaire. En Iran, par exemple, on utilise toutes les parties de l’arbre, depuis le tronc jusqu’au branchage et aux fruits (comestibles). Le genévrier sert de bois de chauffage, de matière première pour les fumigations (mélangé, le plus souvent, avec d’autres plantes aromatiques disponibles sur le plan local), mais aussi de remède contre les parasites des gens et des bêtes ; il est aussi réputé à titre d’antiseptique et antibactérien, en Iran comme ailleurs. Le genévrier de l’espèce mentionnée a encore d’autres emplois dans la médicine populaire : contre la stérilité féminine et pour le traitement des troubles du cycle menstruel ; pour le traitement des maladies de la prostate et des troubles de miction, des troubles cardiaques et des névroses, des problèmes digestifs ; en 19 Le genévrier le plus âgé de Turquie se trouve prétendument dans la région de Konya, aux alentours du village d’Alata (Balcılar), étant appelé par les autochtones ağıl ardıç, « le genévrier [à côté] de l’étable » ; son âge est estimé par les spécialistes à environ 2300 ans. Dans la zone mentionnée se trouvent aussi d’autres genévriers d’un certain âge, allant jusqu’à 600-700 ans. (http://alatabalcilar.byethost9.com/agac.htm) 200 tant que diurétique, analgésique et antithermique ; contre les affections dermatologiques, dans le traitement du diabète et des maladies respiratoires. En fin de compte, et ceci se rapporte davantage à notre propos, juniperus excelsa passe pour sacré, étant spécialement révéré à Semnan, au Golestan et dans les provinces de l’Azerbaïdjan occidental ; dans certaines régions de ce dernier, il est considéré comme un signe des martyrs, sa coupe étant interdite. Dans les cimetières de Turkmen Sahra (Golestan), les tombeaux des maîtres spirituels, hommes et femmes, sont encadrés de genévriers symbolisant l’immortalité ; d’après les traditions populaires de Mazandéran, la fumée se dégageant du genévrier bannit ou tient à distance les esprits malins (Pirani / Moazzeni / Mirinejad / Naghibi / Mosaddegh 2011). Le genévrier, avec ses variétés, se retrouve de nos jours dans bien des cimetières en Turquie, étant regardé, en vertu de sa longévité et du fait que son tronc résiste longtemps sans pourrir, comme un véritable emblème de la vie éternelle. Son symbolisme se trouve renforcé par l’usage du même arbre pendant la période centre-asiatique des Turcs, quand le genévrier était employé, comme il l’est aujourd’hui encore dans certaines régions de l’Iran et de la Turquie, pour des fumigations censées chasser les esprits malins. La médicine populaire turque se sert du genévrier dans des situations comparables à celles de l’Iran voisin ; en Turquie comme ailleurs, il passe pour une excellente panacée20. Il nous paraît donc fort probable qu’à part l’utilité pratique du genévrier (dans le vilâyetnâme de Hacı Bektaş, il est employé comme bois à brûler dans une région qui, semble-t-il, en est grandement privée), celui-ci fut employé pour se défendre contre l’ensorcellement, le mauvais œil, etc., et moins à titre d’euphorisant ou hallucinogène. Il serait aussi à remarquer, pour ce qui est de la légende susmentionnée, l’association du genévrier avec le feu, car les deux sont investis de qualités autant apotropaïques que lustrales. Cette connexion vient confirmer une remarque d’Emel Esin (2001 : 117-118), selon laquelle le culte de l’arbre chez les Turcs anciens se rattachait au culte du feu, car l’arbre était perçu comme « essence » du feu purificateur ; le même caractère lustral était attribué aux eaux. La connexion montagne–feu–danse extatique apparaît aussi dans d’autres textes Bektaşi, par exemple l’hagiographie consacrée à Kaygusuz Abdal (XV e siècle), comprenant une longue relation sur Abdal Musa, le maître de Kaygusuz, qui s’avère être tout aussi « excentrique » que son disciple : « Le bey ordonna à ses domestiques : ‘Allez en avant, allumez le feu [et alors] Abdal Musa va s’enflammer [et puis] nous allons vous rejoindre, nous aussi’, ditil [et se mit en marche vers (Abdal Musa) Sultan, à côté de ses soldats]. [Sultan] 20 http://www.yolculuk.com.tr/sayi_63/96_endemik-bitkiler-anadolu-ve-turk-kulturunde-ardicagaci; http://www.habitat.org.tr/cevre-ekoloji/37-cevre/781-anadolu-kulturunde-ardic-agaci.html 201 Abdal Musa, ayant connaissance de ce fait, laissa lui échapper un rugissement, de l’endroit où il se trouvait. Lorsqu’il dit une fois ‘ô Dieu !’ et commença à danser [la semâ’], ses califes et ses derviches, l’entendant et le voyant, entrèrent eux aussi dans la danse, à côté de lui. Ils sortirent par la porte et allèrent à la rencontre du bey de Teke. À proximité de la cellule (tekke) d’Abdal Musa se trouvait une haute montagne. [n.s.] Celle-ci, à son tour, se mit immédiatement en branle, en emboîtant leurs pas, et Sultan, la voyant marcher derrière lui, lui jeta un regard, lui fit un signe de sa main sacrée et lui dit : ‘Arrête, ma montagne, arrête !’ Oyant les dires de Sultan, la montagne s’arrêta à deux reprises. Ensuite, les pierres et les arbres, incapables de rester en place, tombèrent [à leur tour] en extase. Toutes les pierres qui se trouvaient sur la montagne, les menues comme les grosses, s’égrenèrent derrière Sultan – on eût dit un corps de buffle – et se mirent à danser. Ils arrivèrent ainsi à l’endroit où se trouvait le feu allumé. Pendant que Sultan dansait dans ce feu-là, ils l’anéantirent [le feu], en l’éteignant complètement. » (Güzel 1999 : 96-97 ; cf. Atalay 1990 : 17) Voici un autre spécimen de la même hagiographie, où Abdal Musa est pareillement associé à la danse extatique et au feu : « Le bey de Teke enjoignit aux villageois comme suit : ‘Apportez, au compte de chaque maison, un tas de bois, pour que nous allumions le feu et que ce saint authentique fasse son apparition, foule le feu aux pieds et passe à travers lui !’ » (Atalay 1990 : 16) Les épisodes de ce type suggèrent des connexions assez transparentes avec les anciens rituels préislamiques, plus ou moins chamaniques. De plus, il y a lieu de constater que la plupart des formules cultuelles que l’on rencontre dans ce genre de textes sont mixtes (dyades du type arbre–montagne ou eau–arbre, triades du type montagne–arbre–eau). Beaucoup d’arbres vénérés aujourd’hui en Anatolie poussent à haute altitude, aux pieds des montagnes, sur les rives des eaux courantes ou à proximité des sources d’eau 21 ; de même, il existe bien des cas où 21 Les eaux courantes, ainsi que les sources sont une présence constante dans l’hagiographie de Hacı Bektaş. À peine arrivé à Sulucakaraöyük, le derviche khorasanien fait halte dans une grotte sur la montagne d’Arafat, afin de se consacrer à une retraite pieuse de quarante jours (erbâ‘in), et y fait jaillir, sous les regards étonnés des villageois, une source qui sera appelée par la suite Zemzem (MHBV 1995 : 28) ; il est ici à noter la connexion entre la montagne, la cavité et la source, assez fréquente dans les légendes soufies anatoliennes. À une autre occasion, Hacı Bektaş creuse le sol à deux mains, tout en prononçant l’exhortation ak pınarım !, « coule, ma fontaine ! », et en fait jaillir une source ; il affirme, au sujet de celle-ci, qu’il s’en était servi en terres de Khorasan et qu’elle va se trouver, à partir de ce moment-là, à la disposition de Kara Donlu Can Baba, l’un de ses adeptes, alors dans de mauvais draps (ibidem : 40). Saru Saltuk, un autre disciple et « calife » de Hacı Bektaş, bien connu pour ses activités missionnaires dans les Balkans, creuse la terre dans plusieurs endroits et en fait jaillir des sources abondantes (ibidem : 46) ; Hacım Sultan, lui aussi « calife » de Bektaş, fait apparaître une fontaine, en creusant la terre dans une région aride (ibidem : 83), etc. 202 les sanctuaires (yatır), voire les mausolées (türbe) dédiés à certains santons révérés par les autochtones se trouvent sous l’ombrage de quelque arbre majestueux. On constate donc que l’espace où évolue Hacı Bektaş se caractérise par des renvois symboliques d’inspiration multiple, à savoir animiste, chamanique, superficiellement islamique (sunnite comme chiite), mais aussi, peut-être, judéochrétienne. La montagne associée au feu, le feu associé à la fumée s’élevant aux cieux où demeurent les dieux, le feu, la fumée et les eaux investis de propriétés lustrales, la montagne comme lieu privilégié de rencontre avec les messagers ou les élus des dieux (les « saints invisibles »), sinon avec les dieux cachés mêmes, l’extase provoquée par la danse et d’autres stimulants – ce sont tous des motifs universellement valables et, partant, faciles à reconnaître par tout éventuel disciple, car il s’agit de lieux communs dans maintes religions. Cet éclectisme originel, en quelque sorte paradigmatique, se reflétera dans toute l’histoire ultérieure de la confrérie Bektaşi, dont l’évolution s’avérera, plus d’une fois, problématique sous l’aspect rituel comme doctrinal. La sensation de patchwork qui se dégage des actes, des rites de prise en possession de l’espace et, finalement, de légitimation accomplis par Hacı Bektaş Veli ne fait que témoigner de l’aspect foncièrement éclectique de sa personnalité et de sa formation, ainsi que l’éclectisme de la communauté qui le suit. D’autre part, on ne peut s’empêcher de se demander si cette abondance de signes, de « bornes symboliques » ne se réclame en quelque sorte des auteurs anonymes de l’hagiographie, ou bien de l’auteur de sa version écrite. C’est, en quelque sorte, une interrogation purement rhétorique, en l’absence de toute réponse possible… Bibliographie Atalay, Adil Ali (éd.). 1990. Abdal Musa Sultan ve Velâyetnamesi. Istanbul. Can Yayınları. Aksel, Malik. 1960. Anadolu Halk Resimleri. Istanbul. Baha Matbaası. Başgöz, İlhan. 1998. « The Function of the Dervish in the Vilâyetname of Hacı Bektaş-ı Veli », dans Kemal Silay (éd.). Turkish Folklore and Oral Literature : Selected Essays of İlhan Başgöz. Bloomington. Indiana University. 333-338. Biçer, Bekir. 2005. « Firdevsî-i Rûmî ve Tarihçiliği ». Türkiyat Araştırmaları Dergisi 18. 245-261. Birge, John Kingsley. 1994 [11937]. The Bektashi Order of Dervishes. Londres. Luzac Oriental. Boratav, Pertev Naili. 1973. 100 Soruda Türk Folkloru. Istanbul. Gerçek Yayınevi. Chevalier, Jean / Gheerbrant, Alain. 1974 [11969]. Dictionnaire des symboles : mythes, reves, coutumes, gestes, formes, figures, couleurs, nombres IV. Paris. Seghers. Clauson, Gerard (Sir). 1972. An Etymological Dictionary of Pre-Thirteenth-Century Turkish. Oxford. Oxford University Press. Clayer, Nathalie. 1996. « Les hauts lieux du bektachisme albanais », dans Mohammad Ali AmirMoezzi (éd.). Lieux d’islam. Cultes et cultures de l’Afrique à Java. Paris. Autrement. 168183. Duran, Hamiye. 2010. « Velâyetnâme’ye Göre Hacı Bektaş Veli ». Türk Kültürü ve Hacı Bektaş Veli Araştırma Dergisi 55. 129-138. 203 Eren, Hasan. 1999. Türk Dilinin Etimolojik Sözlüğü. Ankara. Bizim Büro Basım Evi. Esin, Emel. 2001. Türk Kozmolojisine Giriş. Istanbul. Kabalcı Yayınevi. Gölpınarlı, Abdülbâki. 1977. Tasavvuf’tan Dilimize Geçen Deyimler ve Atasözleri. Istanbul. İnkılâp ve Ata Kitabevleri. Gölpınarlı, Abdülbâki. 1995 [11958]. Manâkıb-ı Hâcı Bektâş-ı Velî. « Vilâyet-nâme ». Istanbul. İnkılâp Kitabevi. Gölpınarlı, Abdülbâki. 1995a. « Önsöz ». Manâkıb-ı Hâcı Bektâş-ı Velî. « Vilâyet-nâme ». Istanbul. İnkılâp Kitabevi. VII-XXXIX. Gürsoy, Ülkü. 2012. « Türk Kültüründe Ağaç Kültü ve Dut Ağacı ». Türk Kültürü ve Hacı Bektaş Veli Dergisi 61. 43-54. Güzel, Abdurrahman. 1999. Kaygusuz Abdal (Alâeddin Gaybî) Menâkıbnâmesi. Ankara. Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi. Huart, Claude (éd.). 1918. Les saints des Derviches Tourneurs : Récits traduits du persan et annotés I. Paris. Éditions Ernest Leroux. Huart, Claude (éd.). 1922. Les Saints des Derviches Tourneurs: Récits traduits du persan et annotés II. Paris. Éditions Ernest Leroux. Kâşgarlı Mahmût. 2005. Divânü Lugâati’t-Türk (çeviri, uyarlama, düzenleme : Seçkin Erdi, Serap Tuğba Yurteser). Istanbul. Kabalcı Yayınevi. Mélikoff, Irène. 1996. « From God of Heaven to King of Men : Popular Islam among Turkic Tribes from Central Asia to Anatolia ». Religion, State & Society 24. 2/3. 133-138. Mélikoff, Irène. 1998. Hadji Bektach : un mythe et ses avatars. Genèse et évolution du soufisme populaire en Turquie. Leyde. Brill. Mélikoff, Irène. 2000. « La montagne et l’arbre sacré de Hadji Bektach ». Turcica 32. 275-290. Ocak, Ahmet Yaşar. 1992. Osmanlı İmparatorluğunda Marjinal Sûfîlik : Kalenderîler (XIV-XVII. Yüzyıllar). Ankara. Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi. Ocak, Ahmet Yaşar. 1997. Kültür Tarihi Kaynağı Olarak Menâkıbnâmeler. Metodolojik Bir Yaklaşım. Ankara. Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi. Ocak, Ahmet Yaşar. 2000 [11983]. Alevî ve Bektaşî İnançlarının İslâm Öncesi Temelleri : Bektaşî Menâkıbnâmelerinde İslam Öncesi İnanç Motifleri. Genişletilmiş ve Gözden Geçirilmiş Baskı. Istanbul. İletişim Yayınları. Ocak, Ahmet Yaşar. 2002 [11996]. « Anadolu Heterodoks Türk Sûfîliğinin Temel Taşı : Hacı Bektaş-ı Veli El-Horasânî (?-1271) ». Türkiye’de Tarihin Saptırılması Sürecinde Türk Sûfîliğine Bakışlar: Ahmed-i Yesevî – Mevlâna Celâleddin-i Rûmî –Yunus Emre –Hacı Bektaş-ı Velî – Ahîlik – Alevîlik ve Bektaşîlik (Yaklaşım, yöntem ve yorum denemeleri). Istanbul. İletişim Yayınları. Pirani, Atefeh / Moazzeni, Hamid / Mirinejad, Shahab / Naghibi, Farzaneh / Mosaddegh, Mahmoud. 2011. « Ethnobotany of Juniperus excelsa M. Bieb. (Cupressaceae) in Iran ». Ethnobotany Research & Applications 9. 335-341. Uludağ, Süleyman. 1991. Tasavvuf Terimleri Sözlüğü. Istanbul. Marifet Yayınları. Uraz, Murat. 1967. Türk Mitolojisi. Istanbul. Hüsnütabiat Matbaası. Van Gennep, A[rnold]. 1912. La Formation des Légendes. Paris. Ernest Flammarion. Yaman, Ali. 2005. « Türk Dünyasında Ziyaret Kültürünün Ortak Bazı Unsurları Hakkında ». Manas Üniversitesi Sosyal Bilimler Dergisi – Manas Üniversiteti Koomdık İlimder Jurnalı. 14. 29-37. 204 CULTURAL INTERACTIONS IN THE GRAFFITI SUBCULTURE OF THE ARAB WORLD. BETWEEN GLOBALIZATION AND COSMOPOLITANISM Georgiana Nicoarea University of Bucharest Abstract. This article aims to set the background for an analysis of Arabic graffiti as a phenomenon of urban popular culture within the framework of globalization, as an artistic manifestation that plays on the relationship between tradition and modernity. The direction proposed opposes the Arnoldian type vision of culture which is familiar to the Arabic-Islamic cultural heritage and is based on the studying of everyday life and cultural products of society in the spirit of the Birmingham School and Henri Lefebvre's statement considers the everyday as a concept that can be used as a "guiding principle for understanding society" (Lefebvre, 2000:28). The article has four parts: the first one is concerned with delimiting the field of Arabic graffiti production, the second part aims at placing graffiti within a global dynamics of culture which leads to the need to approach it as a genre that negotiates between the local and the global, while the last part looks at Arabic graffiti as articulations of conflict and cosmopolitanism. Keywords: Arabic graffiti, modernity, globalization, cosmopolitanism. The Arab World has always known different manifestations of artistic expression in public space, and graffiti in its modern form, is present to a greater or a lesser extent in all Arab countries. Its social importance was recently highlighted by the international media coverage of the Arab Spring, within articles and photo galleries in all the major newspapers and on news channels, not to mention the large number of blogs and web pages dedicated to it. Within the context of censorship imposed by authoritarian systems of governance, there is an increased incidence of graffiti as an important means of communication in public space, a practice that allows the free expression of opinions under the protection of anonymity. The term graffiti originally defined the ancient inscriptions found on the ruins of Pompeii, being the plural form of the Italian graffito meaning “scratch”. In its modern sense, the term is applied to drawings on walls and other urban elements, created in a public space without authorization, with spray cans or different types of paint, centered on a text, an image or a combination of both. Graffiti as a youth culture phenomenon, whose first signs date back to World War II, has known a peak period in the 1970s and 1980s in the United States of America (Ferrell, 1993; Phillips, 1999; Snyder, 2009) and from there it 205 spread all over the world. As an artistic manifestation of identity in urban areas, graffiti came to public attention in the 1960s when teenagers in New York began to write their pseudonyms all over the city walls. The early history of modern graffiti starts with the story of a young New Yorker, who became the subject of a newspaper article, after covering the city’s walls with his nickname, intriguing the public opinion about his identity and the reason behind his act. He was quickly followed by many other young people eager to obtain a citywide reputation and soon the competition for public attention led to the development of the graffiti culture. Subsequently, graffiti had the function of marking a territory while gangs used public space in order to make their authority known, taking to a whole new level the habit of teenager who used to leave themselves messages on the city walls (Chalfan, Prigoff, 1994:16). Mapping the field of Arabic graffiti production Regarding the extent of the production of graffiti in the Arab World, three major areas of interest can be identified: Lebanon, the Palestinian Territories and the Arab states that were involved in the Arab Spring. In these areas, graffiti is not just abundant but it has always been perceived, both by the public and the media, as a barometer of the society. Lebanon’s religious and ethnic diversity and its position at the crossroad of the Mediterranean basin and the Arab World have contributed to the appearance and development of an active youth culture and graffiti is part of it. Secondly, the Palestinian Territories are a space where graffiti is one of the most powerful forms of protest against what is now perceived as a contemporary form of colonization. Last but not least, the social importance of graffiti and its militant functions have recently been reflected by the international media, within the coverage of the uprisings in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and Syria. The media coverage of the Arab Spring has drawn attention to a type of both artistic and political expression typical for the young people of the MENA who according to UN statistics represent two thirds of the population of the Arab countries1, with an average age of 22 years. The presence of modern graffiti in Arab countries has always been connected to the political events and the social protests that marked the recent history of the area. Regarding Lebanon, Pascal Zoghbi traces the origins of modern graffiti in the political and religious inscriptions of the Lebanese civil war. After their removal in the 1990s, the empty place was quickly filled with western-inspired shapes, whose occurrence and development have been favored by the emergence and evolution of the hip-hop culture in the period following the 1 United Nations Development Programme, Arab Human Development Report 2009: http://www.arab-hdr.org/publications/other/ahdr/ahdr2009e.pdf 206 end of war (Zoghbi, 2011:80). In the Palestinian Territories, in the 1980s, the inscriptions on city walls functioned as a means of communication and political propaganda in the service of the main factions, graffiti being, as in the case of Lebanon, not the product of a subculture but of an entire community, as Mia Groendhal states (Groendhal, 2009). Graffiti in the Palestinian Territories are important elements of the Intifadas and continue to be considered a means of resistance, being inscribed not just on city walls but mainly on the Israeli West Bank Barrier. If the west side of the Berlin wall during the Cold War and the East Side Gallery subsequently, are considered the best example of graffiti as a means of political and social activism, then its correspondent in the Arab World would be the ensemble of mural paintings and graffiti pieces that accumulated in time on the Israeli West Bank Barrier. In both cases, graffiti is closely linked to political and social protest in the area and its analysis could reveal new perspectives on the way group identity is represented in the public space and its dynamics. Arabic Graffiti within a global dynamics of culture Even if at first glance Arabic graffiti seems greatly tributary to its forms developed by American and European artists in the late 1970’s and 1980’s, its forms in the Arab World appear to differentiate itself by diversity of themes and a wider and more active functionality. While studies on graffiti indicate the tag, a writer’s name or signature, as the most popular form of graffiti in European and North American cities (Ferrell, 1993; Phillips, 1999; Snyder, 2009), that same conclusion is not valid for Arab urban landscape where murals and slogans on different political or social themes prevail, constituting themselves as explicit or symbolic representations of social realities and events that mark the contemporary history of the area. The wide popularity of the internet with its social networks and the voluntary or involuntary migration within this area continuously involve young people in a never ending motion, which leaves its mark on the cultural dimensions of the graffiti scene in Arab societies. This type of mobility can be understood within what Arjun Apparudai calls "the cultural dynamics of deterritorialization" (Appadurai, 2000:49), as youth subcultures constitute themselves into a community operating more and more in ways that transcend territorial and ethnic boundaries as their presence in the World Wide Web becomes stronger every day as it is suggested in the Social Media in the Arab World 2 report conducted within the Center for International Media Assistance project. “Social Media in the Arab World: Leading up to the Uprisings of 2011”, a report by Feffrey Ghannam 2 207 The cultural interactions between the Arab World and the West have been intensified by the informational revolution brought about by the use of the internet as the most important means of communication in the era of globalization which lead to what is widely recognized as a temporal and spatial compression. In a world where transport and communication technologies grow faster every day, space and time has become narrower and human perception suffered a historical change, what makes this compression define in Zygmunt Bauman’s opinion a complex transformation of the parameters of the human condition. The human condition is thus confronted with a new type of social proximity in which physical distance does not matter anymore. It is what McLuhan called “the global village” or “the end of geography” in Paul Virilio’s words. According to Appadurai, theorizing about the world as a “global village” appear to overestimate “the communitarian implications of the new media order” (Appadurai, 2000:29) while lacking a sense of space and this could raise the question of local authenticity. The new communication technologies lead to the unification of disparate groups around a joining experience and this could help forming new type of communities mediated by the internet, or more precisely by social networks that offer a transnational, trans-cultural and cosmopolitan medium. Arabic graffiti between localism, globalism and cosmopolitanism According to Robert Fine, the cosmopolitan condition is a complex social reality that can be reconstructed and deconstructed (Fine, 2007:136) and he identifies three elements or key moments, while trying to define what cosmopolitanism actually means in our day and age, as the term has a long history behind it. The first element is the development of a variety of new practices, institutions and laws within international relations and the internet has been for some time now at the basis of some of these societal changes. Secondly, this practices, institutions and laws tend to leave a mark on the culture of world societies, and the Arab World is no exception. And last but not least, Fine mentions a moment of recalibration much needed as a result of these new evolutions. This recalibration may encompass reactions that seek to rediscover “particularity, localism and the difference that generates a feeling of the limits of unifying, ordering and integration cultural projects that are associated with western modernity” (Featherstone, 2003:350). The local features in Arabic graffiti can be identified in some particular dimensions of this type of street art, namely the use of Arabic calligraphy and the preexistent practices of writing in public space, such as the tradition of commercial inscriptions for example, that can be found in many Arab countries. The interaction between the western graffiti scene with its long history, and local graffiti practices, is to be considered a part of the global interactions that introduce 208 tension between homogenization and heterogenization trends within cultural globalization. From this interaction, forms of hybridization may arise, born out of the appropriation by Arab graffiti artists, of global images, calligraphic styles and symbols. These elements are widely found in Arabic graffiti but they are reshaped by merging with local traditions and cultural elements. Nestor Garcia Canclini defines graffiti as a hybrid genre as he considers it a cultural practice that ignores the concept of patrimonial collection, a„syncretic and trans-cultural medium” (Canclini, 1995:249). Thus hybridity as a cultural dimension of globalization refers to the “global mélange” and the “unequal and asymmetric characteristics of global relations” (Pieterse, 1995:54). This does not mean that graffiti in Arab societies and its World Wide Web diffusion constitutes a phenomenon suspended in a limbo outside the limits of locality and globalism but examples of different graffiti practices seem to activate alternatively one of these two dimensions of this cultural phenomenon. The local and global dimensions of Arabic graffiti could be related to a similar binomial complex that of reformative and transformative projects associated with cosmopolitanism. The political and social thematic of graffiti in Arab societies, based on a shared morality, can be rallied to the silent and marginalized voices that involve themselves in cosmopolitan projects, even if they are not identified as such. Inclusion as a reformative project it is combined with implication, a transformative project considered to be an alternative to separatism and to the recognition and transformation of a hegemonic imaginary by means of the people who find themselves in subaltern positions (Mignolo, 2002:174). Both types of projects live their marks on the graffiti scene in the region. Among reformative projects mention can be made about the street art festivals, graffiti worshops and other related events organized in different Arab capitals with the support of cultural centers like the Goethe Institute in Cairo and Alexandria or the British Council in Amman, alongside the non-governmental European and American organizations and the American Universities in Beirut and Cairo. The American University in Cairo, for example launched, in March 2012, a initiative in order to preserve the graffiti murals painted on the walls of Mohamed Mahmoud street that was repeatedly white-washed by security forces. On the other side, Arab graffiti artists and writers are part of transformative projects that range from spontaneous events to workshops, and the logistics for many of these projects is managed via the internet and social networking websites that offer a less expensive and rapid way to advertise these initiatives. Some of the most popular events are the recurring Mad Graffiti Weeks (and Weekends) organized by Ganzeer, an Egyptian artist based in Cairo whose work is sometimes considered to be graffiti even if he rejects being called a graffiti or a street artist as his website indicates. One of these Graffiti weeks 209 was held in Cairo between the 13 th and the 25th of January 2012, the last day coinciding with the first anniversary of the Egyptian Revolution of 2011, that led to the removal of Hosni Mubarak, the long lasting president of Egypt. The theme of the event was the protest against the control the Egyptian army held in the aftermath of the revolution. The graffiti subculture in Egypt, as in Tunisia, Libya, Syria and the Palestinian Territories, has a powerful counter-cultural dimension. The walls of many Arab cities bear witness to the violent protests against power and authority. The street as a meeting place and a space where revolutionary movements retains the three functions mentioned by Henry Lefebvre, the informative, the symbolic and the ludic (Lefebvre, 2003:18), and street art makes its contribution regarding all of the three functions. Arabic graffiti as articulations of conflict and cosmopolitanism The messages sprayed or painted on the walls of different Arab cities have been, over time, presented by the international press as an artistic reiteration and empowerment of the slogans chanted during protests. On the other hand, graffiti has been approached in scientific papers, from a sociological, anthropological or political science point of view, during and after the protests and revolutions that have shaken the Middle East: the Palestinian Intifadas (1987-1993 and 20002005), the Lebanese Civil War (1975-1990) and more recently the Arab Spring. All these conflicts have left their marks on the urban space and graffiti has been involved through its many functions. Many studies, such as Mia Groendhal’s “Gaza Graffiti. Messages of Love and Politics”, have emphasized its informative function as the messages addressed both the local and the international communities, in a context of censored and sometimes inexistent official communication. The Arab uprisings have also witnessed situations where other means to exchange information have been cut out by the authorities and even if the role of graffiti should not be overestimated, they existed and facilitated the spreading of slogans and revolutionary enthusiasm all over the cities. In Egypt for example, a collective of artists, journalists and photographers have joined efforts to preserve de graffiti of the January 25 th 2011 revolution in countless efforts including the volume “Wall Talk. Graffiti of the Egyptian Revolution” that presents hundreds of images of graffiti produce during the sitins in Tahrir Square and the book is based on a Facebook page created by Egyptian journalist and photographer, Maya Gowaily. During all these conflicts, the city has been a central element and graffiti reflected Henri Lefebvre’s affirmation according to which the street is a place where public address becomes writing, “a place where speech can become savage and, by escaping rules and institutions, inscribe itself on the walls” (Lefebvre, 2003:19). Avoiding authority and escaping the control of institutions alongside 210 the desire to confront and undermine them are the key motivations behind the production of graffiti all over the world, being an extremely popular instrument of protest, especially among the young generation. Even if graffiti in the Middle East have always been associated with conflict, and its relationship to the political context cannot be denied, countries like Lebanon or Jordan offer example of another type of graffiti, where the political elements play a smaller role. The streets of Beirut and Amman offer examples of a different kind of graffiti influenced to a greater extent by European and American styles. If the graffiti of the Intifadas or the Arab Spring are born from political confrontation inside the society, these other forms of graffiti have in common features that bring together local elements and global trends in the graffiti scene. This second type could be rallied under the name of cosmopolitan graffiti as opposed to the conflict or confrontation graffiti as it is characterized by diversality, a term defended by Mignolo joining diversity and universality within a context of cosmopolitanism. Analyzing graffiti in an Arab context and the influences of western graffiti practices and styles, has to take into consideration the complexity of global interactions that Appadurai describes as having a “complex, transgressive and disjunctive order” (Appadurai, 2000:32) as globalization implies fluid and irregular flows of people, technologies, finance, media and ideas. These flows also leave their traces on graffiti giving them a cosmopolitan dimension through the cultural mélange of local and global elements. Globalism can thus be related to cosmopolitanism which in Robert Fine’s opinion has its origin in the understanding of the fact that each individual is more than what society offers, transcending the local, and this “more than the society” constitutes our humanity as cosmopolitanism “occupies the space between our humanity as such and our local identities” (Fine, 2007: 134). Space and identities can be included in the global cultural flows that form the complexity of globalization in Appadurai’s opinion, the ethnoscapes, mediascapes, technoscapes, financescapes and ideoscapes that are perspectival constructs determined by the actors’ “historical, linguistics and political positioning” (Appadurai, 2000:33). Graffiti is comprised in these flows as a part of the mediascape, being a fluid means of information production and distribution, with ephemerality and dynamics as two key characteristics. In the same time, and because of its popularity and intense media coverage, claim could be made that through the dissemination of information from local to global, graffiti might bring forward previously existing images of contemporary Arab societies, images that are not easily propagated outside the internet medium within the democracy challenged systems of government of the Arab World. 211 Both conflict and cosmopolitan graffiti could define new identity dimensions of certain social groups, that find themselves today, at the heart of the multitude of changes that take place in this area. One characteristic emerges from a perspectival view of Arabic graffiti is the fusion between the modern and the traditional within this specific section of art, in an era of globalization. Modern graffiti embraces aesthetics, empowering the political and social messages through a vernacular form of calligraphy sustained by an ensemble of geometrical and ornamental rules, similar to those of the Islamic calligraphic tradition. The Arabic writing has always been cherished in the Islamic tradition for its important mission of transmitting the text of the Koran. The calligraphy and graffiti practices have in common more than the use of the letters of the Arabic alphabet. When it comes to the formation process pertaining to traditional calligraphy, in order to become a ḫaṭṭāṭ, a calligrapher, the disciple had to obtain an ’iğāza, a permit issued by his master and only after getting it, he would be entitled to use the color black (the main color used in graffiti as well) and to sign his pieces with his actual name or a given name (Schimmel, 1990: 49). The process was a strict one, with a long formative period, in which norms and different calligraphic styles had to be mastered and the signature surpassed its traditional evidential function. Being allowed to sign a piece of calligraphy was evidence of the disciple’s being accepted by a community of professionals. Political and religious graffiti sometimes follow a similar line of strictly followed formative steps, for example in Gaza, Hamas is known to train their graffiti writers for long period of time before allowing them to spray the walls in the name of the organization (Zoghbi, 2011:58). In a certain way, the signature defines a graffiti artist’s affiliation to a group of peers as it is an indispensable part of a graffiti piece, with its simplest form, the tag, consisting in a writer’s real or given name or pseudonym. These urban signatures were characterized by Jean Baudrillard as totemic denominations or “empty signs” (Baudrillard,1993:82) as they are not considered to reveal an identity but to merely indicate the initiation and the later affiliation to a certain group. These pseudonyms were at the beginning of graffiti’s history, names borrowed from comics, accompanied by a street’s number or roman numbers, indicating artistic filiations. In the Arab World, the names that assure the anonymity of famous graffiti writers are both Arabic and international, with popular culture playing a role in the connotations these names rise. In Cairo for example, where street art in general has flourished in the aftermath of the revolution, with graffiti invading the streets of the city, some choose to keep their given name as Nazeer or adopt a totemic one like ElTeneen, literary meaning The Dragon. Others adopt international ones with 212 popular culture connotations like Sad Panda, with pandas being fashionable images in graffiti all around the world, or Keizer, Chico and Cheetos, names of brands that are appropriated by writers dealing mainly with local themes, perhaps as an indication of their belonging to the cosmopolitan elite of Cairo. The names of the graffiti artists are only an element with the help of which writers can choose to communicate, outside the textual messages. The use of calligraphy in street art has always been present on the walls of the Arab cities and it can be interpreted as a deliberate valorization of this particular part of the Islamic cultural heritage. But this embracement of a classical artistic practice could also be understood as a local contribution to a genre that is perceived more as a global one. Arab graffiti writers and the international graffiti community are not isolated from one another and international practices, conventions, symbols, messages and even life styles associated with the western graffiti subculture can be found on the walls of many Arab cities. Walking the streets of Cairo for example, one can encounter portraits of Che Guevara, the Argentine Marxist revolutionary, the famous Guy Fawkes masks, popular with the Anonymous hacktivist group or comic books characters, all of which could be found in graffiti all over the world. The Arab cities seem to be, from this perspective as well, cities of the world, multi-cultural, multi-linguistic cities. In these cosmopolitan cities the local is produced through constant negotiation of space and the interactions between the urban and socio-political realities. Maintaining the two dimensions of cultural interactions, the global and the local, and their subjection to a dichotomist analysis while taking advantage of the tension between them could prove itself to facilitate the understanding of the cosmopolitan world we now live in. Keeping in mind the local particularities with their historical extent does not mean acknowledging globalization’s weakness, as in Huyssen’s terms, we can say that the global in fact shows its strength “in the ability to incorporate the local and to be transformed by it” (Huyssen, 2001:13). As such, the global takes a local inflexion and it is continuously negotiated according to each cultural area and the tension is a mark of this nexus. In order to have a clear image and an objective position in studying forms of cosmopolitan culture, like graffiti, an impact of the west or the cultural models derived from it is to be avoided. It is thus necessary to have a vision of global culture, a cosmopolitan view that should embrace and maintain a dialectical tension between the universal and the particular, instead of choosing one of the two. This cosmopolitan view does not deny, nor does it exaggerate, the impact of western popular and mass culture, technology and lifestyle, but instead it underlines plurality “concentrating on spatial diffusion, translation, appropriation, transnational connections, going beyond limits, and all of these have intensified during the last decades” (Huyssen, 2001:4). 213 Analyzing plurality could prove itself to be adequate for describing cultural interactions in an era of globalization, materializing in an analysis of flows and of the relationship between space and cultural production. Bibliography Appadurai, Arjun. 2000. Modernity at large. Cultural dimensions of globalization. Minnneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Baudrillard, Jean. 1993. Symbolic Exchange and Death. London: Sage Publications. Bauman, Zygmunt. s.a. Globalizarea şi efectele ei sociale. Bucureşti: Editura Antet, (Translated by Marius Conceatu). Chalfant, Henry ; Prigoff, James. 1994. Spraycan Art. New York, New York: Thames & Hudson Inc. Featherstone, Mike. 2003. ʽLocalism, Globalism and Cultural Identity’. M. Alcof ; E. Mendieta (ed.), Identities. Blackwell. 342-358. Ferrell, Jeff. 1993. Crimes of style urban graffiti and the politics of criminality. New York: Garland. Fine, Robert. 2007. Cosmopolitanism. Key Ideas. London & New York: Routledge. Garcia Canclini, Nestor. 1995. Hybrid cultures strategies for entering and leaving modernity. Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press. Groendhal, Mia. 2009. Gaza Graffiti: Messages of Love and Politics. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Huyssen, Andreas (ed.). 2008. Other Cities, Other Worlds. Urban Imaginaries in a Globalizing Age. Duke University Press: Durham & London. Lefebvre, Henri. 2003. The Urban Revolution. Minnneapolis: University of Minnesota Press (Translates by Robert Bononno). Mignolo, Walter D. 2000. ʽThe Many Faces of Cosmo-polis: Border Thinking and Critical Cosmopolitanism’. C. Brekenbridge, S. Pollock, H. Bhabha, D. Chakrabarty (ed.), Cosmopolitanism. Durham & London: Duke University Press. Pieterse, Jan Nederveen. 1995. ʽGlobalization as Hybridization’. S. Lash, R. Robertson, M. Featherstone (ed.), Global Modernities. London: Sage Publications. 45-69. Phillips, Susan, Wallbangin'. 1999. Graffiti and Gangs in L.A. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Snyder, Gregory. 2009. Graffiti Lives: Beyond the Tag in New York's Urban Underground (Alternative Criminology). New York: New York University Press. Schimmel, Annemarie. 1990. Calligraphy and Islamic Culture. London: I.B. Tauris. Zoghbi, Pascal & Karl, Don. 2011. Arabic Graffiti. Berlin: From Here to Fame. ***. 2012. Wall Talk. Graffiti of the Egyptian Revolution. Cairo: Zeitouna. Online sources: http://ganzeer.blogspot.com/ - The blog of the Egyptian artist Ganzeer (October 22nd, 2012). http://www.wix.com/keizerstreetart/cairo - The blog of the Egyptian graffiti artist Keizer (October 22nd, 2012). https://www.facebook.com/MAD.GRAFFiTi.WEEK?sk=info – Official Facebook group of the Mad Gfraffiti Week event (October 22nd, 2012). United Nations Development Programme, Arab Human Development Report 2009. Retrieved from: http://www.arab-hdr.org/publications/other/ahdr/ahdr2009e.pdf (October 22nd, 2012). Ghannam, Jeffrey. 2011. Social Media in the Arab World: Leading up to the Uprisings of 2011, Retrieved from: http://cima.ned.org/publications/social-media-arab-world-leading-uprisings-2011 (October 22nd, 2012). 214 SOME CONSIDERATIONS ON THE TRANSLATION OF THE TERM OF ADDRESS ’USTĀD IN NAGUIB MAHFOUZ’S NOVELS Corina Postolache University of Bucharest Abstract. Some terms of address have a primary lexical meaning (described by a dictionary definition) and a social meaning (additional meaning taken on beyond the dictionary definition in particular situations). No address form can be understood in isolation. That is to say no one can comprehend the exact meaning of any form without considering the context in which such a term is used. Therefore, the translation of a certain term of address is bound to acknowledge the context of the conversation in which it is placed – the speakers, the setting, the situation of communication, formality/informality, etc. Keywords: address form, term of respect, context, translation. 1. Introduction This article discusses the issues related to the translation of the Arabic address form ̓ustāḏ to English and Romanian. With this in view, I use as corpus the three novels that make up Naguib Mahfouz1‟s Trilogy: Bayna Al-Qasrayn (1956), Qasr Aš-Šawq (1957), As-Sukkariyya (1957), the English translation of these novels by William Maynard Hutchins (published under the titles Palace Walk, Palace of Desire and Sugar Street) and their translation into Romanian by Nicolae Dobrişan (brought out under the titles Bayna el-Qasrein, Qasr eş-Şawq and Es-Sukkariyya). These three novels by the Nobel Prize winner Naguib Mahfouz were chosen for this analysis because they depict a detailed and complex picture of the Egyptian political, social and cultural life in the first half of the 20th century. Therefore, the Trilogy offers a complete image of the social dynamics and interpersonal relations between people from various social and cultural backgrounds from contemporary Egypt. It is essential to note, from the very beginning of this analysis, the defining characteristic of the Arabic speaking world, namely diglossia, the coexistence of two forms of the language: alongside written literary Arabic, the language of the Koran and classical literature, used in the official mass communication, education, administration, etc. which is the prestigious variety of the language, there is the 1 We have taken on the way in which the author himself transliterates his name, though it is pronounced Nagib Mahfuz. 215 spoken language, the dialects used in everyday communication and any informal setting in every Arab country. Some Arab writers tried to include the spoken language in their literary works, an attempt that has not proven to be very successful so far. Other writers – Mahfouz included – have attempted to suggest the spoken language by using different textual markers. As Somekh (1973: 134) points out, Mahfouz excelled in giving the impression that we are dealing with the spoken language, and not the literary one. Thus, although offering an accurate image of the real social interactions, it is obvious that the dialogues in Mahfouz‟s novels do not represent in fact the actual manner of speaking. Because of the “adjustment” of the literary Arabic, the language of the Trilogy is closer to the authentic Cairote speech. The rhythm of the real language and the orality are conveyed, especially in dialogues, through the use of syntactic structures characteristic to the spoken language. The address forms found in the Trilogy, which are a mixture of literary terms and adapted dialectal words, also play an important role in rendering the feeling of authentic spoken language. This also makes it difficult for the translator, who must take into account the different language registers suggested by the various discourse markers. Of the essence is also the theoretical framework consisting of works that discuss the most important aspects concerning the address forms in Arabic, taking into account the essential elements that shape up an address system. Among the most relevant ones are Brown and Gilman (1960), Brown and Ford (1961), that deal with the connections between terms of address and social interaction, Burling (1970) who discusses the factors influencing the choice of address forms, Lambert and Tucker (1976) on the socio-psychological significance of address forms, Braun (1988) who emphasized the idea that the social implication is essential in the address system. Therefore, terms of address should be understood and translated only in the light of their socio-pragmatic value. Hence, the strategies to be employed when translating such terms should also take into account all these factors. 2. Address in Arabic The address system plays a very important part in defining the nature of human interactions, in relation to the cultural and social setting, the social hierarchies specific to every community, the importance of the social and professional status, the role of family and family relations in that community, etc. In the Arab speaking communities, the address forms are very sensitive social markers, which require the speaker‟s special attention when choosing a certain 216 address term, in order to express the due respect and to avoid offending the interlocutor (Parkinson, 2009: 466). Thus, the manner of address and the choice of certain address forms are influenced by several factors: religion, the social distance between interlocutors (which further depends on factors such as sex, age, profession, social status, wealth, family background), the speaker‟s attitude, the speaker‟s authority, the geographical location (forms of address specific to some regions), ethnicity, race and others. In the Arab world, religion is among the most important factors conditioning the manner of address. Muslims frequently use terms with religious connotations, such as hağ “pilgrim”, šaykh “sheikh” and `akh “brother” that are never employed when speaking to somebody of a different religion. Other culture-specific aspects that must be taken into consideration are related to the fundamental role played by family and social relations in the Arab world. Dornier emphasizes the strong influence of social hierarchy and aspects such as age, status and authority in the verbal communication in Arab-speaking communities. For centuries, tradition has imposed the avoidance of familiar terms of address when speaking to an older or superior interlocutor. This respectful distance is best defined as h’arf el-yâjoûr “brick wall” which restricts every participant‟s role in a conversation (Dornier, 1998: 20). Another important factor conditioning the manner of address is the geographical location. Some forms of address are specific to a certain geographical area, and even if their meaning can be found in other countries, their form differs. For example, the term zoul used in Sudan to mean “people”, “men” is never used for addressing in other Arab countries. However, we find its equivalent: zalama in Syria, riğāl in the Gulf. All the same, a Syrian will use the same address form as an Egyptian or Jordanian, but with a different meaning. Many address forms are culture-specific and will not be properly understood and perceived by members of another society. As Al-Bainy points out, the term `ustāḏ (“professor”, “Mr.”) is often used as a general term of respect, but when a Syrian army officer uses it when approaching one of the soldiers, the term doesn‟t denote respect, but, on the contrary, it is used with the express purpose of humiliating, belittling him (Al-Bainy, 1996: 27). Thus, the term`ustād can never be translated as “professor” or “Mr.” in this context, without a full explanation for the non-Syrian reader. If it were translated as such, the meaning would change altogether. 3. The meaning of the address form ustād As seen above, a term of address can have simultaneously a primary lexical meaning and a social meaning. In the literal sense, the overt meaning of the term can refer to a relationship between speakers (e.g. father, son, brother, 217 etc.), a job (e.g. doctor, professor, etc.) and so on. On the other hand, in every society, certain terms of address take on additional meaning in particular situations. Dictionaries2 translate the term `ustād as “teacher”, “professor”, “master”, “Mr.”. Al-Mawrid gives salience to the basic meaning of “teacher”, “professor”, “lecturer”, “reader” and only mentions the meaning of “Mr.” without any further explanations. On the other hand, Wehr differentiates between “master”, “professor”, “teacher” recorded in the sense of academic titles, and the other use of the term `ustād – form of address to intellectuals (lawyers, journalists, officials, writers and poets). The Dictionary of Egyptian Arabic explains the term both as a “title of, and polite form of address or reference to, a teacher or to a man not otherwise qualified for a title (e.g. by profession or status)” and as “professor”. 4. Translation of the address form `ustād 4.1. Some problems related to translations from Arabic When discussing the problems raised by the translation of literary works from Arabic, Kilpatrick starts from the assumption that some translations are “more impossible” than others (Kilpatrick, 2000: 436). The translator has to perceive all the different nuances meant by the author to create a similar effect in the translation, and to predict the linguistic, cultural and imaginative potential of the target readers. She points out that even people from completely different cultural settings share some common human experiences that help them understand the realities of other cultures. Kilpatrick advocates for the flow of translation, with a minimum of footnotes (that may influence the reading experience in a negative way), accompanied by a glossary that provides the necessary information for the readers who are not acquainted with the other culture, without disrupting those who are familiar with the cultural differences in question (Kilpatrick: 431-433). A widespread phenomenon that has influenced the translation of Oriental texts into Western languages consists in the adaptation of those texts to the Western taste and the Western vision of the East. This led to the creation of certain images about this part of the world – for example, Middle East was represented in the Western readers‟ mind as a magic, mysterious, fascinating place. As Anghelescu (2004) points out, the translation of the One Thousand and One Nights, which became very popular in the West, represents in fact a 2 Baalbaki, Rohi, Al-Mawrid, Beirut: Dar El-Ilm Lilmalayin, 2005; Dictionnaire arabe-français (rédaction Raig, Daniel) Paris: Larousse, 1999; Wehr, Hans, A Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic, London: MacDonald &Evans LTD, 1980; Badawi, El-Said, Hinds, Martin, A Dictionary of Egyptian Arabic, Beirut: Librairie du Liban, 1986. 218 manipulation and adaptation of the original text, in order to meet the Western fantasy about the East, thus influencing the success of all other literary works translated from Arabic (Anghelescu, 2004: 10-13). The perception of the East is often inculcated in the Western readers‟ minds by words and expressions that are not translated. Although it is only natural that, due to cultural gap, some Arabic words are difficult or impossible to translate into European languages, there is also a trend to keep Arabic words in the translation with no other purpose except the intent to make the text seem more exotic, interesting and mysterious. 4.2. The translation of the address form `ustād to English The term `ustād is found in the Trilogy as an address form for 17 times. It is used in dialogues by itself only in 4 instances, in the other 13 it is followed by the given name or the full name of the addressee. When acting as an address form by itself, `ustād is translated as “Professor” in 3 instances and once as “sir”. When followed by a name, `ustād is translated in one context as “Professor” and in 12 cases as “Mr”. All these instances are schematized in the table below, which clearly shows the term in the source text and its translation in English, as well as the number of occurrences for each term. Table 1. The term `ustād in the English translation on the Trilogy Original Arabic text The term in the Arabic text `ustād (without name) `ustād + name Translation into English Number of occurrences The term in the English translation Number of occurrences Professor 3 sir 1 Professor 1 Mr. 12 4 13 As suggested by the various translations of the term, `ustād has a wide range of uses. At times, it conveys respect for the professional status of the interlocutor, but its use is often extended to any educated person or to anyone who 219 is in the position to impose respect. When it is used figuratively, the pragmatic function of the term changes completely, and it sometimes has ironic connotations: for instance, when a man mockingly calls his youngest brother “Professor” during an argument about the latter‟s philosophy on life and women. On one occasion, the father addresses his son as `ustād when he wants to express his approval and admiration. In this case the term is translated into English as “Professor”. Most often, `ustād is used as a general term of respect when talking to acquaintances or when being introduced to strangers. In these cases, the term is always followed by the name of the addressee and is translated as “Mr.”, thus suggesting respect and social distance between the speaker and the hearer. 4.3. The translation of the address form `ustād to Romanian The Romanian translation of the Trilogy records a larger number of equivalents for the term `ustād than the English variant. In the 4 instances when it is not accompanied by the name of the addressee, it is translated twice as “maestre” (“master”), once as “tinere” (“young man”) and once „băiete” (“boy”). When followed by a name, `ustād is put into Romanian in 7 cases as “domnul” (“Mr.”), once “maestre” (“master”) and 5 times it is not translated and the original form is kept, transliterated as ustaz. Table 2. The term `ustād in the Romanian translation on the Trilogy Original Arabic text The term in the Arabic text `ustād (without name) `ustād + name Translation into Romanian Number of occurrences The term in the Romanian translation 4 13 220 Number of occurrences maestre 2 tinere 1 băiete 1 domnul 7 maestre 1 ustaz 5 The footnote provided by the Romanian translator to this term of address explains it is a loanword of Persian origin, with the original meaning of “boss”, “master”; in the modern language, it means “professor” and in the Egyptian dialect it is particularly used when addressing intellectuals such as lawyers, journalists, writers, poets or high-rank officials (Dobrişan 1987: 62). The Romanian translations capture the interesting dynamics of the social relations in the Trilogy. When the person addressed with the term `ustād has an equal or a higher social status than the speaker, the translation is “domnule” (“Mr.”) or “maestre” (“master”). On the other hand, when the status of the speaker is superior, the appellative `ustād expresses irony, and is less formal; therefore, the Romanian equivalents are “băiete” (“boy”) in a case when the older brother talks to the youngest one, or “tinere” (“young man”) in a context when the father addresses his son. As for the instances where the term `ustād is not translated, it seems to be preserved in order to convey the original meaning of general term of respect. It is difficult to make a clear-cut distinction between the contexts in which it is translated in the Romanian version, and the ones where it is not. For example, the same person is referred to on separate occasions with similar address forms, consisting of the term `ustād and a surname. In one of these cases the translator chooses to equate the term as “domnule” (”sir”), while in the other he chooses to keep it as such. Similarly, when being introduced to strangers, the term `ustād is often present before the given name or the full name of the addressees. However, in all instances where `ustād is not translated and transliterated ustaz it illustrates a figurate use of the word and is always followed by the addressee‟s name. The choice of not translating such terms may be seen as a strategy meant to preserve the cultural identity of the text. In some cases, besides the wish to add local flavor to the text, the reason for not translating may also be the lack of a Romanian equivalent with the same connotations as the Arabic term. 5. Concluding remarks This analysis sheds light on the various problems raised by the translation of the address form `ustād to English and Romanian, in particular, and by the translation of the Arabic terms of address, in general. The translator should take into consideration, alongside the “dictionary” meaning of a certain term of address, its social significance, the context of the conversation in which it is uttered – the speakers, the setting, the situation of communication, the degree of formality/informality and the like. 221 The task proves to be even more challenging for the translator who faces a literary work written in a language deliberately constructed to be attractive to its public, since it combines different language registers ranging from literary terms and adapted dialectal words. As in the case of the Trilogy, the translator plays an important role in rendering in the target text the feeling of authentic spoken language. The problem of cultural or linguistic untranslatability is another important aspect forcing the translator to choose between different strategies (finding an equivalent in the target language or not translating the culturally-loaded words), each with its own advantages and disadvantages. Bibliography Al-Bainy, R. 1996. Forms of Address in Arabic: A sociolinguistic and Translational perspective, Yarmouk University Anghelescu, N. 2004. ”L‟Orient exotique dans la littérature traduite de l‟arabe”. Romano-arabica 4. 7-19. Anghelescu, N. 2009. Identitatea arabă: istorie, limbă, cultură, Iaşi: Polirom. Braun, F. 1988. Terms of address: Problems of patterns and usage in various languages and cultures, Berlin/New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Dobrişan, N. 1971. „Interviu cu Naghib Mahfuz” România literară 4 – 23. 20-21. Dobrişan, N. 1988. „Naghib Mahfuz. Nobel 1988” România literară 21 – 44. 21. Dobrişan, N. 1995. „Naghib Mahfuz. Argumente la premiul Nobel” Secolul XX. 4-5-6. 157-165. Dobrişan, N. 1996. „Reîntâlnire cu Naghib Mahfuz” România literară 13. 14. Dornier, F. 1998. La Politesse Tunisienne. 2nd ed. Tunis: IBLA. Ferguson, Ch. 1991. „Individual and social in language change: Diachronic changes in politeness agreement in forms of address‟ R. Cooper, B. Spolsky (eds.) The influence of language on culture and thought. Berlin/New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Fraser, B. Nolen, W. 1981. „The Association of Deference with Linguistic Form‟. International Journal of the Sociology of Language 27. 93-111. Kilpatrick, H. 1995. „Egyptian fiction and Arabic Literary Tradition‟, A. Fodor (ed.) Proceedings of the 14th Congress of the Union Europeénne des Arabisants et Islamisants. 2nd part. Budapest. 149-161. Mahfuz, N. 1984. Bayna El-Qasrein, translation and notes by Dobrişan, N. Bucharest: Minerva. Mahfuz, N. 1987. Qasr Es-Sawq, translation and notes by Dobrişan, N. Bucharest: Minerva. Mahfouz, N. 1988. Qasr Aš-Šawq, Cairo: Maktabat Misr. Mahfuz, N. 1989. Es-Sukkariyya, translation and notes by Dobrişan, N. Bucharest: Minerva. Mahfouz, N. 1991. Palace Walk, translation by Hutchins, W. and Kenny, O. New York: Anchor Books. Mahfouz, N. 1994. Palace of Desire, translation by Hutchins, W. Kenny, L. and Kenny, O. London: Black Swan. Mahfouz, N. 1994. Sugar Street, translation by Hutchins, W. and Samaan, A. London: Black Swan. Mahfouz, N. 2007. Bayna Al-Qasrayn, 3rd ed. Cairo: Dar ash-Shorouk. Mahfouz, N. 2007. As-Sukkariyya, 2nd ed. Cairo: Dar ash-Shorouk. 222 Mejdell, G. 2006. Mixed styles in spoken Arabic in Egypt: somewhere between order and chaos, Leiden, Boston: Brill. Mursy, A. Wilson, J. 2001. „Towards a definition of Egyptian complimenting‟. Multilingua: journal of cross-cultural and interlanguage communication 20-2. 133-154. Parkinson, D. 1982. Terms of Address in Egyptian Arabic, University of Michigan. Parkinson, D. 2009. „Terms of Address‟ în Versteegh, K. (ed.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics, Brill. 466-471. Patai, R. 1975. The Arab Mind, 2nd ed. New York: Hatherleigh Press. Rosenbaum, G. 1998. „Address Forms in Egyptian Literature‟, Devenyi, K. Ivanyi T. (eds.) Proceedings of the Arabic and Islamic Sections of the 35th International Congress of Asian and Norht African Studies, 1st part. Budapest. 99-108. Somekh, S. 1973. The Changing Rhythm. A Study of Najib Mahfuz’s Novels, Leiden: Brill. Traverso, V. 2006. Des échanges ordinaires à Damas: aspects de l’interaction en arabe, Lyon: PUL. Wierzbicka, A. 1991. „Cross Cultural Pragmatics: The Semantics of Human Interaction‟ Trends in linguistics / Studies and Monographs 53, Berlin/New York: Mouton de Gruyter. 223 224 THE PROBLEM OF SUFI ARABIC TEXTS TRANSLATION Ruzana Pskhu Russian Peoples’ Friendship University, Moscow A Greek was sitting by the sea, He was singing and suddenly he began to weep. A Russian asked him to translate the words of the song. And he translated: “a bird was sitting on a mountain for a long time, but suddenly flapped with the wings and went off across the forest and the sea... The song is over!” There is nothing in the Russian language, but what a deep sorrow in the Greek language we have. Vladimir Dahl Abstract. The paper deals with the problem of Arabic Sufi texts translation. The main questions are (1) possibility of Arabic-Russian translation of religious and philosophical texts, (2) definition of specific features of such translation. Two levels of solution of the problem (linguistic and philosophical levels) allow concluding, that there is an impossibility of strict scientific translation of Sufi texts. Keywords: Sufism, translation, Arabic language, language and consciousness, worldview, language game, interpretation. It is obviously that a historian of philosophy should begin to investigate any philosophical system with an analysis of original texts. Such textological investigation is the basis of history of philosophy as a discipline. Sometimes the analysis of original texts can become not only the first obligation (if we take the Ancient and Medieval philosophy of the East), but also the only obligation and possibility to penetrate into worldview of the investigated writer. It happens when the scholar doesn‟t know anything about the circumstances, biography, education, family etc. of the author of the text under the question. But the analysis of the original texts supposes not only reading the translations of them, but first of all reading them in original language, in other words, in the language, which they are composed on. As a rule, even if a scholar has many very good and adequate translations of the text, he always reads the original text (French, German, Arabic, Sanskrit or Urdu etc.) and put forward his theories only after analysis of the original sources. Moreover, great number of translations discovers a paradox: there are 225 many translations, but all of them cannot replace the original text. And then a question arises: what purpose is pursued by translation? It seems that the reply on this simple question is evident: for helping people who don‟t know the foreing languages and who can read the translation and understand its content. But no one translator will say that his translation absolutely adequately reflects the original text. And at the same time he will never say that his translation only approximately reflects (or approximates) the original text. Usually the translator tries to explain his version of translation, to give it the grounding. It‟s rather intersting to try to understand why he translates, knowing beforehand that every translation is only a kind of interpretation and in certain sense is the misrepresentation of the original text? To reply on this question “what purpose is pursued by translation?” one should try to reply on another question: “how the translation is realisable?”. The problem of translation can be examined on different levels. For example, the Russian scholar and historian of Western philosophy Natalia Avtonomova studies this problem on the philosophical level. She supposes that the translation is a special kind of cognition or knowledge [Avtonomova 2008:12]. This author describes several levels of possible understanding of translation: 1) of general philosophy (translation as a form of reflexion); 2) sociological (translation as a practice of cultural mediation); 3) cultural (translation as a method of care of cultural heritage); 4) epistemological (translation as a new methodological strategy) [Avtonomova 2008:22]. It seems to me that there are three very important aspects, which are actual for the problem of translation from any language. These aspects concern: 1) typology of texts or possible types of texts; 2) author‟s metaphors, special terminology, style etc.; 3) correlation of literalness and interpretableness in translating. In my opinion, these aspects are the most important for the analysis of problems, which are connected with the translation of philosophical texts of the East, to be precise, with Sufi texts. (1) There is an opinion in the linguistics that a type of a text determines means of its translation [Rays 1978:202]. But if we appeal to philosophical texts, we will see that there is also a problem with their typolagy: 1. How can we describe the type of philosophical texts: are they informative (pragmatic, narrative etc.) or they are artistic (affective, expressive etc.)? In other words, can we present a philosophical text as a set of impersonal ideas or the form of its expression is very important for such type of texts? In his article Rays gave an outline of general classifications of possible types of texts and there is only one classification, which distinguishes the separate type of philosophical texts, but Rays supposes that this classification is not satisfactory, 226 because, in his opinion, philosophical texts should be included into type of special texts like technical scientific texts [Rays 1978:204]. I suppose that such opinion is not adequate, because we can very easily find philosophical texts, which have the novel form and expressiveness and haven‟t a special terminology, the texts, which can be compared with artistic texts (for example, "Hayy Ibn Yaqzan" of Ibn Tufayl, if we take Arabic tradition). 2. But if we distinguish a separate type of philosophical texts, can we in this case talk about the homogeneity of these texts? Obviously, we can not, because philosophy has many types and genres of its expression. Of course we can use those classifications, which are proposed by philologists, to construct internal classification of philosophical texts. For example one can construct twolevel classifications of philosophical texts: pragmatic and artistic. The first type includes any philosophical text, which expresses ideas in clear and logical form, which in its turn causes intellectual agreement or disagreement of a reader. The second type includes the texts, the artistic form of which causes first of all emotional reaction of a reader on its ideas (and sometimes inspires to act). For example, texts of “Kitab al-mawaqif” and “Kitab al-mukhatabat” of al-Niffary (X AC) demonstrate necessary of reader‟s emotional involvement into the text, which guarantees its intellectual understanding: emotional and intellectual aspects of perception of this text provide its full significance. And again there is a question: what about East and its religious and philosophical texts? (2) Another difficulty relates to translation of metaphors, special terminology and so on. 1. Some scholars consider that the basic task of translation of any philosophical text is translation of its terminology. But it is possible when the translator knows which terms are basic for the text, translated by him. In other words, when there is a scientific tradition of translation of a certain text. The method of translation should be based on the idea that the adequate translation of some terms depends on understanding of philosophical system, which is contained in the translated text. This thought of Theodor Sherbatskoy, the great Russian scholar, can be added by another idea: it is possible when the system is already known. But if the text is being translated for the first time and we know nothing about the philosophical ideas of the author, what should the translator do? What should he do with the texts, which are being translated for the first time from the rare exotic language with very strange terminology into European language, which has no analogy with it? It is a reason why many historians of East philosophy say about the danger of misunderstanding of such texts. In any way it is a kind of problems of history of philosophy – to define basic terminology of 227 philosophical text. Of course no author of a medieval text defines his “basic terms” of his philosophical text as a scholar does it. That‟s why we can imagine a grotesque scientific interpretation of Sufi Arabic text on the base of “basic term” like multifunctional word “wa”, which, as it is known, plays many roles in Arabic language. In other words, the most difficult problem, connected with the translation of special terms, is more evident, when we try to translate the philosophical texts from Arabic or Sanskrit or any other oriental language, because in this case a translator finds for the first time the philosophical equivalents for an Arabic or Sanskrit word, which has many meanings in its original language. The idea of the Russian contemporary scholar in Indian studies, Victoria Lysenko, that the Sanskrit philosophical terms are rooted in the ordinary Sanskrit language and originally have different meaning, can be partially applied also to the Arabic philosophical tradition. 2. The problem of translation of style features of the text is more actual for the artistic translation. If one translates the philosophical texts, this problem can appear only with the texts, which have mystic character. What should the translator of such text do in this case, when the text doesn‟t have clear meaning? The difficulty of translation of such text can be compared with the translation of poetical text. I suppose, that the rule, proposed by one famous Russian writer Korney Chukovsky, can be applied to such type of philosophical text: “One should translate not letter by letter, but smile - by smile, music - by music, soul mood - by soul mood” [Chukovskiy 2008:124]. Here we should mention about great difficulty to study the original language of Oriental philosophy, to translate the original and unique charm of non-European text: in this case to understand a philosophical and religious text doesn‟t mean to feel it. At last, the problem of correlation of literalness and interpretableness in translating poses the next question: what do we translate? Words or meanings? In this case we should remember two strategy of translation and we should understand, which of them is more adequate in relation of philosophical texts. Of course this dilemma is very old, but the desire to understand another person is older. It is rather strange that some of historians of Indian philosophy, which are against of literalness of translation of Sanskrit philosophical terms, therefore suppose that the translation should give to a reader the possibility to feel the “resistance of material”, in other words to feel Sanskrit character of the text [Lyssenko http://kogni.narod.ru/lyssenko.htm]. We can agree with the idea that the ancient discussion about literalness and interpretableness in translating is in fact the discussion about different levels of interpretation [Lyssenko http://philosophy.ru/iphras/library/vost/lysen.htm]. But I suppose that this 228 problem is connected not only with the interpretation, but also with the choosing of the strategy of the translation. Here one should remember two basic strategies of translation, which were proposed by Friedrich Schleiermacher: “A translator can leave alone a writer and makes a reader to go in direction to the writer, or he leaves alone a reader and makes a writer to go in direction to the reader. Both methods are absolutely different, but the translator can use only one of them, in other case the writer and the reader will not be able to meet with each other”. And here the question about a reader arises: who is this reader? This question about recipients of the translation of the oriental philosophical text is very important for every orientalist, but we cannot agree that these texts are only for special auditory. The oriental philosophy like philosophy in general is oriented on individual human being, not on the masses. And the translator should translate first of all this orientation to the individual human being. In other words, the translator should remember that the text was composed in a certain time by a certain person for certain purposes, he should keep this “human specificity” of the text. If we return to Sufi texts and try to define their form (pragmatic or artistic) we should consider them as texts-addressings. This type of texts was distinguished by Rays and according him includes the advertisements, sermons etc. But this type of texts is addressing to the human person and uses different means, describing the reality, inspires in the human person certain reaction [Rays 1978:221-222]. This idea can be used as a reply to rhetoric question: “Should we translate original philosophical texts?” Because a specialist in history of philosophy must read texts in original the others don‟t need them at all. There some considerations about the problem of philosophical translation: one of them says that translation of philosophical terms from, for example, Sanskrit, helps to develop the Russian philosophical language (we can add any language into which these foreign terms are translated). The other consideration says that philosophical translation develops not only philosophical language, but philosophy in general: in other words translation means understanding. Here I suppose, we should answer on two questions: 1) how can the translation from Arabic into Russian be realized, and 2) by what special features this translation can be characterized? There are two possible answers to these questions in the Russian scientific literature: 1) theory of translation by Natalya Finkelberg (linguistic level); 2) philosophy of translation by Andrey Smirnov (philosophical level). The first answer is concrete scientific analysis of problems of translation from the Arabic language in general, the second is connected with philosophical consideration of translation of the Arabic culture in general and Arabic text in particular. 229 The basic problem of translation, which we posed from the beginning, are resolved by Natalya Finkelberg in following manner: 1) Typology of texts. She classified the texts into narrative (which only describe the events) and affective (which influenced not only on rational sphere, but also on emotional sphere of human person). As Natalya Finkelberg notes, the translator should distinguish these types of texts, because his translation depends on different things: a) methods of decoding of meaning of the text, b) special information, which is contained in the text, c) language features of Arabic narrative and affective texts [Finkelberg 2007:160-161]. 2) The translation of metaphors, special terms, style etc (“author features of the text”).This problem is connected with particular theory of translation of Arabic language, which includes, according Finkelberg: a) comparative study of function of nominative elements (words, phraseologisms, terminology etc) in the speech, b) comparative study of basic semantic categories, functional and semantic fields and categories (“qualities of the text”), c) comparative study of functional and style parameters of the text [Finkelberg 2007:13-14]. The activity of the translator is considered by Natalya Finkelberg as a necessary type of speech activity and that‟s why the translator should (1) understand the meaning of the text and re-create in his consciousness the active psychological essences, which are connected with the latent active psychological essences of the text, and (2) replace re-created essences by signs of the language, into which he is translating [Finkelberg 2007:37]. According Natalya Finkelberg, there are meanings of sign forms in the base of synthesis of meaning. That‟s why the translator should understand first of all the special features of nomination of the Arabic language system. Finkelberg distinguishes some special features of Arabic nomination, for example: 1) Arabic root has unchangeable original meaning and integrated concept, which unifies in one semantic field all word forms, derived from this root. In other words, Arabic language always remembers about first meaning of a word root, which always is presented in all one-root words, semantically connected with it. 2) Arabic language prefers to construct big concept blocks, which keep their connection with the subjective and sensible world. In other words, this connection with the objective world in fact is presented in every Arabic nominative element (if we take, for example, Russian language, we can see that this connection is not so strong as in Arabic language). 3) Arabic nominative element is defined as an example of connection of imagination and rationality in the consciousness. Based on these special features of Arabic nomination, Finkelberg 230 concludes that “original features of nomination in Arabic literature language develop in the translator “non-Russian” approach in the analysis of information, which is contained in a nominative of Arabic language” [Finkelberg 2007:60]. She insists that a interpreter of affective texts should “be ready to extract not only direct meanings of Arabic words, but also to perceive the information, which is hidden in the body of the sign (invariant of root, meaning of word creation model), and in allusions, which are connected with situations, known to Arab” [Finkelberg 2007:174]. The next important aspect concerns the “qualities of the Arabic text”. They have very specific character. Special attention during the translation must be put to means of co-relativeness (simple repetition, using the define article and so on), which provide significative un-interruption of sentences in the frame of the one passage and significative un-interruption of passages in the frame of the whole text. In opinion of Finkelberg, deficient semantic concreteness of connecting language signs demonstrates that Arabic text has elements of “grammar of wide context”. In other words, a reader of Arabic text, in spite of its deficient semantic preciseness of the text, keeps in his mind the wide context, which allows for him to interpret the possible meaning of the text. A translator should put a special attention on language means used by the Arabic language for translation of temporal meanings. The Arabic language, as the Russian language, uses for these purposes verbs, adverbs, nouns with prepositions and taxis. But in Russian language the temporal meaning of a verb is a grammar category, meanwhile in Arabic language the temporal meaning of a verb has a transitional place from the concept category to the grammar category. It means that the temporal role of Arabic verb in the text is weaker then the role of verb in Russian language. “The fullness of temporal indications in Arabic text as rule is not sufficient for the translator, who, choosing an adequate means in Russian, must use only precise temporal form” [Finkelberg 2007:137]. Finkelberg also mentions the next characteristics of Arabic text: a hidden expression of syntaxes connection, syntaxes, metaphorical character of thinking, which prefers to distinguish common sign of an object without sufficient preciseness of identification of distinguished sign. As a result the image of referent situation is formed in consciousness of a recipient, and then is expressed by him in the other language with other conditions of fullness, latency and preciseness in comparison with Russian language. 3. Finkelberg without any doubt expresses her attitude towards to the discussion about correlation of literalness and interpretableness in translating: “literal translation is a translation which reproduces formal and/or semantic 231 components of the original language. As a result such translation breaks norms and „usus‟ of the translation language, or it doesn‟t express the true content of the original text” [Finkelberg 2007:208]. In other words, Arabic language possesses its own specific features and that‟s why the translation from Arabic into Russian language is impossible without “reconstruction”, adaptation (or recoding). “Like chameleon, the consciousness of the translator changes and transfers from the Arabic language consciousness to Russian language consciousness. During this process there are some unchangeable places, which are responsible for the process of re-coding of the received information” [Finkelberg 2007:195]. The basic conclusion of Finkelberg is that the intercultural communication cannot be reduced to the overcoming of linguistic “strangeness” of two cultures, but also contains overcoming of extra-linguistic otherness, which is shown first of all in thinking. That‟s why professional features of the translator must be based not only on the good knowledge of foreign language, but also on bi-cultureness. The philosophical level of the translation problem (Arabic language) is central question of investigations of Russian scholar Andrey Smirnov. In his article “How is translation possible? Language, thinking and Logic of Sense” [Smirnov 2009] Smirnov describes translation as realization of “smoothing” of language. He distinguishes 4 strategies of translation: 1) projective and mythological strategy or seeking an invariant for two different languages (reducing two different languages to one language or common language invariant), 2) direct equalization/identification of languages, 3) reducing different languages to invariant beyond language (to their common logical form), 4) seeking identity of languages, which will be based on the logical and significant re-coding of them [Smirnov 2009:360-363]. Analysis of each strategy, realized by Andrey Smirnov, allows him to distinguishes opposition “translatable/non-translatable”, which expresses identity of languages and their irreducibleness to each other. Such opposition has key character for the second and the fourth strategies, because it demonstrates unadequateness of the second strategy (translation as a direct identification) and adequacy of the fourth strategy (re-coding of sense). Here one can explain difficulties of using of the second strategy by the next example: imagine that a word is multitude of meanings, or a “company of people”, sitting in one room, or in one dictionary article. When the translation is realizing, a “bad” translator takes one of them and transfers onto the other building, where there is another “company”. And this translator says that the first 232 company and the second company identical. He says that the relationship between the elements of “company” are analogical to the relationship of the second “company”. But the translator ignores the fact that a company as a words with all its connotations is a certain wholeness and it is wrong to identify both these classes based only on the fact that both of them contain the same word with one meaning. Here we can agree with Andrey Smirnov that to know a language, to speak a foreign language doesn‟t mean ability to translate [Smirnov 2009:363364]. There is a certain understanding of a good translation in this article: good translation is a text, in which said on one language is expressed in other like it would be „born‟ by a speaker, like it was an original text, not translated [Smirnov 2009:363]. Good translation implies using certain technology: it “construct sequence “a basic sentence - field of translation - a translated sentence”. The field of translation implies the phase, which divides two languages and which cannot be reduced to any of them. Smirnov analyses the subject-predicate form of thinking and shows that this form is a feature of Russian and English languages, meanwhile it is not universal for Arabic language. Moreover, Arabic language has another means to replace this form: means which function as a verb “to be”, but absolutely different and other then subjective and predicate form of Russian, English etc languages. By this the author tries to show that there is not monosemantic relationship between the language and the thinking: “the thinking acts quasi-independently, choosing one language form and escaping the other” [Smirnov 2009:371]. In other words, Arabic language escapes language forms, which can be reduced to the logical form “S is P”, and this fact is caused by different language thinking: “Arabic language sees the world like process”, the world is “complex of processes, connecting „Subject‟ and „Object‟, two aspects of one process” [Smirnov 2009:372]. It means that Arabic language thinking cannot express the results of its activity in the form “S is P”: different character of languages is caused by different types of thinking. There is not universality of thinking, Smirnov says, there is only variety of thinking. “The language and the thinking are coordinated, but they don‟t define each other. The language, being the means of the thinking, prefers and fixes those language forms, which are more adequate for the tasks of this type of thinking” [Smirnov 2009:372]. He demonstrates principal difference of Arabic language from Russian language on the next phrase “Zeid [is] at home”. Arabic variants of translations of this sentence (“fī-d-dāri Zaydun”, “Zaydun mustaqirrun fī-d-dāri”, “istaqarra fī-d-dāri Zaidun”) say that the verb “to be” doesn‟t received by Arabic language thinking as a expression of connective word [Smirnov 2001:215-220]. Concerns to the meaning of translation Smirnov believes that the meaning 233 of translation contains in demonstration of presence of “integrality, which contains the worlds of language-and-thinking and from which these world are deployed into the texts... Good translation passes phase of integrality. This phase cannot be grasped by means of logical forms, though these logical forms are born by this phase... Difference between substantial and processial worldviews is deep logical difference which influences on all phenomena of language and thinking. Their explication is a subject of logic of sense... field of integrality, which is a necessary phase of good translation, being logical and significance area” [Smirnov 2009:373]. The analysis of both theories shows that the true problem of translation is connected with adequate understanding of foreign culture. Bibliography Avtonomova, Natalia. 2008. Poznanie i perevod. Opyt filosofii yazyka. Moscow: Russian Political Encyclopedia. Chukovskiy, Korney. 2008. Vysokoe iskusstvo. Prinzipi hudozhestvennogo perevoda. Moscow: Azbuka Klassika. Finkelberg, Natalia. 2007. Arabskiy yazyk. Kurs teorii perevoda. Moscow: AST Vostok-Zapad. Lyssenko, Viktoria. „O perevodah sanskritskih filosofskih textah. http://kogni.narod.ru/lyssenko.htm. Lyssenko, Viktoria. Klassicheskaya indiyskaya filosofia v perevodah i issledovaniah (1990-1996). http://philosophy.ru/iphras/library/vost/lysen.htm. Rays, K. 1978. „Klassifikazia textov i metody perevoda‟. V.N. Komissarov (ed.) Voprosy teorii i perevoda v zarubezhnoy linguistike. Moscow: Mezhdunarodnye otnoshenia. 202-228. Smirnov, Andrey. 2001. Logica smysla. Moscow: Yazyki slavyanskoi kultury. Smirnov, Andrey. 2009. „Kak vozmozhen perevod? Yazyk, myshlenie i logica smysla‟. Filosofia i etica. Cbornik nauchnyh trudov k 70-letiu akademica A.Gusseinova. Moscow: Alfa-M. 360-374. 234 STEREOTYPES ABOUT ISLAM AND MEDIA COMMENTATORS’ DISCOURSE AFTER 9/111 Laura Sitaru University of Bucharest Abstract. Starting from the assumption that after 9/11 discursive patterns on Islam got a global dimension, and exceeded the national usual approach, the present paper is trying to analyze the most frequent stereotypes in “reading” Islam, along with a profound change of experts‟ profile in Islamic field, comparing to the classic traditional scholar, that occurred after 9/11 attacks. The research is focusing on media commentators` discourses in both the United States and Europe (especially France and Italy), by analyzing various types of public discourse: books, articles, blogs, conferences, and TV talk-shows, and pinning down themes, topics and patterns in public Western “talking” about Islam, after 9/11. The research cannot provide a comprehensive perspective, since it would be unrealistic to attempt a comprehensive analysis, but it will try to identify the main influences in shaping stereotypes about Islam and Muslims. Keywords: stereotype, otherness, neo-orientalism, public discourse, paradigm deconstruction. The main purpose of this study is to identify the most frequent stereotypes about Islam in Western common perception, and the connection between these clichés and the so-called media commentators and their activity in this field after 9/11. I started from the assumption that after 9/11, discursive patterns on Islam got a global dimension, and exceeded the national usual approach, while mediacommentators‟ public opinions on Islam got over the national media networks, consequently acquiring an international coverage. (However, historical and national considerations can still be found in some approaches). First of all, I paid particular attention to define media-commentators‟ category and to identify international media networks relating between them. The French scholar Vincent Geisser2 portrays media commentators as a category replacing in the public arena important and famous specialists in Islam who have lost part of their professional credibility after 9/11. Thus after 9/11 Western media largely stopped to take into 1 This study represents a part of a more comprehensive analysis I carried out at Alwaleed Center for Muslim-Christian Understanding, Georgetown University, under the precious guidance of professors John Voll and John L. Esposito. 2 Vincent Geisser. 2003. La nouvelle islamophobie. Paris: Editions La Découverte: 12 235 consideration scholars and their works considered too friendly towards Islam and turned their attention to a different category of experts coming from the security area studies who have no professional Islamic knowledge or background. My explorative research focused on media commentators` discourses in both the United States and Europe (especially France and Italy), by analyzing various types of public discourse: books, articles, blogs, conferences, and TV talk-shows from which I tried to pin down themes, topics and patterns in public Western talking about Islam. I had in my attention authors like Robert Spencer, Martin Kramer, Daniel Pipes, Steven Emerson, Pamela Geller or Bernard-Henri Levi, Oriana Fallaci, Philipp Val, Caroline Fourest, Michele Tribalat, René Marchand and others, who have in common not only ideas about Islam, but also a media network through which they are expressing these ideas. The main criteria for the selection of my subjects are their relevance and impact on popular perceptions of Islam. By “relevancy” I mean media shows, published books, number of readers and followers when it comes to blogs etc. The approach has not an exhaustive dimension, but is trying to emphasize the main patterns on public talking about Islam within a media network which became global after 9/11. I. Some considerations on the topic’s theoretical background An impressive number of scholars, in the aftermath of Edward Said‟s famous book “Orientalism”, have been preoccupied by the academic framework of the ongoing debates about Islam, especially after 9/11. As Bryan Turner pointed out, contemporary Western understanding of Islam is seeped in a deep historical tradition influenced by early Christian thought. Islam from a very early period was seen as a distinct threat to Christendom (Turner, 2007: 60). Others, like the French scholar Pascal Boniface 3, consider that Islam and Muslims and the way in which a large part of Western public media reflect them is nothing but a continuation of cultural phobia exercised during the Nineteenth Century and the beginning of Twentieth over the Jews leaving in Europe (Boniface, 2011: 71-84). Clichés applied in the past to the Jewish minority in Europe are mostly oriented nowadays towards Muslims and Islam generally. Moreover, as Noam Chomsky4 remarks, anti-Arabs and anti-Muslims feelings represent especially after 9/11 3 Pascal Boniface recently published the book Les intellectuels faussaires (“The Untruthful Intellectuals”) in which he is denouncing several important French media intellectuals and their expertise on the fields they are talking about, Paris: Jean-Claude Gawsewitch Éditeur, 2011 4 The linguist Noam Chomsky is interviewed during the documentary Brothers & Others. Noam Chomsky, on power, dissent & racism by Nicolas Rossier, broadcasted by Arab Film Distribution in 2008. 236 what he called a “legitimate form of racism” both in the United States and Europe, a racism you don‟t have to hide it, as it is the case with anti-Semitism. It seems that in common Western perception the image of the Muslim didn‟t considerably change from the medieval period until nowadays. From colonial period Western world inherited a series of stereotypes about the Islamic civilization deeply implanted in public common perception by literary and pictorial representations. There is a list of the most frequent images about Islamic world during the colonial era and, likely, after its ends: corrupt and irrational despotism, fanatic religiosity, exotic mysticism, teeming markets and dreamy harems, sexually predatory and insatiable men, and sensual, decadent and devious women (Pickering, 2001: 168). The question which comes up immediately is how many of these images are still pervasive until nowadays and what the mechanisms of this perpetuation are. We, as Western culture‟s products, are still referring to Muslims by using the same old negative characterization: what the Muslims are not? Basically, they are not like US. We still fall back on categories such “good” and “bad”5 in shaping the image of the other or his otherness. After 9/11, the American official discourse makes the difference between “good” and “bad” Muslims, distinction with deep implications for the political behavior of Muslims themselves. Thereby, after 9/11 the people were waiting “good” Muslims to express their disagreement and condemnation of terrorism, otherwise they might be assimilated with this phenomenon. As Mahmoud Mamdani remarks the central message of such discourse was: unless proved to be good, every Muslim was presumed to be bad. All Muslims were now under obligation to prove their credentials by joining a war against bad Muslims (Mamdani, 2004: 15). Michael W. Suleiman who is probably the main American researcher in this field uttered his conviction that “among the Americans there is a mind-set, a general picture of Arabs which, though vague, is distorted and incorrect and almost invariable negative, at times, bordering on racism” (Suleiman, 1988: 2). Edward Said believes that present coverage of Islam and of non-Western societies canonizes notions, texts, and authorities. “The idea that Islam is medieval and dangerous, as well as hostile and threatening to us, for example, has acquired a place both in the culture and in the polity” (Said, 1997: 156). In a time in which fostered fears of anarchy and disorder will very likely produce conformity of views with reference to the “outside” world, the production and diffusion of knowledge, claims Edward Said, will play a crucial role (Said, 1997: 160-161). 5 Mamdani, Mahmoud. 2004. Good Muslims, bad Muslim. America, the Cold War and the roots of terror. New York: Pantheon Books (a division of Random House) 237 After his famous “Orientalism”, Edward Said talked in “Covering Islam” about how images continue to be shaped in post Orientalist era: Clearly, today‘s climate favors – one might even say requires – Islam to be a menace (Said, 1997: xx). Moreover, Islam became a common subject that doesn‟t request apparently a specific knowledge in this field. Instead of scholars, we often find only journalist making extravagant statements, which are instantly picked up and further dramatized by the media (Said, 1997: xvi). Also, as Said remarks, a corps of experts on the Islamic world has grown to prominence, and during a crisis they are brought out to pontificate on formulaic ideas about Islam on news programs or talk shows (Said, 1997: xi). On the same page with Edward Said, the French writer Pascal Boniface remarks when an intellectual used to speak for the public media few years ago, and his examples are Raymond Aron and Jean-Paul Sartre, they had as support for these interventions with significant scholarship that allowed them to speak with authority about a subject. In contrast, today things are exactly the opposite (Boniface, 2011: 25). Moreover, several French intellectuals suddenly got an expertise in Islamic matters and, by that, they consequently became public authorities in this field in which denouncing Islam or Islamism together and without any distinction represents a substitute for a real academic background (Boniface, 2011: 106). Some of them became the true stars of the media, only after they wrote about Islam. For instance, the French journalist Caroline Fourest6 who got her celebrity after publishing in 2003 a book denouncing Islamic fundamentalism and another polemic book which condemn Tariq Ramadan and his “double discourse”. The emergence and ascendance of this new generation of experts in Islamic matters is concomitant with a systematic denigration of those who used to have an academic expertise. For instance, Caroline Fourest argues that they are “prisoners of their own field and in the same time fascinated by this, being so in total incapacity to understand the Islamic movement and to explain its evolutions for the public”7. It is important here to quote Mohamed Nimer (Nimer, 2007: 1), who has noted that a an unwarranted critical study of Islam or Muslims in the current climate couldn‟t be considered Islamophobic, likewise a disapproving analysis of American history and government it is not necessarily anti-American. Moreover, 6 Caroline Fourest, well known in France for being the founder of the ProChoix (Pro Choice) Journal in 1997 and her activity pro – laicité and human rights. She was working for a while for Charlie Hebdo and now she is writing for Le Monde. She is an usual presence on French TV channels, France 24, France Culture and France Internationale (cf. Boniface, 2011: 107). 7 Quoted by Pascal Boniface, 2011: 116 238 stereotypes aren‟t solely an American or Western invention, statistics show that Muslims hold strong negative stereotypes of Westerners and Americans in particular, subject to which it should be given a special attention. Inside the Islamic world, the process of manipulating images has at least the same intensity, if we take into consideration the ways in which the ideas are spread out. It seems also that the arising stereotypical understanding of each other is inter-connected, so that Muslims and Westerns are shaping parallel paradigms of self and other‟s perception. In this process intellectuals and the media through which they express themselves and their convictions play a significant role in both Muslim and Western worlds. II. Islamophobia, the raison or the result of stereotyped images For becoming a stereotype, an idea has to be repeated8. It seems to be the right moment to call down Harold Isaac 9 and his explanation of stereotype‟s meanings: (…) The way we see other people depends on the window in which we look at the world (…) each one‘s outlook is perhaps most heavily influenced by the larger political, economic and cultural facts at the given time. Combining myth with purposefully misleading information normally leads to inaccuracies which take hold in the people‟s psyche. Furthermore, as Nancy Nielsen pointed out stereotyping is dangerous because it can lead the public to create social scapegoats and focus on the wrong issues and wrong priorities (…). Misleading characterizations can be picked up by the global news services and satellite systems, which have the power to perpetuate the distortion10. Michael Pickering makes a interesting connection between stereotype and power, defining the stereotype as an expression of power emanated from established structures of social dominance. Generally, this kind of images are usually held to be simplistic, rigid and erroneous, based on discriminatory values and damaging to people‟ actual and personal identities (Pickering, 2001:10). Stereotypes are mental structures characterized by “rigidity and resistance to information which contradicts them”11. In other words, the lack of information is not representing the basis for stereotype, because the provision of complex information does not 8 Le stéréotype est un image simplifiée que des groups humains élaborent au sujet d‘un individu ou d‘un fait et qui joue un rôle déterminant dans leur comportement et leur appréciation (Slakta, 1994: 37) 9 Quoted by Shaheen, 1997: 29 10 Quoted by Shaheen, 1997: 33. Nancy Nielsen was at the moment Vice President of Corporate Communications at the New York Times Company. 11 Taiffel, 1981:133 quoted by Pickering, 2001: 12 239 necessarily mean that certain stereotypes will be abandoned, argues Pickering (2001: 12). Psychologists define stereotypes as a way of dealing with the instabilities arising from the division between self and non-self by preserving an illusion of control and power12. Islamophobia is the term which became more and more used to define unfounded fear of and hostility towards Islam (Ahmed, 2007: 15). Professor John Voll argues that, at least when it comes to the United States, discrimination against Muslims was at the beginning an anti-un-Americanism, therefore the antiMuslim sentiments of the 1920‟s through the 1950‟s were anti-Muslim because Muslims were different, but nobody thought that time that Muslims were going to conquer America or that there was an Islamic threat (Voll, 2007: 32). Islamophobia has already an important number of definitions trying to clarify this type of reaction towards Muslims and Islam in Western countries. Compared to anti-Semitism by some authors, reduced to fear‟s feelings towards the OtherMuslim by others, Islamophobia represents a preoccupation for the academic environment. Jocelyne Cesari stresses that academics are still debating the legitimacy of the term and questioning how it differs from other terms such as racism, anti-Islamism, anti-Muslimness and anti-Semitism (Cesari, 2006). Regarding the raisons motivating this feeling, Tzvetan Todorov in his book The fear of the Barbarians finds several explanations for what is called Islamophobia13 in Europe: (…) There are many reasons, some of them very longstanding, why Europeans reject Islam. Islam long appeared to be a rival to Christianity. Today, it embodies a form of religiosity from which Europeans have taken a long time to free themselves: the secular-minded thus reject it even more violently than do Christians. Muslim countries were colonized by European powers over several centuries; ex-colonists were forced to return home when decolonization occurred, filled with a feeling of both superiority and bitterness. Members of the formerly colonized populations are now coming to settle in the homes of their former colonizers, though not as colonists: how can this not lead to hostility towards them? (Todorov, 2010: 9). Putting Islamophobia in the Post Cold War era context and as immediate result of it, Mehdi Semati defines the concept in the following terms: Islamophobia is an ideological response that conflates histories, politics, societies and cultures of the 12 13 Elisabeth Bronfen, 1992: 183, quoted by Pickering, 2001: 47 Todorov is using this term for defining anti-Muslims feelings in Europe and West. 240 Middle East into a single unified and negative conception of an essentialized Islam (Semati, 2010: 258). The evolution of this feeling could be relevant enough for this research. In late nineties, including Arab stereotypes in media products was considered as attractive: “ it is the thing that is going to be most readily accepted by a large number of audience. It is the same thing as throwing in sex and violence when an episode is slow”, underlined James Baerg 14, Director of Program Practices for CBS-TV at that time. Besides all these, many scholars underlined the very tight relation between Arabs and Muslims image in Western countries and the official political attitude towards Islamic world as a whole or its different parts. Thus, argued Michael Suleiman, “the clash between the two sides (Arabs/Muslims and Americans/Occidentals) has been on the level of national interests as perceived by successive governments in the United States, on one side and advocates of Arab nationalism and radical Muslim fundamentalism on the other” (Suleiman, 1988: 3). Trying to find an explanation for the tremendous success of stereotypes in shaping the image of Islam, Mohammed Arkoun15 advances a very consistent formula – “ignorance institutionnalisée”, understood as a large phenomenon which is growing up with the total support of the two sides concerned, both Muslim and Western sides. Even good willing intellectuals make ideological confusions between Europe and West every time it comes to designate a common enemy16. After making a deep incursion in how Islam is taught in the American school, Susan Douglas and Ross Dunn (Douglas, Dunn, 2003: 52-53) pointed out that teaching Islam to young Americans is a relatively recent phenomenon. Moreover, the entire school curriculum, remark the two authors, made no more than passing reference to Muslims in history, in connection with the Crusades or the fall of Constantinople to the Turks. Until the 1970, in the American school curriculum the world history was defined largely as synonymous with the history of Greece, Rome, medieval Christendom, and modern Europe. After the 1970, Islam was included in school‟s curriculum, but in a way who encouraged 14 Quoted by Shaheen, 1997: 2 Mohammed Arkoun, Confluences, Hiver 1995-1996: 19 16 Je soutiens depuis longtemps que cette opposition désastreuse entre deux cultures, deux civilisations — dont les racines remontent à l'origine au même héritage grec et qui ont les mêmes références suprêmes —, est généré et encouragé des deux côtés par une forme d'ignorance institutionnalisée. Même les universitaires bien intentionnés acceptent l'amalgame idéologique et géostratégique entre l'Europe et l'Occident à chaque fois que l'Islam — ou l'Union soviétique pendant la guerre froide — est désigné comme "vis-à-vis (Arkoun, 1995-1996 :19) 15 241 miseducation about Muslim society and history. Multiculturalists argued that the curriculum should include Islam and other world religions, not because world history does not make sense without them, but because Muslims and others now form significant groups within the American population (Douglas, Dunn, 2003: 55). The review of the main school books and the information they contain about Islam leads the two authors to the conclusion that Islam is generally not interpreted as its adherents understand it but as the editors believe will be acceptable to textbook adoption committees (Douglas, Dunn, 2003: 59). Also, none of these books reflects the Muslim‘s belief that God is the source of revelation or the fact that Muhammad is not considered the first prophet of Islam (Douglas, Dunn, 2003: 62). Michael W. Suleiman remarks, after studying stereotypes about Muslims in American society in the past twenty-five years (Suleiman, 1988: 145), that to the most Americans the terms “Arabs” and “Muslims” are interchangeable. Thus, negative images about Islam are readily transferable to Arabs. Moreover, whenever there is a confrontation or a major conflict between a Muslim country and the West, particularly the United States, the results drive the Americans to direct their hostility not only to that particular Muslim country, but to Muslims and Arabs in general (Suleiman, 1988: 147). Suleiman denounces media ignorance which influence over the people common perception is indubitable. In CAIR‟s 2005 Poll on American Attitudes towards Islam and Muslims quoted by Parvez Ahmed (Ahmed, 2007: 18), almost 60% of respondents said “they are not very knowledgeable or “not at all knowledgeable” about Islam, while 10% among them said that Muslims believe in a moon God. Moreover, with 9/11 a radicalization of the American media happened and even a religious regain could be noticed during the years after, including here the Hollywood‟s productions. In this religious regained context, “American people believed that they have a holy mission to stand by their warrior president” (Liauzu, 2005: 35). III. The need to deconstruct the European intellectual construct of Islam 17 During a historical conversation with Mustapha Chérif, the philosopher Jacques Derrida refers to the need to challenge the so conventionally accepted contrast between Greeks, Jews, and Arabs (…). Furthermore, I wouldn‘t contrast the East and the West, especially when talking about Algeria. The Arab and Muslim or Arabo-Muslim culture of Algeria and of Maghreb is also a Western culture. There 17 The expression is due to Jacques Derrida; cf. Mustapha Cherif. 2008. Islam and the West: A Conversation with Jacques Derrida. Chicago: University of Chicago Press: 38 242 are many Islams, there are many Wests. (Chérif, 2008: 38). Unlike conservative scholars such Bernard Lewis and Samuel Huntington, Derrida and his interlocutor expressed their fully support for another categorization, placing themselves at the side of some progressive European and American scholars like Olivier Roy and Mahmoud Mamdani. They both agree the distinction Northern versus Southern instead of Islam and the West, meaning by that to interpret them as two parts of a geographical, ethnic, religious, and cultural unit (Chérif, 2008: xvi). In the same spirit, the prominent French scholar Jacques Berque dedicated his academic life to the idea of a necessary synthesis between the two side of the Mediterranean culture, both Northern and Southern (Chérif, 2004: 10-11). For the French scholar, it is not possible to ignore the Arabic Mediterranean dimension of the European Culture, especially for countries like France, Spain, and Italy. Moreover, Maghreb‟s countries cannot ignore the modern cultural acquisitions of the dramatic colonial period. Jacques Berque died in 1995, before the 9/11 attacks, with the conviction that confusion, mingled ideas and malevolent discourse to the Islam which became a daily basis preoccupation in some environments was going to produce a bigger damage than the violence itself 18. And more than that we have to stay away from the temptation of an apologetical approach, no matter which side we are, it was Jacques Berque‟ advice, and in the same time, the way in which he did his scholarly work. He blamed both the Islamophobia in the Northern part and the deformed religion intended such as refuge in the Southern side of the Mediterranean. A current observation I could notice as common idea for European writers whose preoccupations are related to define a new paradigm for Europe‟s cultural representations and its relations to the Other, it is the reevaluation of its cultural roots the way they were before the modernization‟s process. The French writer Serge Latouche 19 is firmly convinced that Europe has to step back and reread its cultural paradigm, which in this moment is more American than any time before, and rediscover its Eastern and Southern so particularizing dimensions. 18 Le recul des études orientalistes, islamisantes et arabisantes dans les écoles et universités, l‘absence de l‘étude pluridisciplinaire du fait religieux, la faiblesse des contacts entre les gens des savoirs et les élites scientifiques du Nord et du Sud sont parmi les signes inquiétants qu‘il nous faut corriger, sinon les bouleversements, les changements et les transformations se feront de manière incontrôlée et négative (Chérif, 2004: 16-17) 19 In his book L‘Occidentalisation du monde. Essai sur la signification, la portée et les limites de l‘uniformisation planétaire. Paris: Editions La Découverte. 2005: 22 243 IV. Who speaks about Islam after 9/11? After 9/11, scholars in Islamic field had to face a series of accusations to side with the US and West‟s enemies. Visit an American university, however, and you‘ll often enter a topsy-turvy world in which professors consider the United States (not Iraq) the problem and the oil (nor nukes) the issue, wrote Daniel Pipes20 in an article published on November, 12, 2002. Daniel Pipes raises some questions on the academic behavior of some important professors who currently had an antiIraqi intervention‟s position. Why have university specialists proven so inept at understanding the great contemporary issues of war and peace, starting with Vietnam, then the Cold War, the Kuwait war and now the War on Terror? So, mainly, Daniel Pipes argues that American scholars are fighting academically against America‟s interests and the society should be more careful to the “longterm effect of an extremist, intolerant and anti-American environment on university students”. Martin Kramer‟s attacks are more questioning than that, because he calls in question an entire school, the American and Western Middle East School and its scholars. Published by Washington Institute for Near East Policy, a well known think-tank in Washington DC for its neoconservative Zionit political orientation21, in 2001, Martin Kramer‟s book “Ivory Towers on Sand. The Failure of Middle Eastern Studies in America” advances serious accusations towards American scholars specialized in Middle East matters. If one had read only the analyses of academics over the last two decades, one would have concluded that Islamic movements were moderate forces of democratization, and that ―civil society‖ was about to sweep away authoritarian regime, says Kramer. The author finds MESA, the Middle East Studies Association, the largest and most prominent professional organization of scholars of the Middle East, with its over two thousand members a completely inutile organism spending a lot of money for huge and irrelevant annual meetings and programs (Kramer, 2001: 8-15). Kramer‟s critique is orientated also to the way in which American scholars invented a new type of specialist in Middle East Studies‟ field, by living behind the old European tradition in this domain: American Middle Eastern studies proposed to leave the 20 Daniel Pipes, Profs who hate America in New York Post, November 12, 2002, www.danielpipes.org, 30/11/2011 21 The French writer Claude Liauzu properly remarks that, comparing with Europe, in the United States the Middles East studies‟ field is more related to the political environment, thus groups of scholars sustaining Israel or Palestinians are opposing to each other inside the American universities (Liauzu, 2005: 64). 244 demanding labor of philology and textual analysis to Europe. American academics would be social scientists; and also MESA‘s concept was purely American. In Europe, there had been ―learned societies‖ that admitted scholars and antiquarians, and published ―proceedings‖ (Kramer, 2001: 19). Following the line of the distinction Martin Kramer makes between Europe and the United States, in his Covering Islam, Edward Said remarks the existence of some differences between American and French reporting about Islam. He is referring to a very specific moment in which American and French media and media intellectuals were covering this subject, it was the moment of Iranian crisis, also one of the main stances participating into shaping the image of Islam in Western societies (Said, 1997: 127). I would go further in this comparative paradigm enounced by Edward Said and I would say that even after 9/11 when stereotypical images about Islam are generalized and universalized, we‟ll be able to identify two different models and two distinct backgrounds for the two countries, the United States and France, in referring themselves to Islam. Certainly, the two countries have very particularizing historical relations with Muslim world which I consider relevant in shaping the image of Islam among French and American societies. Moreover, the two countries are both democracies, but the emphasized elements inside their systems are different. Thus, Muslims‟ image in France has been shaped in relation with the principle of laicité which is the basis of French republic, while in America the very same image is shaping by emphasizing the religious side of the subject. In France, Islam is perceived as a danger for the state‟s laicité, while in America the main problem could be related to religious otherness, or in other words non-Christian and non-Jewish identity. Vincent Geisser22 considers that several patterns of ancient French politics towards the colonies are still influencing the contemporary approach in the debate about Muslims leaving in France, without being in the same time the only explanation for all the current representations and images on Islam or for the identity‟s crisis that the French Republic is passing trough right now (Geisser, 2007: 10). Here the comments of French political scientist Dominique Moїsi about these two Western cultural models are important: (…) if European are asking, ―who are we?‖, Americans are wondering ―what have we done to ourselves?‖. (…) Unlike Europeans, Americans are not preoccupied by the ghost of their past. America has always seen itself as a future, a project more than a history. (Moїsi, 2009: 109). 22 In his book Marianne et Allah. Les politiques français face à la question musulmane (Paris: La Découverte, 2007:7-8) 245 The new experts of the fear23 A current school of thought on stereotypes about Islam argues that contemporary security and strategic considerations, nor merely cultural and ideology, have a central place for America‟s and West‟s preoccupations towards Islam (Gerges, 2003: 73). Edward Said deplored the disappearance of the humanists in this field such as the great philologist Maxime Rodinson in France or the famous historian Albert Hourani in England. “Such persons are disappearing, however, and in both France and England, American-style social scientist is likely to replace them in the future. Similar scholars in the United States are known only as Middles east or Islamic experts” (Said, 1997: 153). Vincent Geisser suggests the term “islam sécuritaire” in his attempt to identify the subject of the new wave of experts (Geisser, 2007: 24). Nobody is talking anymore about the history of Islam or even more its literature or arts, but exclusively, or all most, about Islam as risk and threat to be taken into consideration for European or Western security. We can easily observe that the research‟s emphasis moved from the classic analysis‟ perspective into security studies area. The nature of analysis is also very different comparing with the classical one: is more generalist, and by being so more superficial, and oriented to security and diplomatic implications. Regarding the profile of the expert in Islamic matters, Vincent Geisser provides a comparative picture. Thus, whether the classic scholar was generally a scholar of literature or historian, the new expert in Islam is coming from academic fields as political sciences, sociology, and other domains related to them (Geisser, 2007: 30-34). Moreover, in France the classic institutions traditionally specialized in Arabic and Islamic culture, have to work nowadays in the shadow of some new or reformed academic structures like INHES (National Institute for High Security Studies) which dedicates its research‟s programs to topics as it fallows: Islam of suburbs, youth‟s Islam in France, and other several research‟ items as the content of Imams‟ sermons or Tariq Ramadan‟s double discourse. It is no doubt that the 9/11 attacks affected in a very profound way the Middle East studies area, in both the United States and Europe. Thus, after 9/11 the Bush administration steered clear of diplomats who were specialists in this area and suspected to have sympathy for the Islamic world (Liauzu, 2005: 70). In France, specialists in geopolitics and demography replaced very quickly in the media preference traditional scholars in Islamic studies. 23 Expression due to Vincent Geisser (2003: 54) 246 Looking at data on French public discourse, which I consider representative for a certain attitude towards Islam and Muslims, very “French”, but also very influencial within European discourse about Islam, I easily observed that experts in political sciences, history or demography are passing for the most credible authorities when it comes to Islam in generally, and, Islam in France, in particular. Michele Tribalat is a well known French specialist in demography and a permanent presence in French media shows when it comes to demographic matters. During the last decade, her preoccupations included Islam in French society such and its growing presence inside Western civilization. As a result of similar preoccupations Michele Tribalat published in 2002 La République et l‘Islam. Entre crainte et aveuglement, a book which benefited from excessive publicity in French mass-media comparing it with other scholarly products in the same field (Geisser, 2003: 49). Michele Tribalat‟s book warns against those who allegedly show a friendly and naïve attitude towards Islam especially in France but also in Western countries24. The author believes that the French society made a huge concession to Muslims immigrants by renouncing to assimilation‟s principle for the much more permissive integration system, for the sake of le droit à la difference. (Tribalat, 2002: 26-29). Tribalat deplores the disappearance of the assimilation social model in France that she describes as an utile and efficient concept (Tribalat, 2002: 48). But, as I noticed regarding French intellectuals I studied for the current research, discussions about Islam are always put in relation with the laicité‟s principle and its intangible dimension. Time and again, French elites are accused to not react, to be passive, to abandon the struggle for a laic society for the sake of Muslims rights25 (Tribalat, 2002: 67-70). Within this discussion about how France is throwing away her most important principle for the sake of Muslim immigrants, the author points out the danger of revisiting the laїcité low, adopted by the French parliament in 1905 and considered the basis of the French Republic. The struggle for maintaining the principle of laїcité seems to be the biggest provocation that French society has to face. In this occasion, the author thought useful to denounce a series of myths about Islam considered an explanation for its 24 Ce livre n‘a d‘autre ambition que de nous dégriser d‘un engouement exagéré pour l‘islam, produit d‘une représentation magnifiée de cette religion …il y a en France un aveuglement enthousiaste à l‘égard de l‘islam (Tribalat, 2002: 11-13) 25 Par lâcheté ou pour des raisons idéologiques, la France a consenti à divers arrangements conduisant à une laïcité à géométrie variable dont les musulmans intransigeants ont su tirer profit. Une adhésion purement formelle aux valeurs républicaines les autorisent à déclarer désormais l‘islam compatible avec un simulacre de laïcité (Tribalat, 2002 : 107). 247 incapacity to integrate laic values. The short presentation of some important moments in Islamic history is all most hilarious by the simplistic and non persuasive way in which they are portrayed. It is not difficult to notice that “media commentators” in both Europe and the United States are related and interconnected to each other within an international media network. Thus, French intellectuals are usually quoted in American media as Wall Street Journal, and are generally a well known public presence, such Bernard-Henri Levy and others. If in the United States, this network has grown up around Wall Street Journal, Fox News, New York Times and some important neoconservative think-tanks such the Investigative Project on Terrorism run by Steve Emerson or Washington Institute for Near East Policy whose the most vocal member seems to be Martin Kramer or Daniel Pipes‟ Middle East Forum or Pamela Geller‟s Stop Islamization of America, in France there is a series of journals and TV channels which are hosting the so-called antiMuslim commentators, beginning with the satiric journal Charlie Hebdo and going on with Le meilleur des mondes‟s Journal and TV station France Inter and several top shows in other TV French stations. Moreover, there is a number of publishing houses in both America and France giving preference to anti-Islamic or anti-Muslim publications. Names like Daniel Pipes, Steven Emerson, Martin Kramer, Robert Spencer, Pamela Geller or Bernard-Henri Levi, Oriana Fallaci, Philipp Val, Caroline Fourest and others are related to each other not only by their ideas about Islam and Muslims, but also by a media network within which they express themselves. For instance, Robert Spencer is, among other, associate director of Pamela Geller‟s organization “Stop Islamization of America”, and in her public interventions Pamela Geller is frequently quoting Robert Spencer‟s books on Islam. In the French side, it is notorious the friendly relation between Bernard-Henri Levy and Philippe Val who is managing France Inter TV station. A closer look to these relations between our media-intellectuals gives us the whole picture about this type of public discourse. Moreover, it couldn‟t be just a coincidence that Pamela Geller, for instance, and other American intellectuals whose products I studied for the current research are closely related to the Neoconservative environment. 248 26 V. Patterns in writing and talking about Islam Generalization: mixing the things and maintaining confusion. “Generalities are impossible to verify” said Edward Said denouncing an unacceptable generalization27 in presenting Islam in Western public debate. Though, Islam is represented as the unique regulator of Islamic societies from top to bottom, furthermore the redundant dār al-islām is depicted as a single, coherent entity. Also, a very common assertion on talking about Islam is that in this particular system church and state are really one entity (Said, 1997: xvi). Jack Shaheen writing about stereotyping in American popular culture ascertains that “despite nearly 40 percent of America‟s Muslims are AfroAmericans, though they belong to various persuasions, media systems tend to identify them all with Louis Farrakhan‟s radical Nation of Islam and wrongly perceive that they are all his followers (Shaheen, 1997: 7). Mehdi Semati also remarks that the American Muslims are perceived as a unique entity: Although the population of Arab Americans is highly diverse in terms of national origins and ancestry, religious background, and phenotypes (even if Hollywood has reinforced the ‗brown‘ skin type), a monolithic image of Arab Americans in the popular imagination persists. The diversity is even richer for Muslim Americans: although two-thirds are foreign-born, their national origins represent eighty different countries, from Asia, Africa, and the Middle East, with 77 percent of them holding US citizenship. Again, despite such diversity, the monolithic image of Muslim Other persists in the popular and political discourses (Semati, 2010: 264-265). John L. Esposito points out that “the US perception of a monolithic Islamic threat often contributes to support of repressive governments in the Muslim world (Esposito, 1999: 208). Interviewed television show “Great decisions”28 by Peter F. Krogh, Professor John L. Esposito had to face all the stereotypes thrown off by the common sayings about Islam (Islam is a culture of people‟s humiliation, authoritarian and non-democratic system). John L. Esposito 26 In this study I mapped out only the most repetitive images of a long series of clichés and stereotypes I identified during my research. 27 The assumption is that whenever there is an explosion or some horrible act, an Arab or Muslim has something to do with it. I have never seen such mass hysteria and incompetence in my life Said‟s declaration was set down after Oklahoma City explosion, April 19, 1995 (quoted by Shaheen, 1997: 36) 28 Cf. “Great decisions”, 1994, “Islam and Politics”, MPG4 H.264 in Digital Georgetown, Georgetown University‟s Library (accessed in December 2011) 249 pointed out that when it comes to generalizations about Islam, only bad examples are used so that the Iranian model is extended to the other Islamic countries rather than referring to the Malaysian Islamic model and its democratic quest, argued Professor Esposito. Usually, Islam is presented as an unique entity, dominated by an unique political and cultural frame. So, no distinction between ayatollah Khomeini and Bin Laden, neither between Yasser Arafat and the 9/11 attacks. Oriana Fallaci wrote immediately after 9/11 in her notorious book The Pride and the Rage: “After Khomeini‟s death millions of Muslims have chosen Ben Laden as their new leader (Fallaci, 2002: 29). Moreover, the Italian writer is convinced that the Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat is the main responsible for 9/11 (Fallaci, 2002: 64) Islam also is terrorism, and it seems Fallaci doesn‟t any doubt about this: “Behind every Islamic terrorist there is an Imam and Khomeini was an Imam (Fallaci, 2002: 37). Talking about Nazi roots of the Arab and Muslim extremism, the French philosopher Bernard Levy make no difference between various Arab movements, mixing Hezbollah‟s ideology with Osama bin Laden‟s political attempts, the Palestinian and anti-Semitic Hamas and finally the Algerian Islamic Salvation Front (Levy, 2008: 172). In fact, the whole chapter of his book “Left in dark times” – Fascislamism - is meant to spread confusion over the Islamic/Islamist movement. In the same manner, the American blogger Pamela Geller explains during an interview for RT Washington DC station, on August 3, 2010 that jihad is the common motivation for all world‟s Muslims, whatsoever it would be their ethnic definition, from Bosnia‟s Muslims to China‟s Muslims. She ignores national and ethnical motivations for all these conflicts, because they are irrelevant. “You have to read the Koran and the Hadith to understand this violence”, said Pamela Geller to her audience. Semantic relativity. We have to name the enemy properly! It is the motto, around which David Horowitz Freedom Center has organized “The Islamo-Fascism debate” in February, 2008 29. We are here in the presence of what the specialists in pragmatics are identifying as discursive conflict. The purpose of the discursive conflict is to attain a victory of interpretation and ensure that a particular viewpoint triumphs (Bhatia, 2003: 3), therefore it is of a great importance the way in which we are naming things, realities and images. Linguistics are teaching us 29 Cf. Jamie Glazov, The ―Islamo-Fascism‖ Debate: www.front.pagemag.com, posted on February 8, 2008 250 that naming is to identify an object, remove it from the unknown, and then assign to it a set of characteristics, motives, values and behaviors (Bathia, 2003: 6). Let‟s have an example: Cordoba House‟s Project. Probably, just a few people remember what represents Cordoba House‟s Project, because its name was rapidly changed to Ground Zero‟s Mosque. Bloggers like Pamela Geller and Robert Spencer, founders of the group “Stop islamization of America” were quickly renamed the project by a term with strong impact on the American public – Ground Zero‟s Mosque. The story attracted national media attention: the ―media circus‖ started moving along the story of a Mosque right in the heart of Ground Zero a lot more dramatic than the one of a cultural center, only ―near to‖ or ―two blocks away‖ from Ground Zero. Understanding the potential buzz of this ―slogan‖, local and national politicians, started using it as a political campaign issue for the 2010 midterm elections, remarks Laura Cervi30. She is calling Ground Zero Mosque‟s episode a non-event, a story completely constructed, because media built a mosque instead what was meant to be an Islamic cultural center in low Manhattan. Mohammed Arkoun pointed out that a dangerous semantic disorder reigns over the public discourse when it comes to Islam (Arkoun, 2006: 21). Probably the richest public discourse in confusion and semantic relativism was promoted by the former American president George W. Bush. Motivating the famous “war on terror”, he was placing both Iraq and al-Qaeda in the very same conceptual category by lexical descriptors associated with the concept of terrorism. Though, the remarkably different aims and aspirations of a national state (Iraq) and a militant terrorist group are erased and both entities are categorized in relation to terror. In his October 2, 2002 discourse president Bush said: “We must confront both terror cells and terror states” (Hodges, 2011: 72), doing by this a very strong campaign for a gradual preparation of the public for a future intervention against Iraq by focusing on the terrorist threat both groups‟ and states‟. Another method intensely used in public discourse is erasing: “in general, erasures are forms of forgetting, denying, ignoring, or forcibly eliminating those distinctions or social facts that fail to fit the picture of the world presented by an ideology31”. 30 Laura Cervi & Juan Francisco Martínez Cerdá. 2010. Islam and Europe: The role of media. The ―Ground Zero Mosque‖ in Italian and Spanish News Outlets. http://www.mediamilion.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/130Com-laura_juanfran.pdf 31 Susan Gal. 2005. „Language Ideologies Compared: Metaphors of Public/Private”. Journal of Linguistic Anthropology 15 (1): 23-37, quoted by Hodges, 2011: 74 251 Islam and its incompatibility with democratic values. Robert Spencer (2003: 22) explains why Islam represents a danger for the Western civilization: “ the dominance of Islam may erode many of the civil and human rights we now take for granted. Remember – Islam is not merely a religion; it is a social and political ideology that makes sharp distinctions between Muslims and non – Muslims, particularly regarding right and status”. Whom those are familiar with Bernard Lewis‟s ideas (Lewis, 2002) about how Islam can‟t be compatible with democratic values will be able to recognize the same paradigm of understanding and explaining Islam. Nowadays, this stereotype became very popular in social currents. Thus, democracy and Islam are as close to each other as Paradise and Hell, argued Anwar Ibrahim, while democracy is associated with rule of low, Islam is invariably linked to the rule of violence (Ibrahim, 2007: 38). Moreover, the historical partition Islam traditionally has operated between Muslims and non – Muslims (also known as Kuffār) is mapped out carefully. Perpetuating old medieval clichés about Islam: religion of violence. Violence is likely the most frequent image about Islam in our times, but also Islam in history. There is a struggle in all the references I searched out for this research for showing the propensity of Islam for violence. Michele Tribalat, for instance, refers in sustaining her theory about Islamic native violence to Edgar Quinet who, she argues, we cannot accuse of Islamophobia 32 (Tribalat, 2002: 78). In his book Onward Muslim Soldier, Robert Spencer makes a natural connection between Muhammad‟s appetence for fighting in wars and the modern jihad oriented mainly against the West and its democratic values. Muhammad didn‘t just teach about jihad. He led Muslim armies in battle against non-Muslim foes, such that by the end of his life Islam was virtually the sole religion in Arabia and Muslim armies were in o position to threaten the great empires of Byzantium and Persia (Spencer, 2003: 151). All long the fifth chapter of the book, Spencer makes a really fearful portrait of Muhammad, especially that this portrait stands on Islamic reliable sources such Bukhari‟s Hadith collection and Sahih Muslim. Thus, the writer finds out that the prophet of Islam himself took part in nineteen battles, or, according to his biographer Ibn Ishaq, Muhammad participated in twenty-seven raids and battles, ordering and directing all of them and actually fighting in nine (Spencer, 2003: 151). 32 Sa révélation éclate dans le bruit des batailles, son paradis est à l‘ombre des épées, il emprunt ses paraboles au mouvement des combats ; pour sacerdoce il a le cimeterre ; son livre de la loi est la proclamation du Dieu des armes (Tribalat, 2002 : 78) 252 A sample of perpetuating the image of innate violence of Islam came out again during the recent events in post revolutionary Egypt (October 2011). In an article published on his blog (called Hoeiboei) and taken into analysis by Arab – West Report33 (November 5, 2011), Dutch Arabist Hans Jansen states that the Copts who were killed recently in Egypt violated the laws of the Islamic Shari‟a. Why should we take into account Professor Jansen‟s blog? Because “ the arguments of Jansen are important since he knows Islam and Islamic scriptures well. He translated, for example, the Qur´an in Dutch and wrote numerous scholarly but also populist books on Islam”, explain Arab-West Report readers. Two different cultures: our culture and “their presumed culture”… After 9/11, the culture was said to be the dividing line between those in favor of a peaceful, civic existence and those inclined to terror, remarks Mahmoud Mamdani (Mamdani, 2004: 18). It seems that culture paradigm of understanding the world‟s relations divided people in moderns and pre-moderns. Within this kind of discourse, Muslims were generally presented as they presumably made culture only at the beginning of creation, as some extraordinary, prophetic act. After that it seems Muslims just conformed to culture. According to some, our culture seems to have no history, no politics, and no debates, so that all Muslims are just plain bad (Mamdani, 2004: 18). The “pre-modern” qualification has two aspects: one explaining pre-modern as “not modern yet” and which encourages relations based on philanthropy, and the other aspect that translates pre-modern by “anti-modern” producing fear, and, consequently, preemptive police and military action, argues Mahmoud Mamdani (2004: 18-19). The second explanation seems to be prevalent over the first one at least for those who believe and sustain the West answers to 9/11 aggression. An interesting observation I made during reading the literature for the current study, it was to see the still ongoing medieval old paradigm in explaining Islam, at least when it came with Islam as religion or faith. Robert Spencer suggests in the introduction to his book Inside Islam: A Guide for Catholics “to provide the reader with an explanation of Catholic teaching on the topic, to illustrate more clearly the deficiencies of many Islamic beliefs” (Spencer, 2003: 17). Although the author is trying to assure the readers from the beginning that the book is written in fully respect of the Islamic faith, numerous attributes portraying Islam show us the opposite: “Islam is the religion of more than billion of people on earth – a far cry from its humble and obscure beginnings in seventh-century 33 http://www.arabwestreport.info/publishers/arab-west-report, published November 5, 2011 253 Arabia” (Spencer, 2003: 19). By using a range of adverbs discretely placed beside nouns such Islam, Muhammad et cetera, Spencer throws a shadow of misbelieve over the Islamic faith: “Allah supposedly tells Muhammad‟s followers that – your companion is not seized with madness” (Spencer, 2003: 49). Moreover, Spencer (2003) is continually underlying the simplicity of Islam‘s teachings, which induce a inferior looking over it, for instance: “the simplicity of Islam is attractive to people”, or “in an information age such as ours, a religion that confidently teaches simple and clear beliefs is going to have the competitive edge over religions that timidly present vague or relevant assertions (…)” (Spencer, 2003: 21) or “In sharp contrast to the multifaceted complexity of Christian theology, Islam is a religion of simplicity. When trying to win converts among the Christians, Muslims frequently make use of the simplicity as a key selling point” (Spencer, 2003: 27). Muslims as demographic threat. One of the major themes used to identify Islam‟s threat to Europe and West generally is its demographic dimension. Very influencial news papers in both Europe and the United States are repeatedly take into discussion this subject usually quoting specialized opinions. The information about demographic trends for Muslims living in France is not presented in a neutral way, but always compared with “us”, Catholics and Protestants. Their number is growing, ours don‟t, in other words, very soon France will lose her identity and her historical definition. The French political scientist Dominique Moїsi makes a logical liaison between Western fear and others, new-comers‟ overwhelming demography: the fear of the Other grows out of demography and geography. ―They‖ are too numerous and without hope where they are. ―We‖ are too few and so wealthy where we live. The more we need them for the growth of our economies, the more we reject them emotionally on cultural, religious and racial grounds (…) Fear of the Other expends to include actual conquest by the Islamic world, the possibility that Europe will be demographically and religiously conquered by ―them‖ and transformed into ―Eurabia‖ (Moїsi, 2009: 102-103). The necessary opposition “us”/ “them” is accentuated by negative emotion: they become more and more like a plague which imperils our monuments, our art masterpieces, our history‘s treasure, our Western culture (Fallaci, 2002: 38). Meanwhile, Muslims are becoming more and more until their number can‟t be counted. In recent years, Islam has grown rapidly in Europe – especially 254 in such historically Christian nations as Germany and France – and in North America as well. The United States now has more Muslims than Presbyterians. Every month, new mosques are being established in all parts of the country, particularly in our major cities (Spencer, 2003: 16). The author is cleverly creating a really frighten image of Islam who is growing and growing, taking over Christian world. It is also, we have to admit it, another medieval persistent image of Islam. On the other hand, there is a strategy very well planned by the so-called Moderate Islam, which would be a “disguise for the real and unique form of Islam”, as told us the French journalist René Marchand 34 who strongly believes that Islam‟s secret purpose is the conquest of Europe. The secret war against Europe is not anymore a classic fight, but is a subtle demographic strategy trying to bring here as many Muslims as it‟ll be possible accordingly to a very efficient plan. Thus, in a few years, Muslim population leaving in Europe will be able, accordingly to the number of this religion‟s fellows, to impose the sharia low as juridical system which basically means the dhimmi status for all Christians and Jews. If you don‘t believe me, just take the metro!, finally argues Marchand. In his book La France en danger d‘islam. Entre jihād et reconquista the French author warns his readers over the number of Muslims living in France which exceeds by far the Muslim population in Lebanon, Libya, and Palestine (Marchand, 2002: 9). Moreover, European architecture is changing its classical landscape under Islamic intrusion into the Western society. Thus, several intellectual talk about transfiguration of Western public space by the Islamic style of the constructions that have built up during last years: “Our civilization dies out and we end up with the minarets”, remarks Oriana Fallaci in The Pride and the Rage (Fallaci, 2002: 129). The debate around “Cordoba Center” project and especially the opponents of this construction used time and again a series of stereotypical images about the „canker” of architectural public landscape. During a TV show on Fox New, in May 16, 2010, Pamela Geller explained to the audience the meanings of building a mosque in the Ground Zero area: it is about symbolism of such a contraction, she said. We know from history that Muslims usually build mosques in territories they conquered, as a sign of their supremacy added Pamela Geller during one of her interventions on CNN, June 6, 2010. Street prayers in Paris and other cities in France determined similar reactions from Caroline Fourest who interpreted it as the most clear expression of Muslims secret desires: to occupy public space, to 34 in his intervention during the Assises Internationales sur l‘islamisation de nos pays, an European meeting discussing Islam in Europe, that took place in Paris, on December 18, 2010. 255 bring religion into public secular place specific to France (Boniface, 2011: 105121). VI. Some final considerations As first remark, I noticed (along with a series of other scholars) a profound change of experts‟ profile in Islamic field comparing to the classic traditional specialist. Thus, if the classic specialist in Islamic field was generally literate or historian, and an Arabic speaker, after 9/11 the expert in Islam is focusing exclusively on contemporary matters with immediate political consequences, and he is a political scientist, sociologist, demographer or philosopher, without any academic credentials in Islamic field. They occupied the public debate about Islam exploiting the vacuum created immediately after 9/11 while Western media gradually turned its back to professors, academics and other specialists coming from American and European universities, considered as having lost their credibility. Thus, the rise of a new wave of experts led to highlight new fields within Islamic area studies which gave prevalence to the security approach of the subject. As several specialists remarked, security dimension on studying Islam turned to be prevalent in the injury of Islamic literature, history and arts. Moreover, the rising of the new generation of experts seems to be concomitant with a systematic denigration of traditional specialists in Islam who “have proven so inept at understanding the great contemporary issues of war and peace” (Daniel Pipes, 2002). Secondly, public discourse about Islam after 9/11 has a generally negative approach within a negative discourse frame. Old clichés about specific negative otherness represent common loci for discourses I analyzed, concomitant with a new added security dimension. The lack of accuracy and intellectual probity is probably the most frequent remark that could be done regarding the wide majority of public discourse on Islam. Purposely or not, the things are mingled and the confusion maintained: Islam is represented as the unique regulator of Islamic societies, while categories as dār al-islām depicted as a coherent, undistinguished entity. From Bosnia to China, Islam should be the only right simplistic, and general explanation for a very large number of conflicts, especially because “generalities are hard to verify”, as Edward Said ironically remarked. Generalities, confusions, semantic relativism, dangerous semantic disorder in Muhammad Arkoun‟s terms reign over the public discourse when it comes to Islam. New and confusing concepts are invented; Eurabia and Islamo-fascism or Islamo-nazism are just a few examples, other categories like crusade, infidels, 256 jihād, dhimmī are semantically reactivated. All these characteristics among other make media intellectuals discourse very contestable, despite its large audience. Associated with pre-modernism and, consequently with violence and obscurantism, Islam is supposed to spread fear within a civilization built on fear, as Tzvetan Todorov characterizes Western civilization. All kinds of fear. Probably the most fearful stance of Islam is its overwhelming demographic tendency in Western countries. Specialists in demography publish tremendous statistics confirming the continuous growth of Muslim population leaving in Western countries. Occupying Western public space represents another concern and constant preoccupation for media intellectuals‟ discourse. European architecture is changing its classical landscape under Islamic intrusion into the Western society. Mosques built everywhere in the heart of the Christian cities, street‟s prayers in Paris in the absence of mosques became a symbol of the Islamic aggression towards Western public space (Fallaci, Geller, Fourest, Spencer) and its tendency to occupy it. Associating Islam and violence is a common idea, activated anytime it is needed for denouncing “the so-called moderate Islam” (René Marchand), concept used as disguise for the real and unique form of Islam-the extremism. This image of Islam as religion of violence gets back from the medieval era a cultural schema according to which, as Albert Hourani remarked, Islam is a false and violent religion, Allah is not God, Muhammad was not a prophet, and Islam was invented by men and propagated by the sword. It is really interesting to notice that for both Islamic and Western sides, this kind of cultural discourses use the same series of historic referents by way of Other‟s exclusion. The general frame for the growth of such images is drawn by what Muhammad Arkoun called “institutionalized ignorance” of the Western societies or in other words by a generalized mis-education of the people. This lack of information or mis-education creates a vast place for media manipulation campaigns. 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The inner spiritual growth is a “path of sounds” (disharmonic and harmonic, reaching silence), similar to s}u>fi> theories. This study is analyzing the metaphor mainly in H}ayy ibn Yaqz|a>n and the Risa>la al-t}ayr, but also in shorter epistles like that on Love, on the Nature of Prayer a.o.. Besides the Aristotelian “materialistic” view on sounds, adopted in Kita>b al-s#ifa’ and other medical, logical or psychological texts, a point of view of “Oriental” (Persian, Indian – but also Hebrew) inspiration is emerging here. Keywords: Ibn Si>na>, al-rasa>>’il al-mas#riqiyya, s}u>fi>, H}ayy ibn Yaqz|a>n , Risa>la al-t}ayr, sounds, silence. Ibn Sīnā, Abū „Alī al-H}usayn ibn ‛Abd Allāh, known also as al-Šayh~ alRa’īs (The Leader among Wise Men) and H{uğğat al-H}aqq (The Proof of Truth), born 980 near Buh~āra>, d. 1037 in Hamadān, had, as he is pointing out himself in his autobiography, a thorough education, learning from an early age the Qur‟ān and many other different sciences, such as grammar, logics, mathematics, physics, metaphysics, astronomy, medicine. His father, an adept of the Ismā‟īlī doctrine, invited to his house famous scholars for discussions on spiritual questions; thus, the future philosopher was impregnated from childhood on by these s}ūfī points of view1. Ibn Sīnā‟s mastery of medicine took him around on many travels and made him a favorite of wealthy rulers, but this was also the cause of his misfortunes. While living days of fame, becoming a wazīr at the court of Šams al-Dawla, he acquired many enemies, was imprisoned, lost his fortune, but even in prison he didn‟t give up his philosophical and mystical endeavors. Thus was he admired as a “man of remarkable concentrative powers” (Nasr 1964: 22), not affected by the external disturbances of the world. As stated by Ibn Sīnā himself at the end of his Epistle on the Nature of Prayer, he wrote a text sometimes “in half an hour”, or simply on the road from one village to another2. 1 For a recent translation in English of the Avicennian biography see Gohlmann 1974. Cf. Gohlmann 1974, Bibliography of the works of Ibn Sīnā written by his discple al-Ğuzğānī: “The Najdt, which he wrote on the road to Sabur Khwast while he was in the service of `Ala alDawla.” (97) ; “An essay on Foreordination and Destiny, which he wrote on the way to Isfahan 2 261 Among his hundreds of works there are treatises and epistles on nearly every subject of his times, philosophical, scientific and religious, including some risalāt on his “Oriental philosophy” (al-h}ikma al-mašriqiyya) – harmonizing reason and revelation in the tradition already begun by al-Kīndī and al-Fārābī, continued afterwards by Suhrawardī and Mullā Sadra. But Ibn Sīnā was versed also in poetry and music, writing compositions (of which three survived), these being the musical sections of al-Šifā’3, al-Nağāt4, written in Arabic, and Danisnamah (Dāneš-nāma) 5, written in Persian. He was the first to give the Persian name of musical modes, describing harmony and “mensural music”. Ibn Sīnā followed al-Fārābī in his musical theories, relying on the Pythagorean scale, but also studying the theory of music performed in Persia during his time (which was based on minor and major tierces and on thirds or quarts of tone, encompassing 17 or 24 different sounds in a scale) (Chottin 1960 b: 470-473). Concerning the musical modes, Ibn Sīnā counted 16 modes, dividing them in 7 “hard” and 9 “soft” ones (Chottin 1960 a: 535). My thesis is that, along other metaphors (like those of light and ascension) used in the rasā’il al-mašriqiyya (Ibn Sīnā 1999), epistles aiming, as stated already by Corbin (1954), the “initiation in the Orient”6, Ibn Sīnā has used also symbolic references related to sounds and silence. The “path of truth” is backed by a “path of sounds”: starting with noises (of the human world), passing through disharmonic sounds – finally reaching harmony, whispers and silence. The truth can be found where no words are spoken. Silence is a metaphor for one‟s true nature, facing the ultimate reality where the contact with the divine can be achieved. By symbolizing the inner growth with disharmonic and harmonic sounds, Ibn Sīnā is relying on s}ūfī theories, thus being closer to the Buddhist viewpoints on silence. In H}ayy ibn Yaqz}ān, a šayh~ bahiyy7 (a wise man resplending divine glory the human mind put in motion by a celestial revelation) is addressing “us” (the during his escape and flight to Isfahan” (111). Also, at the end of the Epistle on the Nature of Prayer (Risa>la fi> ma>hiyya al-s}alwa) Ibn Sīnā is stating himself that he has written the text “in less than half of an hour, exposed to distractions” (Ibn Sīnā 1999, III: 24). 3 Kita>b al-S#ifa>’ (The Book of Healing), Ibn Si>na>’s major work on philosophy, written between 1014 - 1020. Critical editions of the Arabic text have been published in Cairo, 1952–83, originally under the supervision of I. Madkour. Simone van Riet edited at Leiden, Brill, between 1972-92 the Latin Mediaeval translations of al-S#ifa>’. 4 Kitāb al-Nağāt (The Book of Salvation), translated by F. Rahman (Ibn Si>na> 1952). 5 Danishnama-i ‘ala’i (The Book of Scientific Knowledge), edited and translated by P .Morewedge (Ibn Si>na> 1973). 6 Orient: the world of the Angel, orienting towards the world of ideas, towards the Active Intelligence or reason, al-‘aql al-fa‘‘āl . 7 Ibn Sīnā 1999, I : 1-22. 262 audience) in a lahğa maqbūla (a language that we received). He is pointing out that on the road of error the human soul is accompanied, among other misleaders, by a liar, who mingles false and true. A lie is told in a disharmonic language, proper to the human world, which is a place of devastation, filled with trouble, wars, quarrels, tumults (mašh}ūna bi-l-fitna wa-l-hayğ wa-l-h~išām wa-l-harağ ). We are summoned not to believe it and to choose the way to the Truth. The climates (aqālīm) of the guided journey are including different Planets. One of them, Venus, a “kingdom” whose inhabitants are beautiful and charming, is also the limit of disharmony, because these inhabitants are using musical instruments (mazāhir). From now on, the road is paved with sounds of harmony. Terrestrial Angels (al-malā’ika al-’ard}iyyūna) are guiding the travellers to the spiritual ones (al-rūh}āniyyūna), beyond the celestial spheres (’ilā mā warā’a al-samā’), where the Greatest King (al-malik al-’a‘z}am) is reigning – generous, bright, mild, merciful. It is a dazzling place of silence and peace – the word “peace”, expressed as a wish to the pilgrim setting out on the Quest, being also the last word of the story. This itinerary of the soul, imitating the celestial Ascent (mi‘rāğ) of the Prophet, as a journey through different cosmological spheres, could be also recognized in the stages (maqāmāt) of the s}ūfī initiates (‘ārifūna), on the t}arīqa. The Epistle of the Bird (Risāla al-t}ayr)8> is using, for the spiritual journey, the symbol of the bird, including the mysterious bird Simurgh (Persian) 9 or ‛Anqā‟ (Arabic)10, from which souls are emanating. (Sometimes this “phoenix‟ has been compared to the dove in Christianity, as incorporating the Holy Ghost). The world of sounds and silence is quite visible. A troop of birds is caught in the desert by hunters: they siffled (s}afara) and lured them into snares. Overwhelmed by anguish and pain, the birds call, cry and shout (verbs of sorrowness and fright, of disharmonic noise and earthly suffering). Yet they try to discover a ruse to free themselves. Some find a way to leave the cage, but still with the ends of cords attached to their legs. One of the prisoners, who accepted for a longer while this fate, is reminded by the already flying birds that, if he has a strong desire for liberty, this could be reached. He is freed with the help of the other “brothers”, but the hobble is still clinging on his foot. In order to find further help, the birds fly over a rank of mountains, resting a while on the seventh peak, which is luring 8 Ibn Sīnā 1999, II: 27- 32. Frequent symbol in the Persian literature, known especially through the recitals of al-Ġazālī and Farīd al-Dīn ‛At}t}ār (Mant}iq al-t}ayr, Language of the Birds, title suggesting a verse of the Qur’a>n. ) 10 Black 1997: 425 is outlining Ibn Sīnā‟s interest in the ontological and epistemic status of fictional forms, “that is, of forms which can be entertained by the mind yet have no counterpart in extramental reality, such as the mythical ‘anqā‟ muġrib or phoenix”. 9 263 with beautiful gardens and “streams of living water”, with “lovely songs, ravishing instrumental music”. This is the moment when earthly disharmony is beginning to be replaced by celestial sounds. Yet, still afraid of dangers and enemies, the birds continue their flight to the eight peak (like the Eighth Heaven in H}ayy ibn Yaqz}ān, or in the story of the Mi‘rāğ), where other birds, singing charming melodies, will be guiding them to the supreme King. The King is described as emanating shining splendor (like in H}ayy ibn Yaqz}ān). The birds, dazzled, find no words to express their complaints. Such is the end of the Quest – in perfection and silence. But after a while, recovering from their mute adoration, the travelling birds manage to ask protection from the King, imploring him to remove the fetters from their feet. His answer is that “nobody can do it, except those who tied them”. The King promises to send along a Messenger, who will be asking the hunters to unbind the remaining ties. This is the Angel of Death, messaging the liberation of the souls from their bodies. The path of sounds, leading to silence, is in this epistle obvious: from the frightened, unhappy shouts of the imprisoned “earthly” birds, to the harmony of celestial music discovered on the eighth mountain and up to the moment of mute revelation in the presence of the supreme King. Harmony is one of the central themes in the Epistle on love (Risāla fī-l ‘išq). More than the love of the animal soul, who intends only the procreation of the species and admires only the outer beauty, the thinking soul (al-nafs al-nāt}iqa) loves “the harmony of a composition, for instance harmonious sounds”11 and the inner beauty. It strives to obtain the love of the First Cause (al-ma‘lūl al-’awwal), or First Intelligence (al-‘aql al-’awwal), thus achieving perfection. The whisper of an inner voice is mentioned in Risāla fī sirr al-qadar12, where, again, H}ayy ibn Yaqz}ān is guiding the reader as a sage explaining the role of destiny, punishment and award. The inner and outer levels of devotion are present in sound-and-silence metaphors also in the three other epistles included by Mehren among the Avicennian rasā’il al-mašriqiyya: the Epistle on the Nature of Prayer (Risāla fī māhiyyat al-s}alwa), the Book on the Meaning of the Pilgrimage (to Holy Places) and how it is Influencing us (Kitāb fī ma‘nā al-ziyāra wa kayfiyya ta’tīrihā) and the Epistle about how to be not Frightened by Death (Risāla fī daf‛i al-ġamm min al-mawt)13. For example, the prayer has an inner and an outer part, the outer one using sounds (words) and movements, thus expressing an intention, the inner one 11 Ibn Sīnā 1999: III: 31 Ibn Sīnā 1999 : IV, 5. 13 All included in Ibn Sīnā 1999: III. 12 264 being silent, free of any determination from space, time, change. And the pilgrimage is putting the human beings in silent contact with the souls of the dead, which are pure, like celestial Intelligences, impregnating the visitors with their spiritual power. Conclusion Besides the Aristotelian “materialistic” view on sounds, adopted by Avicenna in Kitāb al-šifā’ and other medical, logical or psychological texts, where Ibn Sīnā claims that vocal sounds signify the “affections” (or, in Arabic, “traces” or “impressions„, […]’ātār allatī fī al-nafs)14, what is emitted vocally (bi-ls}awt) signifying what is in the soul, there is another point of view on sounds and silence, emerging from his mystical writings, proving the “Oriental” (Persian / Indian – but also Hebrew) inspiration. The spiritual path is a way from disharmony (noise) to harmony and its supreme expression, silence. Music is more than a cathartic method; it is a way to reach the supreme truth. Silence is not only the inner, psychic balance, but the moment of divine revelation. It is the moment when the spirit, liberated from noise/ darkness/ hatred/ lie finally reaches the mute contemplation of light, love, truth. Bibliography Black, Deborah. 1997. „Avicenna on the Ontological and Epistemic Status of Fictional Beings‟. Documenti e studi sulla tradizione filosofica medievale 8. 425-453. Black, Deborah. 2009. „Intentionality in Mediaeval Arabic Philosophy‟. Later Medieval Perspective son Intentionality. Special issue of Quaestio 10. 65-81. Chottin, Alexis. 1960 a. „La Musique Arabe‟. Roland-Manuel (ed.) : Histoire de la Musique, Des Origines a Jean-Sébastien Bach. Paris : Gallimard 1960. I. 526-544. Chottin, Alexis. 1960 b. „La Musique Iranienne‟. Roland-Manuel (ed.) : Histoire de la Musique, Des Origines a Jean-Sébastien Bach. Paris :Gallimard 1960. I. 453-525. Corbin, Henry. 1954. Avicenne et le récit visionnaire. Teheran: Département d‟Iranologie de l‟Institut franco-iranien ; Paris : Adrien-Maisonneuve. Gohlmann, William E. 1974. Sīrat al-šayh~ al-ra’īs, The Life of Ibn Sina, A Critical Edition. Albany, New York: State University of New York Press. Ibn Sīnā. 1999. Traités mystiques d’ Abou ‘Alī Al-Hu}sayn Ibn ‘Abd Allāh Ibn Sīnā ou Avicenne. Texte arabe accompagné de l‟explication en français par M. A. F .Mehren. Fascs. I-IV. Leiden: Brill 1889-1899. 281. Repr. Frankfurt am Main : Inst. for the History of Arab.Islamic Science 1999 (Islamic Philosophy. 35). Ibn Sīnā. 1952. Avicenna’s Psychology: An English Translation of Kitab al-Najat, Book II, Chapter VI with Historical-philosophical Notes and Textual Improvements on the Cairo Edition, ed. by F. Rahman. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ibn Sīnā. 1973. The Metaphysics of Avicenna, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Nasr, Seyyed Hossein. 1964. Three Muslim Sages: Avicenna – Suhrawardi - Ibn Arabi. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. 14 See Black 2009: 69. 265 266 CROSS-CULTURAL AWARENESS AND READABILITY: TEACHING MAWSIM AL-HIJRA ILĀ AL-ŠAMĀL Irina Vainovski-Mihai “Dimitrie Cantemir” Christian University, Bucharest Abstract. Drawing on the concepts of emic and etic approaches to a cultural system, the paper puts under scrutiny a fragment of Al-T{ayyib S{ālih}‟s novel Mawsim al-hijra ilā al-šamāl. It will show that, as a novel of inward journeying, it can be a good starting point for a discussion on cultural awareness in the encounter with the Other and, therefore, a most significant and useful text to be included in the curriculum for teaching Arabic language and literature. The mediation between the author‟s construction of the text world and its reconstruction by the readers, as the paper will show, may become a valuable cross-cultural experience. Keywords: emic, etic, cross-cultural teaching, Arabic literature, text world, cultural geography I. Introduction Al-T{ayyib S{ālih}‟s novel Mawsim al-hijra ilā al-šamāl1 has been the topic of a large critical literature and is still revisited for the investigation of its various sides: the East-West encounter and its “metonymies”, as Muhsin Jassim AlMusawi labels such themes as gender relations, assimilation and resistance (Musawi 2003: 175); tradition and modernity; the bond that links an author‟s biography to his fictional texts; the theme of homecoming. Relying on many of these topics of inquiry, my paper brings forward a domain in which scholars rather seldomly referred to Mawsim al-hijra‟s significance and possible use: literature teaching within a curriculum for foreign languages and literatures. The purpose of my paper is to explore the way in which teaching a foreign literature may and should make the students acquainted with a different cultural environment and help them acquire a balanced standpoint between an insider view and an outsider one, between the view of the Other and the Self. In other words, in 1 Although it will not be congruent with my transliteration of the fragments quoted in Arabic, I shall further use for the name of the author and the title of the novel the transcription generaly known and used by famous scholars who dedicated their lives to the study, critical evaluation, and translation of Arabic literature, like Roger Allen, Paul Starkey, M. M. Badawi, and Rasheed ElEnany. 267 providing them a symmetry between the study of language and the study of culture through the texts produced by this culture, students can be helped into building a cross-cultural awareness. To a certain degree I shall draw on my personal experience with BA level students at a university in Bucharest who learn Arabic as a foreign language. Most of the researchers in the field of pedagogy who examined the relationship between literature and language teaching have articulated four benefits of literature: 1. literature helps developing linguistic knowledge both on usage and use level; 2. literature may enhance students‟ motivation for learning a foreign language; 3. literature has the potential to increase learners‟ understanding of the target culture; 4. literature may help develop skills of cognitive and critical thinking. (Yuksel 2009:31) My paper is divided into three parts. The Introduction is followed by a section which brings forward the notions that constitute the theoretical basis of the investigation: literature as a cultural immersion; the emic as the insider‟s perspective on a cultural system; the etic as the outsider‟s perspective on a cultural system. The end of the section discusses the relevance of these ideas in teaching a foreign literature and charts some implications for the cross-cultural education in general. The third section puts under scrutiny Mawsim al-hijra and some aspects of the text world created by Al-T{ayyib S{ālih} in this novel. Although Romanian students have the novel available both in Arabic (the 1987 edition at Dār al-„awda) and in Romanian (At-Tayyib Salih, Sezonul migraţiei spre nord, trans. Maria Dobrişan, Editura Univers, 1983), for the purpose of my present essay, the references will be to the Arabic version, as well as the English one (Tayeb Salih, Season of Migration to the North, trans. Denys Johnson-Davies, Heinemann Publishers, 1969). My paper closes with some conclusions and remarks on the specificity of the novel and its role in promoting cross-cultural cultural awareness. It is out of the scope of this scholarly work to offer a comprehensive evaluation of the novel‟s main themes. The methods my analysis will apply are those of a deconstruction defined by the theories of reading as “close reading”. In proposing a close reading of a fragment (more precisely, the introductory exposition) and in referring only to some of the novel‟s themes, I have in view the possible ways to overcome the tensions of readability and cultural interpretation, or, as Wolfgang Iser puts it, the tensions in the “liminal space resulting from something being transposed into something else” (Iser 2000: 7). 268 II. Theoretical Underpinnings 1. Literature as a Cultural Immersion It is a common knowledge that the images of the Other are rather fictional constructs of the mind than truthful, objective representations. The awareness for Self and Other is a prerequisite for cultural competence (as the ability to interact with people of different cultures) and empathy. University students acquire communication skills not only through the foreign language courses, but also by a direct immersion in the cultural environment of the Other through the mediation of literature. In general, the images of the Other are a conglomeration of different elements, of direct or implicit statements about a country‟s people, traditions, landscapes, with a tendency to contrasts. In light of this, the distance and the selfother dichotomy becomes pivotal in understanding national perceptions and representations (Leerssen 1991:127), keeping meanwhile in mind the linguistic and historical (ideological, socio-cultural) characteristics of the discourse. Literature teaching can play a major role in enriching the Self and in overcoming both language and cultural barriers, provided that the academic study of the texts has, if viewed in a Bakhtian perspective, a dialogic approach: it is related to the world of the reader, as well as to the milieu of the writer. Even more, a genuine cultural knowledge attained by means of studying literature sets aside exoticism as a mind- or evaluation-pattern. For, as Bakhtin muses: “Exoticism presupposes a deliberate opposition of what is alien to what is one‟s own, the otherness of what is foreign is emphasized, savored, and elaborately depicted against an implied background of one‟s own ordinary and familiar world.” (Bakhtin 1982:101) With this in mind, I shall sketch the two concepts which I shall apply to the cross-cultural teaching of literature. 2. The Emic and the Etic Perspectives The two terms were coined (in an analogy with “phonemic” and “phonetic”) by Kenneth L. Pike (Pike 1967), based on the observation that the cultural system of a society can be studied from the point of view of either the insider or the outsider of the respective system. Alan Barnard is summing up the distinction between the two approaches as follows: “An emic model is one which explains the ideology or behavior of members of a culture according to indigenous definitions. An etic model is one which is based on criteria from outside a particular culture. Etic models are held to be universal, emic models are culture specific.” (Barnard 1996: 180) 269 These distinctions, in relation to cross-cultural teaching of literature, imply that value judgments are rather often than not inappropriate if expressed from an etic standpoint. In a loose formulation, teaching a foreign literature becomes not only a boring, but also a biased endeavor when it is not achieved according to the specificities of the culture and the language which created that literature. It is the role of literature classes to guide students into obtaining a valuation from within. In this light, I consider that a foreign language teaching promotes techniques of communication, while a foreign literature teaching promotes cultural communication and understanding. Thus literature teaching dilutes to a certain degree the tension in the liminal space created by transposing the context of a literary text to a new context, that of reading and interpreting it within another culture. 3. The Relevance of the Two Concepts to Teaching a Foreign Literature From the two concepts as presented and discussed above we infer the indissoluble relation between culture and reading abilities. The cultural content of a text influences to a great extent the students‟ ability to understand it. The difficulties of a student in understanding a literary work depend not merely on the grammatical and the lexical level, but, to a crucial degree, on the cultural distance between the text and the reader. A good point in my argument is Iser‟s theory of “aesthetic response” or reader-response theory. (Iser 1978; Iser 1980) He stands among the first literary theorists who redirect the attention from the author to the reader. Iser does not put the question what is the general (and rather abstract) meaning of a text, instead, he is concerned with what a certain text means for a certain reader. Two further important questions emerge from this: what is the role of literature courses and what is the role of the teacher? Firstly, the teacher should introduce literature as a cultural experience rather than a mere linguistic one. Secondly, he/she should have always in mind that understanding the meaning of a text implies an interaction between the textual content and the reader‟s personal experiences. (Davis 1989: 422) In the same vein, Hans-Georg Gadamer notes that taste can be trained or improved trough “cultivation”. (Gadamer 1989:35) As long as “the validity of aesthetic judgment cannot be derived and proved from a universal principle” (Gadamer 1989:42), the task of the teacher of literature is to train his students into the aesthetic of the Other by mediating two cultural codes. By proposing a common standpoint between the culture of the 270 student and the culture that created the text, the teacher creates the opportunity of a meeting between the Other and the Self in a most valuable and enriching process called by Gadamer “the fusion of horizons”. (Gadamer 1989:306 ff.) The etic approach to the Arabic literary tradition cannot be avoided but it becomes often an obstacle in the consideration of the beauty and the meaning of a literary work. (Vainovski-Mihai 1997-1999:170) In general, the emic notion of adab is both wider and narrower compared to the etic notion of literature as belletristic verbal art (Holmberg 2006: 200). To give only one particular example out of those offered by Bo Holmberg: “(...) the conflicting opinions about the importance of the One Thousand and One Nights illustrate a significant aspect of every effort to write about the «literature» of a non-European tradition from a modern European standpoint. The etic understanding of (oral and) written texts in Arabic from a modern European view has to be distinguished from the emic understanding of the same material from within indigenous Arabic tradition.” (Holmberg 2006: 180) As Holmberg so aptly concludes with regard to Arabic literature, indeed, the etic approach cannot be avoided, but “it has to be paired with the awareness of the emic categories in question”. (Holmberg 2006: 180) III. The Text World “Pre-colonial as well as post-independence consciousness have also problematized issues of nationalism, identity and difference. However, nowhere have these issues been encountered with so much force and mastery as in Al-T{ayyib S{ālih}‟s Mawsim al-hijra ilā al-šamāl (...). The novel traces the protagonist's career as a brilliant Sudanese child, who studies in England as part of the imperial educational program to get him acculturated in the life and thought of Great Britain, so as to be among the native elite who can rule with a colonial frame of mind.” (Al-Musawi 2003: 195) As a novel of inward journeying, a strive of both the narrator and the protagonist to shape for themselves a sense of belonging, Al-T{ayyib S{ālih}‟s novel makes a good point for our discussion on the emic and the etic, from the authorial text world to the readerly reconstruction. With this in mind, I shall deconstruct in a close reading the title and the first page of the novel. For, as I shall argue, the former gives the clues to the interpretation of the whole text, while the latter, comprising the introductory exposition, provides the background for the tensions in the whole text. 271 1. The Title To start with, the very title of the novel needs an emic reading. As Muhammed Khalafalla „Abdalla explains („Abdalla 1999: 53-54), the NorthSouth divide or confrontation in Al-T{ayyib S{ālih}‟s works (referred to by literary critics as an East-West divide or encounter) can be approached, in fact, from four different axes. The first is the local. From the vantage point of the village, the other places, according to the natural boundaries of the Nile, are either up river (qiblī) or down river (bah}rī). The second axis, the riverine, is governed also by the flow of the Nile, but this time it spotlights the difference between the urban (with Khartoum in the south, upriver or the S{a„īd) and the rural (with the small village in the north, downriver or the Sāfil). The third axis, the regional one, is again a North-South divide determined by the Nile, but here the function is to hint at the political and cultural ties between upriver (ğanūb al-wādī) and downriver (šamāl al-wādī), where Egypt is situated. The forth axis, the global one, is the divide in which the Mediterranean serves as a boundary between Europe and the North (aššamāl) and Africa or the South (al-ğanūb). This divide is probably the main theme of the novel, concludes „Abdalla, but in exploring the other axes around which it can be approached, he gives credence to the idea that Mawsim al-hijra should be read more than once and each time in a different way. “Other readings can enrich the main theme rather than contradict or sideline it.” („Abdalla 1999: 54) And, I should add, by presenting the students „Abdalla‟s formulation of the four axes, I have the opportunity not only to draw their awareness to the implications of different standpoints, but also to make an excursion into the geography, history and politics of the region. 2. The Construction and the Reconstruction of the Text World At the outset, Mawsim al-hijra already contrasts two places, each of them a symbolic locus. The reader is helped into building a mental representation of the setting both physically objective and subjectively sieved through screens of identity and belonging. But is there a shift between the author‟s text world and the reader‟s mental reconstruction of this world? As with any fictional text, the reader‟s reconstruction is engendered by two elements: the completition of the information with what he already knows and the inference of what seems for him to be a logical string. They are exactly the elements which can create a tension in the liminal space which Iser speaks about. The teacher of literature can play an important part in keeping the transposition of something into something else at a short range by pointing to emic understandings. 272 In a maqāma style, Al-T{ayyib S{ālih} opens his narrative by addressing a supposedly audience (yā sādatī) to which he will describe the contrasts between two universes, the one, overseas and the one of his roots, his people, longings and dreams. The two spaces are depicted in terms of geography and communality. a. The Geography After seven years spent in Europe for studying, the narrator is returning to his small village at the bend of the Nile (‘udtu [...] ‟ilā ‟ahlī fī tilka l-qaryati s}s}aġīrati ‘inda munh}anā n-Nīl). Maybe the first remark would be that for researchers in literary history and criticism a cultural geography of a no-name village at the bend of the Nile in Sudan was not precise enough. Although the place remains anonymous throughout the novel, almost all critics and commentators place it on the map as Wad H{āmid. No need to note how this factual spotting restricts the wider encompassing emblematic space. Moreover, the issue of this namelessness has a special weight in the fragment I am discussing here. In its beginning, the novel contrasts settings with vague geographical boundaries but significant individual ones if we take into consideration the way they are presented. The small village at the bend of the Nile does not have a name, neither does the European place of scholarly expatriation, only later revealed in the narrative as England. For the moment, as far as the introduction goes, it is a land “whose fishes die of the cold” (tamūtu mina l-bardi h}itānuhā). It is this cold that makes the alien space different from the familiar one emotionally loaded by a warmth which makes homecoming to be felt as a though a piece of ice is melting in the soul (’ah{sastu ka’anna talğan yadūbu fī dah`īlatī, faka’annanī maqrūrun t}ala‘at ‘alayhi š-šamsu). Only that the land whose fishes die of cold should be read and imagined in an African emic perspective. Otherwise, a European reader would be rather surprised to find out, as the narrative goes on, that it is not about a Scandinavian country, but England. Not the same thing can be said about the fog which this cold country condenses between the estranged narrator and his family (qāma baynī wa baynahum šay’un mitla d{-d{abābi). On account of the “London fog” stereotype, the introductory exposition may give a good geographical hint. b. The Community Firstly, when looking into the elements that suggest the human environment of that chilly far away country we note that they are constructed on 273 two levels: an open-ended level and an implied one, both of them assigned a certain tension. Right in the beginning of the book the narrator evokes his homecoming after seven years during which he had learned many things, but also had missed many things. He leaves open to interpretations the explanation about what he was deprived of there. “That‟s another story.” – he says, eluding any detail, but suggesting that there is much more to this. (ta‘allamtu l-katīra wa ġāba ‘annī lkatīru, lākin tilka qis}s}atun ’uh`rā.) On the other hand, by literally expressing the feelings he has towards his own community the narrator implies if not a reverse, at least a different relation with the distant Other. He returned “with a great yearning of his people”, he “had longed for them, had dreamed of them” for seven years (‘udtu wa bī šawqun ‘az{īmun; sab‘ata ‟a‘wāmin wa ’anā ’ah{innu ’ilayhim wa ’ah{lumu bihim). Secondly, the way in which the community is named and brought into action needs a special consideration. For their cultural determination, these ingredients should be looked at carefully in order to drive the authorly text world closer to its readerly reconstruction. Initially, when the scene is focalized from afar, the community is circumscribed more broadly as kin, ahl (‘udtu ’ilā ’ahlī; bī šawqun ‘az{īmun ’ilā ’ahlī – emphasis mine) and when the perspective becomes gradually closer, the community is defined as a clan or sub-tribe, ‘ašīra (dif’u l-h{ayāti fī l-‘ašīra). Moreover, Al-T{ayyib S{ālih} impressingly manages to put in motion the joyful community. He builds in a few words a complex scene which, to be properly read, must be visualized and put into its cultural context. On his return, the narrator relates, the people of the village “rejoiced” and “made a great fuss” (farih{ū bī wa d{ağğū h{awlī). IV. Conclusions In proposing a close reading of the first passages in Al-T{ayyib S{ālih}‟s novel Mawsim al-hijra ilā al-šamāl, this essay attempted to show how a careful text reconstruction may reduce the cultural distance between the writer and the reader. The implications of the proposed findings are, no doubt, more far-fetching than the field of literature teaching, although my paper touched only on this. As a novel of inward journeying, Mawsim al-hijra has proved to be a good starting point for a discussion on cultural awareness in the encounter with the Other. I have put under scrutiny only the introductory exposition of the novel. Certainly, the next pages of the book comprise more clear-cut scenes that could fittingly sustain a debate on cultural encounters. Among the so many examples 274 that could be given are the questions asked by the villagers about Europe. They strikingly reveal an “Occidentalist” view, to use Ian Buruma‟s term. “They had asked me about Europe. Were the people there like us or were they different? (...) What did people do in winter? They say that the women are unveiled and dance openly with men.” (Season, 3) “Sa’alūnī ‘an ’Ūrūbā. Hal an-nāsu mitlanā ’am yah`talifūna ‘annā? (...) Mādā yaf‘alu n-nāsu fī š-šitā’i? Yaqūlūna ’inna n-nisā’a sāfirātun yarqus}na ‘alāniyyatan ma‘a r-riğāli.” (Mawsim, 7) I avoided such passages not only because there is a wealth of critical literature on them, but also (or maybe mainly) because I considered them too transparent to genuinely stand for a revelatory analysis. Therefore, I have chosen the introductory exposition for being subtle and more appropriate to a close reading. Bibliography Primary Sources At}-T{ayyib S{ālih} . 1987. Mawsimu l-hiğrati ’ilā š-šamāl. Beirut: Dāru l-„awdati. Tayeb Salih. 1969. Season of Migration to the North, trans. Denys Johnson-Davies. London: Heinemann Publishers. Secondary Sources „Abdalla, Muhammed Khalafalla. 1999. „Mus}t}afā‟s Migration from the S{a„īd: An Odyssey in Search of Identity‟, Edebiyāt. The Journal of Middle Eastern Literature 10. 43-61. Bakhtin, Mikhail. 1982. The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays, trans. Vadim Liapunov and Kenneth Brostrom. Austin: University of Texas Press. Barnard, Alan. 1996. „Emic and Etic‟. A. Barnard and J. Spencer, Encyclopedia of Social and Cultural Anthropology. London: Taylor & Francis. Davis, N. James. 1989. „The Act of Reading in the Foreign Language: Pedagogical Implications of Iser's Reader-Response Theory‟. Modern Language Journal 73:4. 420-429. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. 1989. Truth and Method, trans. J. Weinsheimer and D.G. Marshall. New York: Crossroad. Holmberg, Bo. 2006. „Adab and Arabic Literature‟. A. Pettersson (ed.), Literary History: Towards a Global Perspective, vol. 1, Notions of Literature Across Times and Cultures. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. 180-205 Iser, Wolfgang. 1978. The Implied Reader. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Iser, Wolfgang. 1980. The Act of Reading. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Iser, Wolfgang. 2000. The Range of Interpretation. New York: Columbia University Press. Leerssen, Joep. 1991. „Echoes and Images: Reflections upon a Foreign Space‟. R. Corbey and J. Leerssen (eds.), Alterity, Identity, Image: Selves and Others in Society and Scholarship. Amsterdam: Rodopi. 123-138. Musawi, Muhsin Jassim Al-. 2003. The Postcolonial Arabic Novel: Debating Ambivalence. Boston: Brill. 275 Pike, Kenneth L. 1967. Language in Relation to a Unified Theory of the Structure of Human Behaviour. The Hague: Mouton. Vainovski-Mihai, Irina. 1997-1999. „The Wandering European and His Egyptian Guide: On Arabic Story- and History-Telling‟. Annals of the Sergiu Al-George Institute of Oriental Studies. 161-171. Yuksel, Dogan. 2009. „Nature of Discussions in a Foreign Language Literature Class‟. Asian EFL Journal Teaching Articles February. 31-49. Available at http://www.asian-efljournal.com/pta_February_2009.pdf, accessed on September 29, 2012. 276 BOOK REVIEWS A Festschrift for Nadia Anghelescu, edited by Andrei A. Avram, Anca Focșeneanu, and George Grigore. Bucharest: Editura Universității din București, 2011, pp. 576. (ISBN 978-973-737-951-1) Reviewed by Daniela Rodica Firănescu, Dalhausie University, Halifax The collective volume with the title A Festschrift for Nadia Anghelescu contains the contributions of 39 authors whose articles are gathered in a book meant to be the expression of "deep admiration, gratitude and love" (as showed by the editors in the Foreword) directed towards Professor Nadia Anghelescu on the seventieth anniversary. Professor Anghelescu's activity within the Arabic Section of the Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures of the University of Bucharest lasted about half a century; for many decades, she was the Chair of the Arabic Section and the Director of the Center of Arab Studies. She supervised the research activity of numerous graduate students (not only Arabists) and many of them prepared and defended their doctorate dissertations under her guidance; some of those sign articles in this volume. The articles are disposed following the alphabetical order of the authors' names, and not grouped on topics or domains of interest, which are very diversely illustrated in the volume. Professor Anghelescu's principal domain of expertise is the Arabic linguistics, notably the study of the theories of the ancient Arab grammarians; some of the articles in the volume are devoted to this particular field. She also has essential personal contributions in general linguistics, and some of the articles in the volume are written by authors working in this broader domain. Other additional fields illustrated in the volume are the Arabic literature, Oriental languages (linguistics and literatures), Islamology, and others, as showed below. Due to the big number of contributors to the volume, and the great variety of interests expressed through the articles' topics, we are in the position to write a book report or a summary, not a critical review. We will group the contributions by domain or field of interest – with one single exception, that of the Romanian authors academically raised at the Romanian school of Arabic studies mentored by Professor Anghelescu, the authors who are grouped together regardless of their specific area of interest within the Arabic studies - objectively making more 277 extended halts to the articles dealing with topics that pertain to our own fields of work or competency (Arabic linguistics – Arabic dialectology included - and Arabic literature). We also highlight other domains - that are not effectively ours illustrated by significant contributions in this volume. In all the situations, we aim at indicating, at least briefly, the topic of the article or the title, and sometimes its main relevance to the field. The mentioning of the authors in enumerations follows their names' alphabetical order. A. Articles by Romanian scholars in the fields of general linguistics and linguistics of other languages than Arabic (English, French, Romanian, Chinese, Japanese, Persian, Hindi, Romani) There are outstanding linguists among the contributors, who collaborated for long years, in research and academic matters, with Professor Anghelescu, such as Andrei Avram ("La reduplication, la substitution par [m] de la consonne initiale et l'étymologie du roumain"), Larisa Avram ("Modals and the scope of the perfect"), Alexandra Cornilescu ("When syntax and semantics meet: Wager/estimate-verbs in English"), Alexandra Cuniţă ("De l'éducation par les langues-cultures: le vocabulaire des couleurs"), and Florentina Vişan ("The [Chinese]verb qi 'go up, rise' as a directional verb or motion path verb"). Other authors, whose articles range in the above mentioned category, are academics, working in fields related to various Oriental languages, who grew professionally and obtained the Ph.D. degrees under Professor Anghelescu's guidance as a scholar in general linguistics, such as Luminiţa Bălan ("Time and space metaphors in Chinese"), Cristina Ciovârnache ("Inchoative aspectualizers in Persian"), Anca Focseneanu ("The Japanese dvandva compounds and the coordinate words in Romanian idiomatic expressions"), Sabina Popârlan ("Référents nominaux ou verbaux et anaphores. Etude comparative en français, hindi et roumain"), Ruxandra-Oana Raianu ("Attenuation through affixes in Japanese"), Gheorghe Sarău ("Romani language standardization and teaching difficulties and solutions"). B. Comparative literature In the article "Short remarks concerning an astonishing similarity between two legendary characters", the distinguished Romanian linguist and Classicist Lucia Wald presents us with a comparative view upon the recurrent (in Classical literature) topic of 'sacrifice' illustrated by Iphigenia's figure in the Ancient Greek literature and the figure of a daughter of Jephthah, as recorded in the Old Testament. 278 C. Arabic studies authored by members of the Romanian school of Arabic studies, founded by Professor Nadia Anghelescu, "under whose guidance many of them have covered the long way from the learning of the Arabic alphabet to the defence of their PhD dissertation" (Foreword, p. 9). The following fields are illustrated: - 'Arabic linguistics': Grammatical Tradition, Standard Arabic Applied Linguistics, Dialectology, Literature, Cultural studies, Islamology. Various branches of the vast domain of the 'Arabic linguistics', which offers a generously large umbrella, are illustrated in the volume. Andrei A. Avram, pursues a constant course of interest, by observing in the article "A survey of reduplication in Arabic pidgins and creoles" the phenomenon of reduplication in six different Arabic pidgins and creoles, among them what the author identifies as "Romanian Pidgin Arabic". George Grigore describes in his article "Les principales caractéristiques de l'arabe parlé à Siirt (Turquie)" an Arabic dialect that has been given previously only little room in the specialized literature; this consistent study comes in addition to the important contributions to the Arabic dialectology he has made in the last decade through scholarly articles devoted to Mesopotamian Arabic dialects (mainly those spoken and Iraq) and full descriptions of some Arab dialects spoken outside the Arab world or "peripheral" (such as Mardini Arabic, to which the author has devoted a most-valuable monograph published in 2007). Professor Anghelescu's interest in fields such as the Arabic Grammatical Tradition, the typological analysis of Literary Arabic, Arabic lexicology, and Islamology, her passion for these domains and numerous related publications are, in general, echoed by some works of her disciples; in the particular case of this volume, there are five such examples. Ioana Feodorov offers thoughtful reflections upon a specific component of the Arabic lexis represented by the borrowings from contact languages as reflected in a Classical text from the 17th century ("Notes sur les mots non arabes dans le Voyage du Patriarche Macaire d'Antioche par Paul d'Alep"). Daniela Rodica Firanescu adds up a contribution to one of her interest areas – represented by reading and interpreting the linguistic theories of the ancient Arab grammarians by means of modern linguistic concepts elaborated in areas such as Semantics and Pragmatics – this time making a halt to the 13th century Arab linguist al-Sakkākī and his theory of semantic engendering ("Reading notes on Sakkākī's concept of 'semantic engendering'"). 279 Adrian Macelaru, pursuing his scholarly interests, looks comparatively to some grammatical features in Literary Arabic and other Semitic languages, this time analyzing "The /u/-vowel of the Semitic verbal prefixes as a mark of a high degree of event elaboration". An in depth look at the category of 'aspect' and the grammaticalization process undergone by specific verbs in Literary Arabic is to be found in Ovidiu Pietrăreanu's article "Some considerations on aspect and grammaticalization in Literary Arabic". In the field of Islamology, Laura Sitaru's article "Contemporary myths about Islam and their role in shaping the image of the Western Muslim" offers a lucid and penetrating analysis of the mythification of Islam and Muslims, in various forms, a trend that has been manifest in the West through historical periods, and is amplified nowadays by means of the sophisticated mass media. - Arabic literature: translation studies; interpretative translation. Arab cultural studies. In the article entitled "Equivalences sémantiques dans les traductions en français et anglais du poème 'Al-Ḫamriyya' d'Ibn al-Fāriḍ" Georgiana Nicoarea analyzes the semantics of the vocabulary related to wine in a famous Classical Arabic poem, comparing the Arabic original to some of its versions realized in French and English. As a skilled and renowned translator of Classical Arabic literature into Romanian, who has largely contributed to granting the Romanian public access to the Arabic literature, Grete Tartler offers in the volume an additional illustration of her consistent work in the field, this time by offering her version in English of a poem by Abū Nuwās ("Youth, the Horse of Ignorance: Interpretation of a poem by Abū Nuwās". In her study – suggestively entitled "A pre-history of Orientalism: Herodotus' and Strabo's image of Arabia" - Irina Vainovski-Mihai leads the reader through a passionate imagologic journey that shows how Arabs and their land were seen by "Others" long before the birth of Orientalism and the theories on alterity. D. Scholarly international contributions to Arabic studies, in various fields. As the editors indicate, "besides former students and colleagues from Romania, a number of internationally acclaimed specialists in Arabic linguistics 280 and literature contribute to the present volume, in confirmation of the academic recognition of Nadia Anghelescu in both Europe and the Arab World" (Foreword, p. 9). Their precious contributions (for their majority, linguistic studies) belong to various fields: a) – b) The Arabic Grammatical Tradition (a) and Arabic linguistics (b) a) In the article "A 7th -8th H. century controversy: Ibn al-Aṯīr on Naḥw and Bayān", Ramzi Baalbaki offers a thorough, pertinent reading and interpretation of fundamental linguistic concepts, such as "grammar" and "rhetoric", as viewed by one of the leading figures of the Arabic Grammatical Tradition, in the lineage of his many outstanding contributions to the field, and at the same high level of knowledgeability and scholarly refinement characteristic to his works. On a similar note, Michael G. Carter approaches another key topic – indicated in the title of his article "Indirect questions and reported speech: A problem for Arabic grammatical theory" – that preoccupied the ancient Arab grammarians, starting with Sībawayhi (to whom he has devoted many of his scholarly very significant contributions), making halts to various important grammarians, and scrutinizing, besides linguistic texts relevant for the examined topic, the status of the indirect questions in the Qurʼān and Ḥadīṯ. A third article adds a solid link to the chain of golden contributions dealing with the Arabic Grammatical Tradition: Jean-Patrick Guillaume's "Le «syndrome 'akalū-nī l-barāġīṯ» et les ambiguïtés de la tradition linguistique arabe" that deals with another first rank topic, that of the verb-subject agreement in Classical, as well as Modern, Standard Arabic. The next precious link in the chain is offered by Pierre Larcher, a leading scholar of the Arabic "linguistic archeology", who extends here - through the article "Un texte arabe sur le métalangage" - his well known preoccupation for the Arabic meta-linguistics, by having under his particularly inquiring, sharp examination – to which he has accustomed the readers - an excerpt from a 14 th century text pertaining to the domain of "the sources of jurisprudence", written by al-Asnawī. The quintet is completed by the contribution of Arieh Levin with the article "The meaning of the syntactic technical term al-juzʼ " which focuses on the concept of 'indispensable part of the sentence' at the Arab grammarians, observed in its evolution over four centuries (10th - 14th) of Arabic linguistic thought. b) A second series of articles deals with topics related to the examination of linguistic facts and phenomena, mainly characteristic to Classical and Modern 281 Standard Arabic (with the mention that some authors, as we indicate, do refer as well to Arabic dialects). Both authors of the first two articles mentioned here indicate their shared opinions with Professor Anghelescu with respect to the topics they treat. Georges Dorlian ("L'arbitraire du signe en question" looks closely, and comparatively, at the notion of "arbitrary of the linguistic sign" in general linguistics developed in Saussure's tradition and in Arabic ancient and modern linguistic thought. The modalities in Standard Arabic (Classical and Modern) – a field in which Professor Anghelescu has published highly appreciated studies – is the topic dealt with in Gunvor Mejdell's article "Lost in translation of modality - Some problems of transfer between Arabic and English modal systems", a topic that the author connects with pertinent questions and suggestions related to the translation from Arabic into English of specific texts particularly affected by the discursive modalities, such as the diplomatic texts. With Giuliano Mion's study - "Open questions on stress in Arabic: Some socio-phonological interpretations" – the reader is introduced into the realm of a relatively less consistently approached in Arabic studies, though very important phenomenon: that of the 'stress' in Modern Standard Arabic and in various Arabic dialects (with focus on Egyptian, Yemeni, and Moroccan). A very thorough identification, classification and observation of the encompassing category of "connectives" (exhaustively described by the author) in Modern Standard Arabic is to be found in Tsvetomira Pashova's elaborated study "Arabic connectives marking the antecedent as a cause: A feature based account". Focussing mainly on Classical Arabic (especially the Qur'anic text), André Roman's article "Les morphemes de temps /?ida:// /?id/ et l'expression de la surprise" examines the two particles in their syntactic behavior and specific structures, as well as in relation to the time of the event expressed by the verb. On different note, or in a tangential field, Andrzej Zaborski's article "Beja Hadarab and Hadendowa – A common etymology" inquires the etymology of the words indicated in the title, as well as of other Beja or, more generally, Cushitic words. c) Arabic (applied and theoretical) dialectology In a very thoroughly elaborated study, entitled "Faits de grammaticalisation et processus narratives. Les verbs ʻse (re)dresserʼ et ʻprendreʼ dans l'arabe mauritanien", Catherine Taine-Cheikh – well known for her invaluable contribution to detangling the intricate mechanisms involved in the 282 process of grammaticalization in Arabic dialects, particularly the Mauritanian dialect ḥasaniyya – analyzes the complex modals announced in the title by observing their behavior and discursive meanings mainly in ḥasaniyya, but also in other various spoken varieties, which allows her to formulate significant reflections that would range in the field of Arabic comparative dialectology. Kees Versteegh, as a leading thinker of the broad domain of Arabic linguistic studies, realizes in the study "Between typology and genealogy: The classification of Arabic dialects" an exceptional, synthetic overview of the two main theories related to the classification of the Arabic dialects on typology and genealogy criteria, questioning both of them and launching the challenging idea (announced in previous studies of his) of the 'convergence' process (as opposed to the "so ingrained" hypothesis of the Proto-Arabic) undergone by spoken varieties of Arabic, the idea that he considers liable to produce, if embraced, the necessary "history of the linguistic contacts of speakers of varieties of Arabic" (p. 549). d) Arabic literature In the article "La Nahda a-t-elle des aspects spirituels?", Jean Fontaine formulates his own insights and interpretations of the renaissance (Nahḍa) period in the Arab culture, with focus on the spiritual aspects (religious beliefs included, and treated more in depth) and their role in the ensemble of this specific stage of the Arab culture, commonly considered revolutionary and enlightening, but scrutinized in this article and – based on the author's arguments - considered questionable. Hilary Kilpatrick's article "Poetry on political events in the Mamluk and early Ottoman periods" presents three poems composed by three Arab Christian poets who lived in different parts of the Arab world, in different centuries (13th, 16th, 17th), poems reflecting difficult times of historical trial for the Arabs; the author points out to the advantage of an inclusionary point of view when analyzing literary texts in their larger context, regardless of the author's religious confession. Gregor Schoeler reflects upon the life and literary legacy of one of the Arabic Classical literature's "pillars", in an article entirely devoted to him as indicates the title: "The poet and prose writer Abû l-ʻAlâʼ al-Maʻarrî and his Epistle of Forgiveness". e) Islamology This field is illustrated by Yordan Peev's article "La réforme en Islam. Courants politiques et religieux" which offers a synthetic view over a century of 283 what the author considers as being a continuous Reform in Islam; the survey covers the main trends, ideological groups, and branches, with focus on their stance towards secularisation. In conclusion: this is a festive, celebratory volume, not only by allusion to the alleged purpose of rendering homage to the distinguished scholar of Arabic studies, Professor Nadia Anghelescu, but also in the figurative sense, that of happily bringing together articles that raise up to the highest scholarly standards. 284 Laura Sitaru, Gândirea politică arabă. Concepte-cheie între tradiţie şi inovaţie (Arab Political Thought. Key concepts between tradition and innovation). Iaşi: Polirom, 2009, pp. 320. (ISBN 978-973-46-1494-3) Reviewed by George Grigore University of Bucharest In Arab political thought. Key concepts between tradition and innovation (Polirom, 2009), Laura Sitaru, Arabist at the University of Bucharest, undertakes a comprehensive and well documented analysis of the socio-political history of the Arab-Islamic world, over a period stretching from the early Arab revival in the second half of the nineteenth century, until the late twentieth century. The main purpose of this study consists of analyzing the link between historical realities and modern expressions of framework forms, which are currently operating the ArabIslamic society. From the very beginning, it should be highlighted the fact that any monograph with such a theme has to face a number of difficulties created by a fluctuating and improper terminology, as well as by false analogies that this terminology sometimes suggests. It is enough to remember the effort made by experts in political history to remove the ambiguity of word (and of the concept itself) "nationalism" in Europe. Furthermore, the transposition of this terminology in a specific context such as the Arab-Islamic one will trigger problems of great complexity. Regarding the nationalism we just referred to, as expected, in the Arab space we encounter an ambiguity of terms defining it, due to the fact that these terms come from a large inheritance stretched in time and space. Given these considerations, Laura Sitaru directs her research in three areas: language, history and political science, plans which provide her with the necessary tools to approach the object of research, managing in this way to provide a coherent analysis of an area widely recognized as being very difficult to theorize. In the first part of the book, the author reviews the various forms of governance in the Arab-Islamic world, from Medina state established by Prophet Muhammad himself, going on with the institution of the caliphate and ending with current forms, monarchies or republics. All these forms of state, according to the author, are one way or another influenced by the Islamic state model from the dawn of Islamic civilization. An important part of the book is devoted to a comprehensive critical study that includes the forms of Arab community regrouping from 'tribal asabiyya to wataniyya 285 or "territorial nationalism" promoted by Arab and Renaissance precursors to qawmiyya or "ethnic nationalism", inspired by the European model. Regarding qawmiyya, it is possible to refer to a variety of Arab nationalisms to the late twentieth century, as shown by the author herself. Besides nationalism, the study analyzes other key concepts, such as democracy, secularism, freedom, influenced, as Laura Sitaru notices, by the two dominant trends in the Arab-Islamic world: adopting Western experience and connecting to modernity and respectively, diametrically opposite, the exclusive recovery and recirculation of past values from Islamic heritage. The last part of the book consists of a substantial chapter devoted to a linguistic analysis of Arab political vocabulary. As Laura Sitaru notes, Arabs have great admiration for the word and all manifestations of the word from poetry to political speech has a magic effect on them, that “permitted magic" sihr halal, that Muslims authors are speaking of. As highlighted in the book, in both pre-Islamic and Islamic Arab society, "he, who has the gift of beautiful speech, enjoys respect and appreciation." Based on these considerations, the author highlights the fact that the term for leader is one most often derived from words containing the meaning "to speak", such as amīr, sultān, sayyid. This study is continued by a diachronic presentation of linguistic Arab political terminology, pointing out the changes of meaning experienced from the first attestations until modern times. Moreover, a special part of this approach is dedicated to borrowed terms, and a more subtle one consisting of some revisited terms. Elaborated from a triple interdisciplinary perspective, Laura Sitaru`s book is characterized by an excellent capability of recording and synthesizing data provided both by classical and modern Arabic texts, forming a rich corpus, as direct source of extracting the features of Arab political terminology. Finally, the equivalence proposed by the author for the key concepts of Arabic terminology in Romanian represents a very valuable reference for those interested in Arab political culture. We value the author`s thorough knowledge of Arabic and Romanian semantics required for such an approach, as well as the efforts made in order to carry out this difficult task, given the inconsistencies between Arab and European, respectively Romanian political culture. It is worthy to notice that this equivalence of key concepts, supported by extensive examples, it is a first, at least for the Arab-Romanian area, paving the way for other works devoted to this problem of great complexity. 286