Ballad of the Oud

by John Herlihy

The sad music of the oud flows on the waves of ancient seas,

The notes float through the air on the breath of fresh breeze.

Such sadness is heard in the strings, so many years of sorrow,

An ancient instrument with roots in grief here on earth below.

Through an extensive range and cultural heritage, the oud sings,

Known as king of the instruments and the instrument of kings.

Invented by Lamech, a descendant of Adam, so legend claims,

Fashioned from the body of his deceased son and his remains.

The myth of the biblical Lamech directly links the oud to grief,

Grieving his beloved son, the image of the oud provided relief.

The ballad of the melancholy oud both song and mythic story,

That appeals to the heart of the ages with its honorable glory.

Rosettes over the sound holes on boards of cedar or spruce,

A rounded pear-shaped body as if resembling a bowl of fruits.

Fruits sublimely did emerge as music to reach expectant ears,

Music that would often reduce the listeners to streams of tears.

A short neck to play notes with more fluid, voice-like motion,

Microtones as in-between notes expressive of musical devotion.

The oud played with Sufi poetry as symbol of the soul’s yearning,

Found in courtly love poetry as the instrument of pure longing.

Medieval times witnessed the oud to represent cosmic mystery,

The more enlightened time of the Renaissance sought harmony.

The oud took its shape during the Islamic Golden Age of theory,

Scholars and musicians refined its design to enhance musicality.

Each region of the globe produced its own enriching style, tone,

Drawing from the essence of their own culture, light from bone.

The Arabic oud of the desert sands warmer and deeper tonality,

The Turkish oud in the land of the sultans penetrating musicality.

The Persian Barbat, an ancient lute, played with distinctive clarity,

The oud of Andalusian Spain an instrument focused on its tonality.

Present-day music incorporates the oud with jazz, flamenco,

Eliciting harmonies from strings by the subtlety of virtuosos.

Listen to this music of the ages as if being lost in its valuation,

As in intricacies of oriental carpets one loses concentration.

Music to echo our ancestral sentiments as peals of thunder,

As Adam’s ancestor sings a simple ballad of magical wonder.

As a lover of ancient cultural lore, I take up the oud in hand,

I have never played the oud before, I accept your reprimand.

Still, I have now completed this treasured poem that I wrote,

Who is there to stop me from playing this one exquisite note.

To pluck a single string, as if plucking a flower, with such care,

To listen to and to witness the sacred musicality of its prayer.

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Tuesday 23 December 2025