Hafsa bint al-Hajj al-Rukuniyya

Ḥafṣa bint al-Ḥājj ar-Rakūniyya (, born c. 1135, died AH 586/1190–91 CE) was an aristocrat and poet of 12th century Granada, recognized as the last major female poet from al-Andalus and one of the most celebrated female poets of Andalusi literature. She is also remembered as a teacher in the Almohad court; Ibn al-Khatib later described her as ustādhat waqtihā ( 'the professor of her time'). She was the daughter of a Berber man, al-Hajj ar-Rukuni, a Granadan, who does not seem to have left traces among biographers. This family was noble and rich. We can therefore consider the father of Hafsa a notable figure in the city. With this, Ḥafṣa enters the historical record more clearly; the relationship seems to have continued until Abū Jaʿfar's execution in 1163 by Abū Saʿīd ʿUthmān, son of Abd al-Mu'min and governor of Granada: Abū Jaʿfar had sided with his extended family, the Banu Saʿid, against Adb al-Muʿmin.

Ḥafṣa later became known as a teacher, working for Caliph Abu Yusuf Yaqub al-Mansur to educate his daughters in Marrakesh. She died there in 1190 or 1191. She is perhaps one of the most celebrated Andalusian female poets of medieval Arabic literature.

Poetry Around 60 lines of Ḥafṣa's poetry survive, among nineteen compositions, making Ḥafṣa the best attested of the medieval female Moorish poets (ahead of Wallada bint al-Mustakfi and Nazhun al-Garnatiya bint al-Qulai’iya). Her verse encompasses love poetry, elegy, panegyric, satirical, and even obscene verse, giving her work unusual range. Perhaps her most famous exchange is a response to Abū Jaʿfar, here as translated by A. J. Arberry:

Abu Jaafar the poet was in love with Hafsa, and sent her the following poem: God ever guard the memory Of that fair night, from censure free, Which hid two lovers, you and me, Deep in Mu’ammal’s poplar-grove; And, as the happy hours we spent, There gently wafted a sweet scent From flowering Nejd, all redolent With the rare fragrance of the clove.

High in the trees a turtle-dove Sang rapturously of our love, And boughs of basil swayed above A gently murmuring rivulet; The meadow quivered with delight Beholding such a joyous sight, The interclasp of bodies white, And breasts that touched, and lips that met.

Hafsa replied in this manner:

Do not suppose it pleased the dell That we should there together dwell In happy union; truth to tell, It showed us naught but petty spite. The river did not clap, I fear, For pleasure that we were so near, The dove raised not his song of cheer Save for his personal delight.

Think not such noble thoughts as you Are worthy of; for if you do You’ll very quickly find, and rue, High thinking is not always wise. I scarce suppose that yonder sky Displayed its wealth of stars on high For any reason, but to spy On our romance with jealous eyes.