With Al-Mutanabbi

I do not know, what did Al-Mutanabbi make of me, or what I made of Al-Mutanabbi, for I wanted to go with him slowly and speak to him or speak about him with fatigue, but I hardly began dictation until I was pushed to him, and pushed into him forcefully, I could not resist him nor refuse him, and if I run in dictation or race in it the fastest race so that my companion does not follow me except with great effort and hardship, and if I dictate in the morning and my hope in the evening, and my hope between that, and I hate comfort most intensely, and I hardly turn away from Al-Mutanabbi to anyone else or to anything other than his talk, until I reach where I reach, I find myself exhausted, to the utmost exhaustion, and I find that I have not said anything.