The Butterfly's Burden: Mahmoud Darwish

Mahmoud Darwish
The Butterfly’s Burden
Translated by Fady Joudah

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THE BUTTERFLY’S BURDEN

English Translations of Books by Mahmoud Darwish
POETRY
Why Did You Leave the Horse Alone?
Translated by Jeffrey Sacks (Archipelago Books, 2006)
Unfortunately, It Was Paradise
Translated and edited by Munir Akash and Carolyn Forché
(University of California Press, 2003)
The Adam of Two Edens
Edited by Munir Akash and Daniel Moore
(Syracuse University Press and Jusoor, 2000)
PROSE
Memory for Forgetfulness

Translated by Ibrahim Muhawi (University of California Press, 1995)
The Butterfly’s Burden
POEMS BY
Mahmoud Darwish
Translated from the Arabic by Fady Joudah
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Copper Canyon Press

Copyright 2007 by Mahmoud Darwish
Translation and preface copyright 2007 by Fady Joudah
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
Cover art: Mohammed J. Abusall, Identity, 2000. Ink print, 20 x 20 cm.
Copper Canyon Press is in residence at Fort Worden State Park in Port Townsend,
Washington, under the auspices of Centrum Foundation. Centrum is a gathering
place for artists and creative thinkers from around the world, students of all ages and
backgrounds, and audiences seeking extraordinary cultural enrichment.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Darwish, Mahmoud.
[Poems. English. Selections]
The butterfly's burden: poems / by Mahmoud Darwish; translated from the Arabic by
Fady Joudah.
. cm.
Includes bibliographical references.
ISBN-10: 1-55659-241-8
ISBN-13: 978-1-55659-241-6 (pbk: alk. paper)
1. Joudah, Fady, 1971-11. Title.
PJ7820.A7A212 2006
892.716 —dc22
2006000464
COPPER CANYON PRESS

Post Office Box 271
Port Townsend, Washington 98368
www.coppercanyonpress.org
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Beloit Poetry Journal: “Sonnet v,” “Cadence Chooses Me”
Denver Quarterly: “Another Day Will Come”
Dragonfire: “Your Night Is of Lilac”
Drunken Boat: “Sonnet 111,” “I Waited for No One,” “The Damascene Collar of the
Dove,” “This Is Forgetfulness”
lowa Review: “Sonnet 1,” “Set Down, Here, and Now,” “I Didn’t Apologize to the Well,”
“And We Have a Land”
The Kenyon Review: “On a Day like Today,” “In Jerusalem,” “Don’t Write History as
Poetry”
Literary Imagination: “Don't Apologize for What You've Done,’ “They Didn’t Ask:
What's After Death”
The Manhattan Review: “I Have the Wisdom of One Condemned to Death,” “Dream,
Calm,
What Is It?” “Now When You Awaken, Remember,” “Nothing Pleases Me,” “He’s
and I Am Too,” “What Will Remain?” The Kurd Has Only the Wind”
Michigan Quarterly Review: “Describing Clouds,” “Not as a Foreign Tourist Does”
Mississippi Review: “We Walk on the Bridge,” “No Banner in the Wind,” “They Don’t
Look Behind Them,” “Murdered and Unknown,” “The Coastal Road”
Theater,”
New American Writing: “Thanks to Tunis,” “I Have a Seat in the Abandoned
“In Syria,” “In Egypt,” “Like a Mysterious Incident’
Perihelion: “Two Stranger Birds in Our Feathers,” “Sonnet v1”
”
Poetry: “To Our Land,” “In Her Absence | Created Her Image,” “If 1Were Another
Prairie Schooner: “Wedding Song,” “She’s Alone in the Evening,’ “While Waiting”
Seneca Review: “In My Mother's House,” “Wednesday, Friday, Saturday”
“A Noun Sentence”
Washington Square Review: “Low Sky,” “And I, Even if I Were the Last,”
Words Without Borders: “Housework,” “Jameel Bouthaina and 1”
Copper Canyon
I would like to thank Sam Hamill, Michael Wiegers, and the family of
for their support
for their vision and hospitality; Eleanor Wilner and Deema Shehabi
all these years; Bouthaina Dabaja;
and love; Hana el-Sahly for supplying me with books
a and all the
my father, my first teacher of language, and my reference; Khaled Mattaw
generosity and
editors of the journals in which the above poems appeared, for their
insightful remarks. ;
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‎‫سماد لسو‬ ْ
‫ لمم عونمم‬11“ ‫م‬

‫ونزي‬
‫سدمرا‬
‫ ج‬١hcac etta di‫‏‬iw ‫امسق“جا‬
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‫خور‬
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‫ادع ا‬ HSA A Wa ete “ae at”as metme 3‫‏‬
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‫لوهم ف يان وسسساتجم! رهد‬
Contents
1‫د‬ Translator’s Preface‫‏‬
The Stranger’s Bed 1998

5 We Were Missing a Present
11 Sonnet I
13. Low Sky
19 We Walk on the Bridge
25 Your Night Is of Lilac
25 Sonnet II
27. The Stranger Stumbles upon Himself in the Stranger
29 ACloud from Sodom
31 <A Doe’s Young Twins
33 Sonnet tl!
35 Take My Horse and Slaughter It ...
37. The Stranger’s Land / the Serene Land
41 Inanna’s Milk
45 Sonnet Iv
47. No More and No Less
51 Wedding Song
55 Housework
59 ~=Sonnet v
61 Two Stranger Birds in Our Feathers
65 1 Waited for No One
69 Drought
73 Sonnet v1
75 The Subsistence of Birds
Contents vii
‫و‬7 Maybe, Because Winter Is Late‫‏‬
89 Who Am], Without Exile?‫‏‬
93 Jameel Bouthaina and |
97. AMask... for Majnoon Laila
101 A Lesson from Kama Sutra
105 The Damascene Collar of the Dove
A State of Siege 2002

121 “Here, by the downslope of hills, facing the sunset ”
Don’t Apologize for What You’ve Done 2003

I. IN THE LUST OF CADENCE
179 Cadence Chooses Me
181 I Have the Wisdom of One Condemned to Death
183 Another Day Will Come
185 And I, Even if I Were the Last
187. In My Mother's House
189 Don’t Apologize for What You’ve Done
191 Ona Day like Today
193 Set Down, Here, and Now
195 If You Return Alone
197 ‘I Didn’t Apologize to the Well
199 No Banner in the Wind
201 The Horse Fell Off the Poem
203 To Our Land
205 And We Have a Land
207 Nothing but Light
209 The Beloved Hemorrhaged Anemones
viii MAHMOUD DARWISH

211 In Jerusalem
213 In Her Absence I Created Her Image
215 Wednesday, Friday, Saturday
217 Two Olive Trees
221 They Don’t Look Behind Them
223 They Didn’t Ask: What’s After Death
225 Murdered and Unknown
227 The Cypress Broke
229 A Man and a Fawn Are in the Garden
233 This Is Forgetfulness
235 You'll Be Forgotten, As If You Never Were
239 As for Me, I Say to My Name
241 Dream, What Is It?
243 Now, When You Awaken, Remember
245 The Shadow

247 Nothing Pleases Me
249 He’s Calm, and I Am Too
251 Describing Clouds
255 A Noun Sentence
257 Say What You Want

259 Don’t Write History as Poetry
261 What Will Remain?
263 I Don’t Know Your Name
265 She’s Alone in the Evening
269 While Waiting
271 If I Were Another
273 Thanks to Tunis
275 I Have a Seat in the Abandoned Theater
277 In Syria
Contents ix
279 ~=—In Egypt
281 1 Recall al-Sayyab
II. THE COASTAL ROAD
285 “Aroad that leads to Egypt and Syria”
III. NOT AS A FOREIGN TOURIST DOES
291 “I walked on what remains of the heart”
IV. A POETRY STANZA / THE SOUTHERNER’S HOUSE
299 = “Standing together beneath a window”
V. LIKE A MYSTERIOUS INCIDENT
307 ~=“In Pablo Neruda’s home, on the Pacific”
VI. THE KURD HAS ONLY THE WIND
315 “The Kurd remembers, when Ivisit him, his tomorrow”
3521 # Notes
327 About the Author
327 ~ About the Translator
x MAHMOUD DARWISH
Translator’s Preface
It is tempting to describe Mahmoud Darwish’s writing life through

geography and history. His early poetry transformed the dispossessed
land into the unattained beloved whose images inform the poet’s lexi-
con. The features of Palestine—its flowers and birds, towns and wa-
ters — became integrated in the poet’s witness to the string of tragedies,
political and humanitarian, that have continued to afflict his people.
Yet, over the decades, Darwish’s search beyond mere place never left
him. Now, in his most recent poetry, translated in this volume, his
writing stands clearly at the border of earth and sky, reality and myth,
love and exile, poetry and prose.
The long, circuitous journey Darwish has undertaken since his
family fled his native Galilee to Lebanon in 1948 (when he was six
years old) can be viewed as an odyssey. Mahmoud Darwish returned
with his family to Israel months after its creation, where he grew up
as a present-absentee who didn’t return in time (from fleeing) to be rec-
ognized as an Israeli Arab. When he left for Moscow in 1970, he had
already published four volumes of poetry and had known the Israeli
prison system firsthand. His long life of exile had begun. One year
later he moved to Cairo, and from there to Beirut. Ultimately, it was
the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in 1982 that precipitated Darwish’s
pursuit for the sovereignty of song. Leaving Beirut to roam the Medi-
terranean (Greece, Cyprus, and Tunisia) proved heart wrenching for
Darwish, who seemed unable, outside of his own writing, to survive
another glaring mirror of exile, of dispossession. His long 1983 epic
of the Beirut invasion, Praise to the High Shadow (Documentary Poem),
and his 1984 collection, A Siege to the Eulogies of the Sea, depicted his
woe, and addressed many of his close friends who had been killed or
assassinated:
My friends, do not die the way you used to die

I beg you, do not die, wait another year for me
one year
Translator’s Preface xi
just one more year
we might trade ideas for walking on the street
free of the hour and the banner ...
we have other tasks beside searching for graves and elegies
In 1986 Darwish had just moved to France and published two po-
etry collections and his artistically brilliant prose memoir of the siege
of Beirut, Memory for Forgetfulness. In the first of these poetry volumes,
he declared his aesthetic in the title It’s a Song, It’s a Song: “Nothing
concerns it other than its cadence; a wind rising for itself to rise / and
a fragility that checks in on the human within his relics.” It was “Time
the poet killed himself,” he said in another poem from the same vol-
ume, “not for a reason other than to kill himself.” And pressing deeper,
“Where is my humanity?”
The other collection from the same year, Fewer Roses, was less dia-
lectic than its predecessor. Composed of fifty-one short lyrics (ten long
lines each), Roses confirmed Darwish’s ripe resolve to shuffle cadence,
voice, and dialogue, and to maintain a transformative, restless art, as
though it were borne by gusts. Darwish had discovered the necessity
for perpetual renewal of his poem: a song that anchors long enough to
know itself, its reason for jubilance, before departing toward another
reading, another writing. This conjuring of the phoenix from the latest,
cooled-off ashes of exile would become a signal for an idea of return, a
sublime aesthetic of resistance that Darwish would revisit in his work:
a phoenix in search of its butterfly.
Around 1988, during the first Intifada, Darwish was a member
of the executive council in the Palestinian Liberation Organization
(PLO). Along with Edward Said, he was assigned the task of drafting a
new charter toward peace. It was a prickly and odd time for Darwish,
“for what is a poet doing there, there in the executive council?” he
asked himself. In an essay titled “Before Writing My Resignation,”
Darwish became uncomfortably aware how “the creative Palestinian is
prohibited from the luxury of vacated and dedicated time for the sake
of creativity, because this is bound to a direct cessation from patriotic
activity. Yet prisoners grow flowers in their prison yards. And in front
of the zinc huts mothers plant basil and mint. The creative person
xii MAHMOUD DARWISH

must create his flexible margin between the patriotic, the political, the
daily, the cultural, and the literary. But what am I to do? What does a
poet do in the executive council? Will I be able to write a book of love
when color falls on the ground in autumn?”
Some time had to pass before Darwish would answer his question
about a book of love. The first Intifada was another phoenix upon
whose wings the poet soared higher and higher. This time Darwish
was facing, as he had done before, a quintessential predicament for the
poet: how to carry the “I” of the “we” without betraying one percep-
tion for the other. The result was two great epics of collective memory
that display Darwish’s mastery of the long poem. In I See What I Want
(1990), he captured what is mythic and visionary about return, oscil-
lating between, on the one hand, the dream of “a stone scratching
the sun” and, on the other hand, shedding “the skin of the earth” and
flying “just to fly.” Eleven Planets (1992) expounded collective memory
by invoking the voices of ancient and contemporary peoples. In it
Darwish strewed the seeds of a universal voice— beginning with the
Andalusian, sailing across the Atlantic to evoke the Native American,
moving back in time to the Canaanite and the Greek, and ending with
an Iraqi poet.
Perhaps it was what Darwish needed: to consume his self in the
“we” of the “I” before leaping toward a new liberty. This emancipation
came in 1996, following the bitter failure of the Oslo accords (over
which he resigned from the PLO). He published his luminous, highly
personalized account of place and nonplace: Why Did You Leave the
Horse Alone? is where the longtime courtship between self and other in
his poetry crystallized into mystical union. That was the year the poet
came home. After twenty-six years of exile from his native Galilee, he
returned to Ramallah. There, he completed The Stranger’s Bed (1998),
his book of love, the first of the three books translated in this collec-
tion. When, so soon after his return, The Stranger’s Bed appeared, many
readers were ambivalent about—some alienated by—a book of love.
Perhaps many expected a glorious eulogy for the new Palestinian state
yet to come. They had often imagined his poetry as their love poetry,
but here he was singing about love as a private exile, not about exile as
a public love. Eventually readers embraced the book.
Translator’s Preface xiii

The Stranger’s Bed is a journey of, and through, voice. There is a
delicate speech that gives birth to itself here. There is an “I” that over-
flows from the “you,” and a duality that merges beyond the narrow
constructs of language. There is dialogue between masculine and femi-
nine, prose and poetry, self and its others.
Not enough can be said about the metaphysics of identity in this
book of love. An appeal to healing begins the collection: “We came /
with the wind from Babylon / and we march to Babylon,” “Am I another
you / and you another I?” “Then let’s be kind.” The subtle dialogue be-
tween tone and cadence in poems such as “Low Sky” and “We Walk on
the Bridge” ushers the tender musical exchange throughout the book,
where even the mythic can be treated with “one cup of hot chamomile
/ and two aspirins.” And the sonnets—astranger’s template for anoth-
er’s vernacular—develop the spine that gives the book its sway as man
and woman, poetry and prose, commune with each other. Duality (or
the annihilation of it) becomes “the necessary clarity of our mutual
puzzle.” In many respects The Stranger’s Bed is a conversation that, once
begun, compels the reader through to its last utterance, uninterrupted,
where the Familiar and the Stranger become “two in one.” Arabic love
poetry is a primary wellspring here. Whether in the Jahili night, in
Majnoon Laila and Jameel Bouthaina fourteen centuries ago, in a Sufi
east or an Andalusian west, it has always had its roots in an exile that
slackens the bind to “the gravity of identity’s land.”
One year after the publication of The Stranger’s Bed, Darwish would
have died from a sudden illness, had it not been for a lengthy stay in
intensive care. Subsequently, he wrote his Mural (2000) as if it were to
be his last work. In it he celebrated life: “Green is the land of my poem,
green and high.” “All the arts have defeated you, Death!” “One day I
will become what I want.” “And I want, I want to live.” Soon he began
developing a more colloquial and conversational breadth in his writ-
ing. Then the terrible events of the second Intifada erupted. He was in
Ramallah, and immediately found himself looking another Palestinian
death in the eye, living another siege.
Comprising lyrical, journal-like entries, A State of Siege (2002) is
witness not only to human suffering but also to art under duress, art
in transmutation: “Our losses,” Darwish says, “from two martyrs to
eight ... / and fifty olive trees, / in addition to the structural defect /
xiv MAHMOUD DARWISH

that will afflict the poem and the play and the incomplete painting.” It
is difficult not to draw a parallel to twenty years ago, when the siege of
Beirut exalted the poet to search for what’s beyond the siege. “Besiege
your siege” was his famous cry in 1983’s Documentary Poem. Now he
repeats the same words as a quiet but resolute one-line address “To
poetry.” In the end, it was “the butterfly light, in / this tunnel’s night”
that guided the poet out.
Similarly, the forty-seven short lyrics of Don’t Apologize for What
You’ve Done (2003) are yet another incarnation/incantation of the
poet after the carnage, just as Fewer Roses was seventeen years earlier.
These lyrics (“In the Lust of Cadence”), however, are more varied in
pace, tone, and music, grouping more distinctly into twos and threes
or more, in dialogue with one another. They begin by reintroducing
the self, weaving through place and time, constantly looking for a new
powerful center, as in the stunning pentad of death that begins with
“They Don’t Look Behind Them.” After that, “Cadence” continues its
colloquial leap, often with refreshing and playful attention to the daily
and the ordinary. Darwish then concludes his “Lust” in a wonderful
hovering over the body of his exile, through another pentad sequence
that lands him, once more, into the twins of exile and experience, po-
etry and Iraq.
The beautiful poems that constitute the latter part of the book epito-
mize, in their discursive and lyrical conversation, the rich, incessant
metamorphosis in Darwish’s oeuvre. In them language is loosened
from being “an adjective of place,” and this language wants “from the
thing only the transparency of the thing.” In further contrast to the
poems of 1984, language also takes “revenge on absence.” Yet, what-
ever the transfigurations may be in Darwish’s poetry, and however
tempestuous the calendar of his writing life, reading Darwish has al-
ways the constant of passage through his private vocabulary. It prob-
ably would take pages to catalog the words that recur—and how they
recur—in his poems: anemones and lapis lazuli, gazelles and clouds,
almond blossoms and rivers, mirrors and windows, abyss and olives,
endlessness and its infinite chores ...
Translation should, as Darwish suggests, become more than a new
poem in another language. It should expend into that language new
vastness. Darwish is a songmaker whose vocabulary is accessible but
Translator’s Preface xv
whose mystery is not bashful. Finding a way to accentuate the oral-
ity of the written, that which is on the tip of the reader’s tongue, is
essential to translating his work. I chose to adhere to the structure of
the Darwish poem in order to experience what might emerge when
“physical” mimesis occurs, and to honor my faith in the harmony of
the human mind. Structure here is syntax as primary tool for translat-
ing cadence and tone.
Reading the Arabic line aloud helped me achieve a transfer of the
taf’eelah (the basic unit of prosody in Arabic) to the English meter.
The syllable, of course, exists as a common denominator in the ear for
both, permitting the phrase to “make its free rhythm dance.” Darwish
abides by the taf’eelah, but employs a “circular” prosody, wherein the
line does not consist of a discrete whole or a fixed number of taf’eelahs.
This is like saying that the line is often not made up of a whole num-
ber of metrical measures. Instead, the unity or wholeness (of prosody)
is within the stanza or poem entire.
Perhaps it is more accurate to say that Darwish considers the whole
of the poem “circular,” as if it were made up of one continuous line of
prosody in prose, broken up into shorter lines by the limitation of the
printed page. The line is further destabilized as Darwish frequently
seeks musical (and syntactic) enjambment—the former made possible
in Arabic through the use of inflection. His irregular, or blithe, use of
punctuation enhances this “bursting of shape /out of the frivolity of
no-shape” —as if what is “circular” in his poem also draws from the
mutability of clouds. The poet encouraged me to redistribute the lines
and stanzas as I saw fit for the English poem, but I furthered my focus
on syntax, while giving the English reader the same “view” an Arabic
reader has of the page. The reader is invited to participate through
the privacy of his/her eye-ear coordination—to dance and breathe,
whether with consonants or vowels—to meet the curvature of the
phrase in the Darwish poem.
No matter how the bifurcations of structure and syntax in trans-
lation may lead or mislead the reader, one thing is certain: Darwish
does not disengage the act of writing from its subject matter. Instead,
he performs a twinning. The beloved is not exclusively a woman or a
land, self or other, but also poem and prose.
xvi MAHMOUD DARWISH

And now, when you awaken, remember. Did the butterfly
illuminate you when it burned with the eternal light of the
rose? Did the phoenix appear to you clearly, and did it call
you by name? Tell me how you lived your dream in some
place, and I'll tell you who you are.
Fady Joudah
7 December 2005
Translator’'s Preface xvii

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THE BUTTERFLY’S BURDEN
‫سرير الغريبة‬
‫‪VASA‬‬
The Stranger’s Bed
——oo
1998
‫كان ينقصنا حاضر‬
‫لتَذْهَبْ كما نَحْنُ‪:‬‬

‫‪os bite‬‬
‫وصديقاًوفيا‬
‫لنذهب معاً في طريقين مُخْتَلفَين‬
‫‏‪ Jos LS Cbd‬نْيَدِحَتُم‬
‫ولا شيءَ يُوجِعنا‬

‫لا طلاقٌ الحمام ولا البردُ بين اليَدَيْن‬
‫ولا الريحٌ حول الكنيسة تُوجعُنا‪...‬‬
‫م يكن كافياً ما تفبّح من شَجَر اللوز‬
‫فابتسمي يُزْهِرٍ اللوز أكثر‬
‫بين فراشات غمازتين‪.‬‬
‫وعمّا قليلٍ يكونُ لنا حاضر آخَرٌ‬

‫إن نَظَرْتَ وراءك لن تبصري‬
‫وراءك‪:‬‬ ‫ل‬
‫غير‬
‫صفصافةٌ الساحة‪,‬‬
‫‪og Tepe ee‬‬
‫ومقهى مواعيدنا‪ WLS ‎...‬كُنّها‪‎‬‬
‫‪ dauq staJ‬منفىّ» إذاً‪‎‬‬
‫لتَذْهَبْ كما نَحْنُ‪:‬‬

‫إنسانة ‪pS‬‏‬
‫وصديقاً ‏‪ lids‬لناياتهاء‬
‫لميكن عَمْرْنَا كافياً لنشيخ معاً‬
‫ونسيرَ إلى السينما متعبين‬
‫ونَشْهَدَ خائمة الحرب بين أثينا وجاراتها‬
‫ونرى حفلة السلم ما بين روما وقرطاج‬
‫‏‪Jul los‬‬
‫‪4‬‬ ‫‪MAHMOUD‬‬ ‫‪DARWISH‬‬

We Were Missing a Present
Let’s go as we are:
a free woman
and a loyal friend,
let’s go together on two different paths
let’s go as we are united
and separate,
with nothing hurting us
not the divorce of the doves or the coldness between the hands
nor the wind around the church ...
what bloomed of almond trees wasn’t enough.
So smile for the almonds to blossom more
between the butterflies of two dimples
And soon there will be a new present for us.

If you look back you will see only
the exile of your looking back:
your bedroom,
the courtyard willow,
the river behind the glass buildings,
and the café of our trysts ... all of it, all
preparing to become exile, so
let’s be kind!
Let’s go as we are:
a free woman
and a friend loyal to her flutes.
Our time wasn’t enough to grow old together
to walk wearily to the cinema
to witness the end of Athens’s war with her neighbors
and see the banquet of peace between Rome and Carthage
about to happen. Because soon .
The Stranger's Bed 5

‫فعمًاقليلٍستنتقلالطَيْرمُن زَّمَنِنحوآخرّ‬
‫هل كان هذا الطريق هباءً‬
‫‪‎‬ىلع ‪Ly slug «pine JSS‬‬
‫سَفَراً عابراً بين أسطورتين‬
‫فلا بُذَّمنهء ولا يُذَّمنا‬
‫غريباً يرى نَفْسَهُ في مرايا غريبته؟‬
‫«لا ليس هذا طريقي إلى جَسَدي‬
‫«لا حُلول ثقافيّة لهُمُوم وُجوديّة‬
‫كت كانت‪Gln ‎‬‬
‫‪»lsiL‬‬
‫ونان ‏)‪ cl cl‬نشل دمَقلاو نيقباسلا‬
‫‪905 LS add‬‬
‫‪Be jase‬‬
‫‪Lejslig‬‬
‫لميكن كافياًما تساقط من‬
‫ثلج كانون أُوّلَء فابتتسمي‬
‫‏‪ Gay‬الثلج قطناً على صلوات المسيحيٌ»‬
‫عمًا قليل نعود إلى عدناء ‪ELA‬‏‬
‫‪cao! Jl‬‬ ‫‪aGente dhe‬‬ ‫‪ESdas‬‬
‫نلعب قصة روميو وجولييت‪‎‬‬
‫طار القَرَاش منّ النَؤم‬

‫مثل سراب سلام سريع‬
‫ويقتلّنا في الصراع على الاسم‬

‫ما بين نافذتين‬
‫‪13)umd‬‬
‫ولنكن طيّبين‬
‫لتَذْهَبْء كما‪G55 ‎‬‬

‫‪ee‬‬
‫وصديقاً‪dg‎‬‬
‫‪ dib‬كما نحن‪lite ‎.‬‬
‫مَعَ الريح من بابل‪‎‬‬

the birds will relocate from one epoch to another:
Was this path only dust
in the shape of meaning, and did it march us
as if we were a passing journey between two myths
so the path is inevitable, and we are inevitable
as a stranger sees himself in the mirror of another stranger?
“No, this is not my path to my body’
“No cultural solutions for existential concerns”
“Wherever you are my sky
is real”
“Who am I to give you back the previous sun and moon”
Then let’s be kind ...
Let’s go, as we are:

a free lover
and her poet.
What fell of January snow
wasn’t enough, so smile
for snow to card its cotton on the Christian’s prayer,
we will soon return to our tomorrow, behind us,
where we were young in love’s beginning,
playing Romeo and Juliet
and learning Shakespeare’s language ...
The butterflies have flown out of sleep
as a mirage of a swift peace
that adorns us with two stars
and kills us in the struggle over the name
between two windows
so, let’s go
and let’s be kind
Let’s go, as we are:

a free woman
and a loyal friend,
let’s go as we are. We came
with the wind from Babylon

‫ونسيرٌ إلى بابل ‪...‬‬
‫م يكُنْ سَفَرِي كافياً‪.‬‬
‫ليصير الصُّنَؤْبَرُ في أثري‬
‫‏)‪ push Alaa‬ناكملا يونجلا‬
‫نحن هنا ‪bdg‬‏ ‪blA‬‬
‫ءانُحير ‪‎‬يناغألاو‪digit‬‬
‫قل أن أ درن‬
‫‏‪ cals‬أناآخر؟‬
‫«ليس هذا طريقي إلى أرض حُريّتي‬

‫‏‪ Nie Gud‬يقيرط ىلإ ‏‪Sind‬‬
‫وأناء لن أكون «‪»lib‬‏ ‪45O‬‬
‫غدي‬ ‫وقد ل ‪5-5‬م‬
‫وانقَسَمْتُ إل اىمرأتين‬
‫فلا أنا شرقيّة‬
‫الو ‪‎‬انأ ‪cassob‬‬
‫ولا أنا زيتونةٌ ‪llE‬‏ ‪tso‬‬
‫لتَذْهَبْء إذا‪.‬‬
‫«لا حلول جماعيّة لهواجسّ شخصيّة‬
‫لميكن كافياً أن نكون ‪eel‬‏‬
‫لتكؤن‪1‬معا ‪:.‬‬
‫‪GH pole Lady Of‬‬
‫‪See antsy‬‬
‫وصديقاً قدياً‬
‫‏‪ Candid‬معاًفي طريقين مختلفين‬
‫لنذهب معاء‬
‫ولنكن طيّبين‪...‬‬

and we march to Babylon ...
My travel wasn’t enough
for the pines to become in my trace
an utterance of praise to the southern place.
We are kind here. Northerly
is our wind, and our songs are southerly.
Am | another you
and you another I?
“This isn’t my path to my freedom’s land”
this isn’t my path to my body
and I won't be “I” twice
now that my yesterday has become my tomorrow
and I have split into two women
so I am not of the east
and I am not of the west,
nor am I an olive tree shading two verses in the Quran,
then let’s go.
“No collective solutions for personal scruples”
it wasn’t enough that we be together
to be together ...
we were missing a present to see
where we were. Let’s go as we are,
a free woman
and an old friend
let’s go on two separate paths
let’s go together,
and let’s be kind ...

‫سوناتا [‪]1‬‬
‫إذاكُنْتآِخر ‪sَb‬‏ ‪ 6‬اللهليفهليكنْ‬

‫نزولك نُونَ ال «أنا» في المَُنّى‪ .‬وطوبى لنا‬
‫وقد نَوَّ‪S‬ر‪lila‬‏ ‪ ygealp db583‬هنا‬
‫على ‪dicle‬‏ ورفٌ عليك القطا واليمامُ‬
‫بِقَرْنِ الغزال طعَنْتَ السماء‪ .‬فسال الكلامُ‬
‫ندىفيعروق الطبيعة‪ .‬ما اسم القصيدة‬
‫أمام‏‪»gli aacs‬قحلاو ‏‪ a‬ءامسلا‏!‪Buus‬‬
‫م ‪laf‬‏ويان الرخاة؟‬
‫وأَرذٍسريرك» ‪eo‬‏ ‪ uoj‬م‬
‫‏‪ go‬أسطورةٌ للتشمُس حولك‪ .‬هذا الزحامٌ‬

‫‏!)‪ Sly‬مضر وسَومَرَ تحت النخيل يُغيّرن أثوابهن‬
‫رحلاتهنٌ إلى آخر القافية‪...‬‬ ‫كم‬ ‫وأسماءًاليه‬
‫‪é‬‬
‫وتحتاج أنشودقي للتنفس‪ :‬لا الشعرٌ شعرٌ‪‎‬‬
‫ولا النثرنثر‪.‬حلمتبأنّكآخرٌماقالَهُ‪‎‬‬
‫بياللهُ حين رأيتكما في المنام» فكان الكلامٌ‪‎...‬‬

Sonnet I
If you are the last of what god told me, be

the pronoun revealed to double the “I.” Blessedness is ours
now that almond trees have illuminated the footprints of passersby, here
on your banks, where above you grouse and doves flutter
With a gazelle’s horn you stabbed the sky, then words flowed
like dew in nature’s veins. What’s a poem’s name
before the duality of creation and truth, between the faraway sky
and your cedar bed, when blood longs for blood, and marble aches?
A myth will need to sunbathe around you. This crowdedness,

these gods of Egypt and Sumer under palm trees change their dresses
and their days’ names, and complete their journey to the end of rhyme ...
And my song needs to breathe: poetry isn’t poetry

and prose isn’t prose. I dreamt that you are the last of what god told me
when I saw you both in my sleep, then there were words ...

‫‏‪ Aor‬منخفضة‬
‫‏‪ uy GS MES‬ىلع ِهْيَمَدَف نيتِيِريِرَحلا‬

‫سعيداً بعُرَْته في الشوارع‪,‬‬
‫حب صغيرٌ فقيرٌ يُبَلُلَّهُ مَطَرٌ عابرٌ‬
‫فيفيض على العابرين‪:‬‬
‫«هداياي أكبرٌ مني‬
‫‪TAS |p»ply‬‬
‫‏‪ de Sloud‬يفتك يضرأو ‪ْ...‬مُكَل‬
‫‏‪َ ced Js‬مَد نيمسايلا َعاَمَملا‬

‫‪/‬‬ ‫‏‪ye‬‬
‫وانتظرت معي طائراً أخضرٌ ‪UB‬‏‬
‫لااسْم لَه؟‬
‫مُسْتَسْلِماً للتداعي‪ :‬إلىأينتركش‬

‫يا فَرَسَ الماء؟‬
‫امع ‪‎‬ليلق ‪Sow! Later‬‬
‫فامش الهوينى إلى ‪555E‬‏ الاختياريٌء‬
‫يا قَرَّسَ الماء!‬
‫‪ake J cS Ja‬‬
‫غي أن يكون‪‎‬‬
‫بما‬
‫نُ ك‬
‫يكان‬
‫وكان الم‬
‫خفيفا علىذكرياتك؟‪‎‬‬ ‫فا‬ ‫‪se‬‬
‫‪ sob‬عن عَطش‪dS) ‎‬‬

‫أمْعن زمانٍ مضى؟‪‎‬‬
‫هنالك حُبٌ فقير‪ .‬ومن طرّف واحد‬

‫هادىة هادىء لا كم‬

Low Sky
There’s a love walking on two silken feet

happy with its estrangement in the streets,
a love small and poor made wet bya passing rain
that it overflows onto passersby:
My gifts are larger than I am
eat my wheat
and drink my wine
my sky is on my shoulders and my earth is yours ...
Did you smell the jasmine’s radiant blood

and think of me
then wait with me for a green-tailed bird
that has no name?
There’s a poor love staring at the river

in surrender to summoning: Where do you run to
seahorse?
Soon the sea will suck you in
so walk leisurely to your chosen death,
O seahorse!
Were you as two embankments for me

and was the place as it should be
light-footed on your memories?
What songs do you love
what songs? The ones
that speak about love’s thirst,
or about a time that has passed?
There’s a poor love, one-sided

and quite serene it doesn’t break

‫لَوْرَأَيَامِكِ ‏‪SHEL‬‬
‫ولايُوقدُ النارّ في كَمَرٍبارد‬
‫‏‪ery‬‬
‫لا تشعرِينَ به حينَ تبكينَ من هاجسء‬
‫‏}‪Ata Voy LG‬‬
‫لا تعرفين بماذا تُحسّين حين تَضُمّينَ‬
‫نفسّك بين ذراعيك!‬
‫أيالليالي تريدينء أي الليالي‬
‫وما لون تلْكَالعيونٍ ‪la‬‏ ‪selaeS‬‬
‫بها عندما تحلمين؟‬
‫‏‪ Gas LS WS‬نمو نيفرط‬
‫‏‪ jo Slit‬دَدَع نيسئايلا‬
‫ويرقعٌ‏‪ ples! vie‬ىلع ‪.‬نيبناجلا‬
‫‏‪ elle‬إذاء أن تقودي بنفسك‬
‫هذا الربيع السريعَ إلى مَنْ تُحَبِينَ‬
‫‪7‬‬ ‫‪ GI eg‬زمان‪‎‬‬ ‫‪3 Ol gi‬‬
‫لأصبح شاعرة‪ .‬هكذا هكذا‪ :‬كلما‬
‫‏‪ ude‬امرأةٌ في المساء إلى سرّها‬
‫وَجَدَت شاعراً سائراً في هواجسها‪.‬‬
‫كبا عاض ف ‪iud‬‏ ‪bleS‬‬
‫وَجَدَ امرأةٌ تتعرّى أمام قصيدته‪...‬‬
‫‏‪ gl‬منفىّ تريدين؟‬

‫هل تذهبين معيء أمْتسيرين وَحْدَكَ‬
‫‏!‪Cate JIS Gite alas‬‬
‫بلألآئه؟‬
‫هَُالِكَ حُحبٌ يمْرُ بناء‬

‫أن ‪0‬‬ ‫دون‬
‫فلا هُوَ يَدْري ولا نحن نَذْري‬

‫مماذا تُشِردّنا وردة في جدار قديم‬
‫وتبكي فتاةً على مَؤْقف الباصء‬
‫تقضمُ تفاحة ثمتبكي وتتذضحك‪:‬‬
‫«لا شيء‪ .‬لا شيءَ أكثر‬

your select day’s crystal
and doesn’t light a fire in a cold moon
in your bed,
you don’t sense it when you cry from an apprehension,
which might replace it,
you don’t know what to feel when you embrace
yourself between your arms!
Which nights do you want, which nights
and what color are those eyes that you dream
with when you dream?
There is a poor love, and two-sided
it diminishes the number of those in despair
and lifts the pigeons’ throne on both sides.
You must, then, by yourself lead
this swift spring to the one you love.
Which time do you want, which time
that I may become its poet, just like that: whenever
a woman goes to her secret in the evening
she finds a poet walking in her thoughts.
Whenever a poet dives into himself
he finds a woman undressing before his poem ...
Which exile do you want?

Will you come with me, or walk alone
in your name as an exile that adorns exile
with its glitter?
There’s a love passing through us,

without us noticing,
and neither it knows nor do we know
why a rose in an ancient wall makes us fugitives
and whya girl at the bus stop cries,
bites on an apple then laughs and cries:
Nothing, nothing more
than a bee passing through my blood ...

‫و‬
‫التأمُلَ في العابرين» ويختارٌ‬

‫أصكَرَهُمْ ‪dnI‬‏ ‪ laC‬في حاجة‬
‫‘‬ ‫لسماء أقلّ ارتفاعاً‬
‫فكن صاحبي تَتسعْ‬
‫لأنانيّة | ثنين لا يعرفان‬
‫من يُهْدِيانٍ زُهُورَهُما ‪...‬‬
‫رتما كان يَقَصدَُنيء رما‬
‫كان يقصدُنا دون أن تَنْتَبة‬

There's a poor love, it contemplates
at length the passersby, and chooses
the youngest moon among them: You are in need
of a lower sky,
be my friend and the sky will expand
for the selfishness of two who do not know
to whom they should give their flowers ...
Maybe it meant me, maybe
it meant us and we didn’t notice
There is a love ...

‫نمشيعلى الجسر‬
‫بين»مثلي»برحلة طَيْر‬
‫‏‪ae‬‬
‫حيث تق ‪aa‬‏‪en Ld eg‬‬
‫و‪0‬‬ ‫بع‬
‫‏‪ٌ Jodi le UJ] Leads‬ةاَشّملا‬

‫‏‪en use‬‬
‫‏»‪ٌ Jae Up‬رخآ ٌريغ ءاذه‬
‫‏»‪ٌ ds‬دعقميف ةنيفسلا‬
‫«لي حصّةٌفي الحياة‬
‫«وأمًا‪di‎‬‬
‫فعلي ‏!‪ Slow‬بمترو الضواحي‬
‫«تأَخَدْتٌعن ذكرياتي‬
‫وعن موعد الساكسفون‪,‬‬
‫وَلَيِْي قليلٌ‬
‫ونُصغي إلى ما بنا من حنين خفيّ‬
‫إلى شارع غامض‪ :‬لي ‪ee‬‏ هناك‬
‫‏‪ dle‬التي ‏‪ Gini‬القوافلوانصرَّفَتٌ‪,‬‬
‫وهنا لي حياتي على ‪euS 8‬‏‬
‫وأسئلتيعن مصير ‪hsid‬‏ ‪elaj‬‬
‫عابرٌ وعَدٌ فوضوق جَمِيلٌ‬
‫‏‪«sual Guo‬اني لاق اذه ‪,‬مالكلاانأ‬

‫‏‪ٌ isl yprimes] el‬عيطتسي‬
‫‪uaS‬‏‬ ‫الرجوعإلى‪lee‬‏‪ .‬تصنع‬
‫أشغالهااليدويّة من عمرناوتُعَمُرُ‪...‬‬
‫فليكن ‪ISE‬‏ ‪ IEH eO eyb‬وليك‬
‫الغيبُ ضرباً من الحُبٌّ‪ .‬إني عجبتٌ‬
‫لمن يعرف ‪!doC‬‏ كيف يُحب! فقد‬

We Walk on the Bridge
You're afflicted, like me, with a bird’s journey

and this happens in the afternoon,
when you say: Take me to the river
you foreign man, to the river take me
my road upon your banks is long
And we listen to what pedestrians say

on the bridge:
“I have other things to do”
“I have a place on the ship”
“I have a share in life”
“And as for me,
I must catch the subway
I am late for memories
and for the saxophone lesson,
and my night is short”
We listen to what hidden longing for a mysterious street

is in us: I have my life over there
my life that caravans made then went on their way,
and here I have my life as my bread’s worth
and my questions about a destiny a passing present
tortures, and IJ have a beautiful chaotic tomorrow
Echo for echo: who of us said those words, me

or the foreign woman? No one can
return to another. Eternity performs
its manual chores out of our lives then thrives ...
So let love be an unknown, and
the unknown a kind of love. How strange
to believe this and still love! Because

‫‪02569 BBY go Ld CSI! Czas‬‬
‫ُهّنكل ‪‎‬ال ‪gi‬‬
‫لدىغدنا ماسيكفي من الوقت‪ .‬يكفي‬

‫لنمشيعلىالجسرعَشْرَدقائقأخرى‪,‬‬
‫فقدنتغيّرٌ عماقليلٍوننسى ملامح‬
‫ثالثنا‪ /‬ماولتء ننسى الطريق إلىالبيت‬
‫قرب السماء التي خذلتنا ‪sgi‬‏‬
‫يه‬ ‫خذيني إلى ‪lu‬‏‬
‫كا‬ ‫‪.‬ليلق دقو‬ ‫‪ey‬‬
‫قد ‏‪se‬‬
‫ا مستحيلٌ‬
‫كما في الكتابة‪bS ,‬‏‪eo‬‬

‫في حينه ‪laL30,1‬‏ ملء فرا‬
‫‪.‬ةديصقلا ‪‎‬ال ‪5La oor‬‬
‫‪.‬عي في المكانالصحيح‬
‫تأخذيني ‏‪Lola‬ض‬
‫الزمانَ الصحيح‪ .‬فأنت السبيلٌ وأنت الدليل‬
‫‪Meld Glee Y ALiao ob‬‬

‫حولي‪...‬هنالك قرب الكتاب المُقَدّس‪‎‬‬
‫أو ههنا‪iw ‎.‬قال‪ :‬قد تحفّظ‪‎‬‬
‫‏]‪ aw FES‬امم‏‪ ob‬اهبنم‬
‫‏‪ ye‬إذا انتصر الشعر؟ مَن‬
‫‪ol‬‬ ‫‪Goce tet‬‬
‫أكثر منخطأ واحد‪ .‬كلما طال‬
‫‪ge iis‬‬

love might tire in us from waiting and fall ill,
but it never says
Our tomorrow has enough time, enough

for us to walk on the bridge for ten more minutes,
we might change soon and forget the features
of our third (death), forget the way to the house
near the sky that has often failed us,
so take me to the river, foreign woman,
we might change soon. And the impossible
might happen
As in writing, the necessary comes

on time, a feminine moon to fill the poem’s
emptiness. Do not leave me completely, and do not
take me completely. Put the right time
in the right place. You are the means and the guide
A real country, not a metaphor, your arms

around me ... over there by the holy book
or right here. Who of us said: Language
might preserve the land from the plight
of absence if poetry wins? Who
of us said: I will forget, and forgive the heart
more than one mistake, the longer
this departure takes ...

‫‏‪ alll Jules‬ثيح ‪.‬نينوكت كيل نم‬
‫‏)‪ ae‬نيب نيح ‏‪Bele] Cubs 52s‬‬
‫‏‪ ast.01‬كئتزامتغرسكتف‏‪ ols‬ذيبنلا‬
‫وتشعلضوء النجوم‪slld .‬‏ ‪-slla‬‬
‫قطعةٌ‪lw‬‏ خرافيّة للمساواة ما بين‬
‫أحلامنا‪ .‬ما‪lb‬‏بامسافرأو‪ylde‬‏ ‪ed‬‬
‫ْن ناك‏‪teas‬‬
‫‏‪ fut a‬انأ وه‏‪oF‬‬
‫ققْعْشَع لبللا كيف ‏‪Save‬‬
‫لتنا‏‪B ise‬‬
‫فلا‬ ‫مَنْزلَة القلب ما بين ‪sla‬‏‬
‫= ترضىء ولا الروخ ترضى‪.‬وفي‬
‫‏‪ slow WAS‬قناعت ‏‪alls, ish‬‬
‫‏‪55 USI p05hots J aly‬‬

‫على ذمّة الليل‪ .‬يزحف في جسدي‬
‫خَدَراً كتعاس الثعالب‪ .‬ليل ينثغموضاً‬
‫كعّلىتي ‪SIW‬‏انَضَحَأزدَدتٌ‬
‫ُاً‬
‫ليئ‬
‫مض‬
‫غوفمن الخد ف‪:‬قبضة اليد‪ .‬ليل‬
‫حدق ‪ee 3‬‏ آمناً مطمئناً إلى لا‬
‫نهاياته» ‪sob‬‏ به غيرٌمرآته‬
‫وأغاني الرُعاة القُدَامى لصيف أباطرة‬
‫يمرضون من الحبٌ‪ .‬ليل ترعرع في شغره‬
‫‏!‪ ale‬على نزوات أمرىء القيس والآخرين»‬
‫ووسّع للحالمين طريق الحليب إلى قمر‬
‫جائع في أقاصي الكلام‪...‬‬
‫‪22‬‬ ‫‪MAHMOUD‬‬ ‫‪1‬‬

Your Night Is of Lilac
The night sits wherever you are. Your night

is of lilac. Every now and then a gesture escapes
from the beam of your dimples, breaks the wineglass
and lights up the starlight. And your night is your shadow—
a fairy-tale piece of land to make our dreams
equal. I am not a traveler or a dweller
in your lilac night, Iam he who was one day
me. Whenever night grew in you I guessed
the heart’s rank between two grades: neither
the self accepts, nor the soul accepts. But in our bodies
a heaven and an earth embrace. And all of you
is your night ... radiant night like planet ink. Night
in the covenant of night, crawling in my body
anesthetized like a fox’s sleepiness. Night diffusing a mystery
that illuminates my language, whenever it is clearer
I become more fearful of a tomorrow in the fist. Night
staring at itself safe and assured in its
endlessness, nothing celebrates it except its mirror
and the ancient shepherd songs in a summer of emperors
who get sick on love. Night that flourished in its Jahili poetry
on the whims of Imru’ el-Qyss and others,
and widened for the dreamers the milk path to a hungry
moon in the remoteness of speech ...

‫‪[IT] Gigs‬‬
‫‪d‬‏ ‪BJ dyG diD‬‬

‫‪e‬ير‬
‫‪e‬هرغ‬
‫‪ D‬الن‬
‫مِنّ‬
‫‏‪Js SuesB35‬املا نمةميغةدراش‬
‫ليخرلا‬‫‏‪LS‬ىلعامَتْكَرَتانلنم‏‪1S‬‬
‫غموضك دَرْبُ الحليب‪ .‬غبارٌ كواكبّ لا اسم لها‬

‫‏‪ das‬عُمُوضُك في ‪ 3‬لا يُضيءٌ سوى الماء»‬
‫‏‪ ul‬الكلام فمن شأنه أن يضيء بمفردةةِواحدة‬
‫‏‪ a «dole‬رجاهملا نيب ‏’‪Juss (425 pial‬‬
‫‪‎‬انأ ‪sh gaul HM, 31848 Gly 52‬‬

‫‪ُ sll‬ريخألا‪‎‬ىلع ‪Slade qd‬‬
‫‪‎‬ليطانأ ‪¢ yds‬‬
‫قبل البلاد القديمة ‪ 0‬بعدها‪ .‬وأنا الخيمةٌ القائد‬
‫ا‬
‫وقائع ‏‪ Giro‬مما سوف يحدث عما قليل‪...‬‬

Sonnet II
Perhaps when you turn your shadow to the river you ask
of the river only obscurity. Over there a little autumn
sprinkles the stag with water from a fugitive cloud
there, on what you have left for us of departure’s crumbs
Your mystery is the Milky Way. The dust of nameless planets,

and your mystery is night in pearls that illuminate only water.
Whereas speech can illuminate with one phrase
“I love you,” the emigrant’s night between two odes and two palm tree rows
I am who saw his tomorrow when he saw you. I am who saw

gospels the last idolater wrote on Gilead’s slopes
before the ancient lands or after. And I am the returning cloud
to a fig tree that bears my name, as a sword bears the murdered’s face
Perhaps, when you turn your shadow to me, you give incident
to metaphor as a meaning to what is about to happen ...

‫وقوع الغريبة على نفسه في الغريب‬
‫نحينفني‪/‬‬
‫ثن‬‫‏‪Joly‬‬
‫ا‬
‫لا اسملناءي غاريبةٌ عندوُقُوع‬
‫الغريبعلىنفسه فيالغريب‪ .‬لَنَامن‬
‫حديقتنا خلفناقُوَّةُالظل‪.‬فلتُظهري‬
‫‪swh‬‏‬ ‫ء‬‫كرض‬
‫لنأ‬
‫يين م‬
‫لشائ‬
‫مات‬
‫ره‬ ‫ماتشائين‪.‬‬
‫مكانين في زمن واحده وبحثنا معاً‬
‫عن عناويننا‪:‬فاذهبي خَنْف ظلّكء‬
‫شَرْقَنشيدالأناشيد راعيةًللقطاء‬
‫تجدينجمةسَكَنَتْموتهاءفاصعدي جَبَلاً‬
‫‏‪ Mags‬تجدي أمس يُكمِلُدورتهُفيغدي‪.‬‬
‫تجدي أينكناو‪,‬أين نكون ‪sad‬‏‬
‫‏‪ 50 Joly‬فيأثنين‪/‬‬
‫فاذهب ‪]J‬‏ ‪ !duoc‬غَرْبَ كتابك»‬
‫واغظس خفيفاًخفيفاًكأنّك تحمل‬
‫‏‪ Ladd‬عند الولادةفيموجتين»‬
‫‏‪ des‬غابةمًن حشائش مائية وسماءاً‬
‫‪:‬ش خفيفاً‬ ‫ط‬ ‫غاة‬
‫اءخضر‬
‫فلما‬
‫منا‬
‫خفيفاًكأنكلاشيءفيأَيشّيء‪.‬‬
‫‏‪G08 Joly‬يفأ‪/‬نينث‬
‫‏‪ ae‬ىرن فيك انك ءانه اي‬
‫يبةُ‪,‬ظلّينينفتحان وينغلقان على ما‬
‫‏‪Sob ob ay lacs ees‬‬
‫‏‪ ee‬ةيئانثلا‬
‫الأبدية‪ .‬ينقصُّناأن نعودإلى اثنين‬
‫كينتعانق أكثر‪.‬لا اسملناياغريبة‬
‫عند وقوع الغريب على نفسه في الغريب!‬

The Stranger Stumbles upon Himself in the Stranger
We are one in two /

There’s no name for us, woman, when the stranger
stumbles upon himself in the stranger. Of our
garden behind us we have the force of shadow. So show
what you want of your night’s land, and conceal
what you want. We came in a hurry from the twilight
of two places at one time, and searched together
for our addresses: Go behind your shadow,
east of the Song of Songs, a shepherd of sand grouse,
you'll find a star dwelling in its death, then climb a neglected
mountain and you'll find my yesterday completing its cycle in my tomorrow.
You'll find where we were and where we'll be together,
we are one in two /
Go to the sea then, man, west of your book,
and dive lightly, lightly as if you were carrying
yourself at birth in two waves,
you'll find a wetland forest and a green sky
of water, then dive lightly
lightly as if you were nothing in anything,
and you'll find us together ...
we are one in two /
We need to see how we were here,
stranger, as two shadows opening and closing on what
has been shaped of our shape: a body disappearing then reappearing
in a body disappearing in the mystery of the eternal
duality. We need to return to being two
to embrace each other more. There’s no name for us,
when the stranger stumbles upon himself in the stranger!

‫دمونم‬
‫سمة‬
‫غي‬
‫بَعْدلََيْلكهليل الشتاء الأخير‬

‫‪ EV‬شارعٌالبحرمن حَرّسٍ‪hull‎‬‬
‫‪GUS Bs lose 2h JB Y‬‬
‫فيشمس أغنيتي‪ .‬مَنْيقوللي‬
‫‏‪ْ all go des 2G‬مّلْخاو لماكب‬
‫لاوعيك الحرٌ؟‬
‫خرّيتي تجلس الآن قربيء معي وعلى‬
‫كب كنلايم نيت‪71 6‬‬
‫قدتركت من الأمسلي‪:‬شالك‬
‫وعقداً من‬ ‫اب‬
‫ئين‬
‫ذب‬‫لرقص‬
‫انال‬
‫‏‪ «Sl‬شرائطٍ= ع‬
‫ت‪:‬‬ ‫عدغلب‬
‫لعو‬ ‫‏‪acd‬‬
‫ا‬
‫ماذا ستصنع خرّيتي» ‪yJ‬‏ ‪LA‬‬

‫ليل الشتاء الأخير؟‬
‫«مَضَتْ عَيْمَةٌ من سَدُومَ إلى بابل‬
‫من مئات السنينء ولكن شاعرها «بول‬
‫تسيلان» انتحرء اليوم» في نهر باريس‪.‬‬
‫لن تأخذيني ‪reS‬‏ ‪elip ea‬‬
‫حارسٌ‪ :‬ما اسمّك اليوم؟ لن تَلعَنَ‬
‫الحربّ‪ .‬لن تَلْعَنَالسلْم‪ .‬لن ‪salG‬‏ ‪teJ‬‬
‫الحديقة بحثا عن الليل ما بين صفصافتين‬
‫ونافذتين» ولن تسأليني‪ :‬متى يفتح‬
‫السلّمُ أبواتَ قلعتنا للحمام؟‬
‫بعدليلكء ليل الشتاء الأخير‬

‫أقامالجنودٌ معسكرهم ‪ .‬فيمكان بعيد‬
‫وحط علىشرفتيقمرأبيض‬
‫نيا‬
‫وجلست وحَرّيتي صامتين تُلحَديِّقلٌف‬
‫مَنْ‪ius‬‏ ‪SWMyas lU aS‬‬
‫ليلالشتاءالأخير؟‬

A Cloud from Sodom
After your night, night of the last winter,

the sea road was empty of its night guards,
no shadow follows me after your night dried up
in my song’s sun. Who will say to me
now: Let go of yesterday and dream with all
of your subconscious?
My freedom sits beside me, with me, and on
my knees like a house cat. It stares at me and at
what you might have left of yesterday for me: your lilac
shawl, videotapes of dancing among wolves, and a jasmine
necklace around the algae of the heart ...
What will my freedom do, after your night,

night of the last winter?
“A cloud went from Sodom to Babylon,”
hundreds of years ago, but its poet Paul
Celan committed suicide, today, in Paris’s river.
You won’t take me to the river again. No guard
will ask me: What’s your name today? We won't curse
wat. We won't curse peace. We won't climb
the garden fence searching the night for two willows
and two windows, and you won't ask me: When
will peace open our citadel doors to the doves?
After your night, night of the last winter,

the soldiers pitched their camp in a faraway place
and a white moon alighted on my balcony
and I sat with my freedom silently staring into our night:
Who am I? Who am Iafter your night
night of the last winter?

‫شادنا ظبية توأمان‬
‫مادا عل فتن ‪lap‬‏ ‪spc arat‬‬

‫نهديك»د ‪yzoC‬‏ ‪)isuS‬والغدٌ مَنّي‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ Gis‬كما ينبغي للقصيدة أن‪SSES‬‏‬
‫‏‪ dys uy‬تحت ‪,‬كفاحل ٌلظلاو‬
‫تبك ههناوهنالك بين ضفافك‬
‫والكلماتالتي ‪tsesiw‬‏ إلى‪seW‬‏‬
‫‪yds‬‬
‫‏»‪ Cid‬ميني ‏‪zi (le‬‬
‫وشمالي ‏‪65 At Gols Ye‬‬

‫وسرنا إلى لَيْلنا الخاصٌ‪»...‬‬
‫هل ‪ic‬‏حقاًهنا؟أم‪iu‬‏‬
‫عاشقاسابق يتفقدأَُحوال ماضيه؟‬
‫نامي على نفسك المطمئنّة بين‬
‫‪ 591‬الملاءات‪ .‬نامي يداًفوق صدري‬
‫وأخرىعلى ‪el‬‏‪ }BL 0 nilC‬لفراخ‬
‫اليمامات‪ .‬نامي كما ينبغي ‪lot‬‏‪ sid‬من‬
‫‏‪... gf go‬مانت انألتما ‏‪cuels‬‬
‫امتلأنابوسواس‪eliV‬‏ ‪lab egas‬‬
‫يا لها‪ ...‬من قَنَاةِحُلاسيّة تبعت ظلّها‪.‬‬
‫اتنائرمن‬
‫اها‪...‬من هياج ‪EB‬‏م ي‬
‫يل‬
‫‪ 35‬الورد احلوسلياج‪ .‬فنامي‬
‫‏‪ًLadd oud Ue‬ايناث لبق نأ حتفي‬
‫الأمسُ نافذق كُنّها‪ .‬ليس لي طائرٌ‬
‫وطنيٌء ولا شّجَرٌ وطنيٌ» ‪oV‬‏ ‪5855‬‬
‫يُسَافرُ مثلي أُ‪-‬قاسِمُك العَدَ والأمس‪.‬‬

‫لولاك لولا الرذادٌ الذي يتلألأ في تمش‬
‫الضوء ما بين نهديك‪ ,‬لانحرفثث ‪da‬‏‬
‫عن أنوثتها‪ .‬كم أنا والقصيدة أمّكء‬
‫وابناكء نغفو على شَادِقٍ ظَبِية‬
‫وميا‬

A Doe’s Young Twins
In the evening, by the freckled light between

your breasts, yesterday and tomorrow approach me.
I came into being as a poem should come into being ...
the night is born under your bedcover, and shadow
is fretful here and there between your riverbank
and the words that carried us back to their tone:
“I placed my right hand on her hair
and my left on a doe’s young twins
then we walked into our private night ...”
Are you really here? Or am I
a previous lover who checks in on his past?
Sleep within your self secure among your
bedsheet flowers. Sleep with one hand on my chest
and the other on the down that will sprout on baby
pigeons. Sleep as the garden
around us should ... we’ve become filled with yesterday,
filled with wicked whispers of a bedless guitar.
(And what a mulatto she is ... following her shadow.
What a tumult ... tearing up what scatters
of rose petals around the fence.) Sleep
upon my breath as a second breath before yesterday
fully opens my window. I have no national
bird, no national tree, and no flower
in your exile garden. But I—and my wine
travels as I do—split with you yesterday and tomorrow.
If it weren’t for you and for the drizzle
that glimmers in the freckled
light between your breasts, my language would have swerved
from its femininity. But the poem and I are now your mother,
and your two children, falling asleep on a doe’s young
twins!

‫سوناتا [‪]111‬‬
‫‪lee glib louse AUST Lull Go deol‬‬

‫يدا بيد ورويداً رويداً ‪see‬‏ مَقْطعاً مقطعا‬
‫تطيران بيء فوق‪ .‬يا ‪ekreG‬‏ ‪ lal‬ولا تُشرعا‬
‫وناما على جانبيّ كمثل جناحي سُنُونُوة مُتْعَبَةُ‬
‫حريركما ساخنٌ‪ .‬وعلى الناي أن يتأنقليلا‬

‫ويصقلَ سُونانَة عندما تقعان علي غموضاً جميلا‬
‫كمعنىعل أىَهْبَةِالعُ يزءي لا يستطيعٌالوصولا‬
‫ولا الانتظارَ الطويل ‪lua‬‏الكلام فيختارني ‪eca‬‏‬
‫اكع من الشعر ‪say‬‏‪ i‬النثر والصورة الخافية‬

‫تسيرينحافيةتك القافية‬
‫اَمَرٍللبلاغة‪ ::‬حين‬
‫بل ق‬
‫وينكسر الور في ذرو ةة التجربة‬ ‫جماع‏!‪SI‬‬
‫قليلٌمنالليلقربك ‪LA‬‏ لأخرجمن بابلي‬

‫آخري‪ .‬لا حديقة لي معي‬ ‫إلىجوهري‬
‫‏‪ Ass‬أنت‪ .‬وما فاض منك «‪>b‬‏ ‪lbt !32‬‬

Sonnet III
Of night, I love the beginning, when you two come together

hand in hand, and bit by bit embrace me one section at a time
then in flight take me, higher. Stay my friends, don’t hurry
and sleep on each of my sides like the wings of a tired swallow
Both of your silks are hot. But the flute should be patient
and polish a sonnet, when you two descend on me as a lovely mystery,
like a meaning on the verge of nakedness, incapable of arrival
and of long waiting in front of speech, it chooses me as a threshold
Of poetry, I love the spontaneity of prose and the hidden image

without a moon for rhetoric: when you walk barefoot rhyme abandons
copulating speech, and meter breaks in the climax of experience
A bit of night near you is enough for me to get out of my Babylon

and into my essence —my other. No garden for me within me
and all of you is you. And what overflows from you is “I” the free and kind

‫خذي فرسي واذبحيها ‪.‬‬
‫أنت» لا هَوَسي بالفتوحات‪ ,‬عُرْسي‬

‫‏‪ quid E555‬اهنارقأو نم نيطايش كسفن‬
‫حُريّة الامتثال لما تطلبين»‬
‫‪eit git‬‬
‫واذبحيهاء‬
‫لمشي‏‪ dite‬المُحَاربٍ تَعْدَالهزيمة‬
‫‪‎‬نم ‪ses els se‬‬
‫سلاماًعلقما تريدين من =‬
‫للأش ]المي ون طاسب لاحتفال‬
‫الوصيفات بالصيف‪liG .‬‏ ‪EIL selip‬‬
‫جميعكحافلةٌ بالمُريدين من ‪SU‬‏ ‪eliw eb‬‬
‫سلاماًعلىماصنغت بنفسك من‬
‫أجل نفسك‪hgoG :‬‏ ‪ SRI‬يكسر‬
‫سيفي وتزسي‬
‫وزرٌ قميصك يحمل فصَيؤْئه‬
‫لفظة ‪lu‬‏ ‪ )lba‬من" ‪SI‬‏‪eipa‬‬
‫‏‪ igi igo gid‬ةراتيج ٌبيجتست‬
‫‏‪ Gulls Ub‬نم ‪.‬حيرلايسلدنأ‏‪ils‬‬
‫في يديكء فلا تدّعي ‪351‬واحداً‬
‫للدفاع عن النفس في ‪tiw‬‏ ‪lsa‬‬
‫‏‪ ysl Bou‬يف نمز ‪.‬رخآ‬
‫سوف أدرك أَنيانتصرتٌ بيأسي‬
‫‏‪ Glo Ses ily‬كلانه‬
‫‏‪ dyese‬برق يسمأ‬
‫خذي فرسيٍ‬
‫واذبحيهاء‪ .‬لأحمل نفسي ‪gaid 0‬‏‬
‫بنفسى‪...‬‬

Take My Horse and Slaughter It ...
You, and not my craze with conquest, are my wedding.

I left to myself and its match in your devil self
the freedom to comply with your demands,
take my horse
and slaughter it,
and I will walk like a warrior after defeat
without dream or sense ...
Salaam upon what you desire of fatigue
for the captive prince, and of gold for the maidens
to celebrate the summer. And salaam upon you
abounding with suitors of every jinn and man,
for what you’ve done to yourself for
yourself: your hairpin breaks
my shield and my sword,
and your shirt button bears in its glare
the secret word of birds of every sort,
take my breath the way a guitar responds
to what you demand of the wind. All of my Andalus
is within your hands, so don’t leave a single string
for self-defense in the land of my Andalus.
I will realize, in another time,
I will realize that I have won with my despair
and that I have found my life, over there
outside itself, near my past
take my horse
and slaughter it, and I will carry myself dead and alive,
by myself ...

‫=‬
‫رض الغريبة‪/‬أرض السكينة‬ ‫‪j‬‬
‫‪ vil‬قع ةّفاح ضرألا‬ ‫‏‪ee a‬‬

‫‏‪ ale‬كب وأ ‪.‬كبايغب‏‪ٌ y‬فرعأ‬
‫الأغنياتالتيتجهشين ‪yl‬‏ وأنا‪uy‬‏‬
‫في ضبابك‪ .‬فلتكن الأرض ما‬
‫تومئين إليه‪ ...‬وما تفعليتة‬
‫جنوبيّةٌ‪,‬‬
‫‏‪ GSS‬عن الدَوّران على نفسها‬
‫وعليك‪ .‬لها موعدان قصيران حول‬
‫‏‪ْ. fled celal‬فْيَصَو اًمأو ٌحيبرلا‬
‫وأطوارة‪slo %5,‬‏ا‬
‫‏‪ ws‬إلى أيّةأمرأة فيكتنتشر‬
‫مارلغريتا على ‪sJ‬‏ نافّة ‪laud 3‬‏‬
‫‪ Sl etU‬الأمير الصغير‪uly‎.‬‬
‫الخريف وتأويلة‪saL‬‏ ‪ ’kaL‬فهو‬
‫شأني‪id‬‏ ‪ b3!bag orc‬الكنائس‬
‫“‪ eiS‬وأنسىوأنت تسيرين بين‪_ ‎‬‬
‫ليثامتلا ةّيرح ‪‎‬رَجَحلا !‪Rilo «Spork‬‬
‫‪1 a‬‬ ‫ةحئار ‪‎‬ةنيردنملا‬
‫‪blue‬‬
‫حول صُورّتها في مراياك‪« :‬لا‬
‫أمّلي يا انتتتي فلديني هنا»‬
‫هكذا ‏‪ eas‬الأرض ‪enid 3‬‏ ‪woL‬‬
‫‪53558‬أنثى إلى ‪ 8‬فخذيني‬

‫إليها إليك ‪!J‬‏ ‪ suJ‬هنا‪ .‬داخلي‬
‫خارجي‪ .‬وخُذيني ‪ase‬‏ نفسي‬
‫إليك» ‪slo‬‏ ‪NSS sse‬‬
‫‪36‬‬ ‫‪MAHMOUD DARWISH‬‬

The Stranger’s Land / the Serene Land
In me, as in you, a land on the edge of land

populated with you or with your absence. I don’t know
the songs you sob, as I pass
through your fog. So let land be
what you gesture to ... and what you do
Southerly,
and doesn’t cease orbiting around herself
and around you. She has two brief appointments
around the sky: summer and winter. As for spring
and its phases, that’s your concern alone:
rise to any woman within you and the margarite
will spread to every window in town
Gilded,
as the little prince’s summer. And as
for autumn and its tired gold interpretation, that
is my concern, when I feed the church birds
my bread. And Iforget, when you walk among
the statues, the freedom of marble, and I follow
the mandarin scent
Traveling,
around her image in your mirrors: “My daughter
I have no mother so give birth to me here.”
That’s how the land places in a body her secret,
and weds a woman to a man. Take me
to her to you to me. There here. Inside me
outside me. And take me so that my self is serene
in you, and that I reside in the serene land

‫‪Bigle‬‬
‫َيْسلي م أاَقولٌعن الأرضفيك‬
‫ل الغريبٌ‪Soles ‎:‬‬ ‫‪eae‬‬
‫رمايُخْطىءٌ الغْرَباءُبلفظ حُروف آراميّة‪‎.‬‬
‫‪ EL‬ي}َص ‪auْs‬ن‪َi‬حُون إِلمَتَهُمْمنمَوَلاَ‪‎‬‬
‫بدائيّة وَجَدوهاعلىضفة النهر‪,‬‬
‫‏‪: Sa ois‬ءانغلا ٌةّيوامس‬
‫هذه الأرض ‪ehS‬‏ ‪daB ael‬‬
‫سممنينة‬
‫اْرَ‬
‫تَيبَخ‬
‫كالقصيدة قبل الكتابة‪« :‬لا أَبَ‬

‫ليي باد«‪HC‬‏ فلذفي» ‪3‬تقولليالأرضُ‬
‫‏‪ See‬خفيفاً على الأرضء في‬
‫‏‪ 3h JJ‬ءيلالتملا نيب ‪.‬تاشارفلا‬
‫‪Shows‬‬ ‫‪.‎ 98 @5Y‬ثيراحملا ‪ya‬‬
‫لا اسم ما ينبغعي أنتكون عليه‬
‫الحياةٌسوى ماصَنَعْتَ بروحي وما تصنعينه‪...‬‬

Heavenly,
I have nothing to say about the land in you
other than what the stranger says: Heavenly ...
The strangers might err in pronouncing Aramaic letters,
they might make their gods out of primitive
elements they found on the riverbank,
but they master singing: Heavenly
this land like weightless clouds
evaporated out of jasmine
Metaphorical,
like the poem before writing: “I have no father
my son so give birth to me,” the land says to me
when Ipass lightly upon the land, in
your shimmering crystal night amid the butterflies.
No blood on the plows. A virginity renewing itself.
There is no name for what life should be
other than what you’ve made of my soul and what you make ...

‫لَاكلتؤأمان‪:‬لك النثرٌ والشعرٌ يَتُحدان‪ ,‬وأنت‬
‫تطيرين من رَمَنٍنحو آخَرَء سالمة كاملةٌ‬
‫‪a‬‏‪ gl‬الطيبين‬ ‫على هَوْدَجٍ من كواكب قَثْلآك ‪S‬‬
‫محْملون سماواتك السَبْعَ قافلة قافلة‪.‬‬
‫وَهُيم‬
‫‪ Bie‬كِيَرْهَنو نوبرتقي‬ ‫‪er‬‬ ‫‏}‪le‬‬
‫‏‪ ie‬ءاملا ىلوأ« ‏!‪ine 58 51 Sly‬‬
‫شَتقَأْملُ أفعالة‪ .‬فيْجَنُ‬
‫بنا»‪ .‬‏‪ ei‬عايش‬
‫بهواحن إليه‪ :‬أأفعَلُثانية م فاَعَلْتُ؟‬
‫‏‪ Otis‬بَرْقك يحترقون بحبرالسماء‪ .‬وأَحفادُهُمْ‬
‫يَنْشُرونالسنونو ‪A‬‏ ‪ 855‬السُومريّة‪...‬‬

‫صاعدةً كانت السومريَّةُ أَم‪bsْU‬‏‬
‫‏‪ i‬أنتالمَدِيدّة في البَهُو‬

‫‪hf‬‏ والبنطلون‬ ‫ذات القميص‬
‫‏‪ | «Solel‬لا لمجازك» أوقظ‬
‫«‪,553‬‏ ‪ gil‬لنفسي‪ :‬سيطلع‬
‫‪gos‬‬
‫من عَتّمتي فَمَرٌ‪...‬‬
‫دعي الماءَ ينزل من الأقُق السومريٌ‬

‫‏‪ Lae‬كما في الأماطير‪yS .‬‏‪SS‬‬
‫قلبي صحيحاً كهذا الزجاج المحيط بنا‬
‫فامائيه بغيمك حتى يَحُودَّ إلى أهله‬
‫غائماً ‪etU‬‏كصلاة الفقير‪su .‬‏كان‬
‫قلبي جريحاً فلا ‪ilaw‬‏ ب‪S‬ه‪ap‬‏ الغزال‪,‬‬
‫‏‪iets)293 Oil Jg> 35 oo‬‬
‫لحُنُولدمي في الشقائق بعد الحروب‪.‬‬
‫وم تَبْقَفميعبدي جََرّةلٌنبيذ الإلهاتٍ‬
‫في سُومَرَالأبديّة في سُومَرَالزائلة‬
‫‏‪ wl‬أنت الرشيقة في البَهُو‬

‫‏‪Sib BI hid Ol‬‬

Inanna’s Milk
For you the twins: for you poetry and prose unite, as you
fly from one epoch to another, safe and sound
on a howdah made of your murdered victims’ planets —your kind guards
who carry your seven heavens one caravan at a time.
And between the palm trees and your hands’ two rivers, your
horse-keepers approach the water: The first goddess is the one most filled
with us. And an infatuated creator contemplates his work, becomes mad
with her and longs for her: Shall 1 make again what I did before?
The scribes of your lightning burn in the sky’s ink, and their offspring
strew the swallows over the Sumerian woman’s parade ...
be she ascending, or descending
For you, the one stretched out in the hall

in the forest shirt, and the ashen
pants, not for your metaphor, I awaken
my wilderness, and say to myself: A moon
will rise from my darkness ...
Let the water flow down from the Sumerian horizon

upon us, as in the myths. If my heart
is as straight as this glass surrounding us
then fill it up with your clouds until it returns to its folk
overcast and dreamy like a poor man’s prayer. And if my heart
is wounded, don’t stab it with a gazelle’s horn,
there are no natural flowers left around the Euphrates
for my blood to incarnate in the anemones after the wars.
And there isn’t a jar left in my temple for the wine of the goddesses,
in Sumer the eternal, in Sumer the ephemeral
For you, the slender one in the hall

with the silken hands

‫وخاصرة اللَّهُو‬
‫لالرموزك»‬
‫أوقظ ‏‪ An‬وأقول‪:‬‬
‫اسن هذي الغزالة من سرّبها‬
‫وأطعن نفسي‪ ...‬بها!‬
‫‏‪ yslY‬ةينغأل نآ نوكت ةكريزنت‬

‫‏‪ٌ dst Jiails‬روث قارعلا‬
‫المُجَنحُقرَيه بالدهروالهَيْكل المُتصَدّع‬
‫في فضة الفجر‪stida .‬‏ ‪]ssa lhC‬‬
‫ا معدنيّة في جََوْقَةَ المنشدين القدامى‬
‫لشمس تَبُوخَذْتَصَر‪ .‬أما أناء'المتحدّر‬
‫من غير هذ الزمانء فلا بُدَّ لي‬
‫‪sld‬كان‬ ‫من حصاننِيُلائمهذا ‪me‬‏‬
‫لايد من قَمَرٍفليكنْ عالياً‪...‬عالياً‬
‫‪SES‬‏ لا‪ei‬‏ ولا فارسياً‬ ‫ومن ب‬
‫ولا تدّعيه الإلهاتثُ من حولنا‪sd .‬‏ ‪eL Sg‬‬
‫المُلوكَ الع‬ ‫من ‪IUS‬‏ ‪55 bO‬‬
‫لتُكمل هذا الزقاف المُقَدّسَء نكملة يا‪١‬‏بْنَةَ‬
‫القمر الأبَديٌ هنا في المكان الذي رلته‬
‫يداك على طَرَف الأرض من شُرقَة الجنّة الآفلة! ‪...‬‬
‫الجريدة في البَمُى‬
‫نت المُصَابة بالإنفُوئْزا‬
‫أقول‪:‬‏‪ ods ois‬جنوُباب‏‪gels‬‬
‫وَحُذي حَبتَ عيْ «أسبرين»‬
‫ليهدأ فيك حليبٌ إناناء‬
‫ونعرق ها الْرَمَق ‪uo‬‏‬
‫في مُلْتَقَى الرافدين!‬

and the frolicking waist,
not for your symbols,
I awaken my wilderness and say:
I will draw this gazelle out of her flock
and stab myself ... with it!
I don’t want a song to be your bed,

so let the Bull, Iraq’s winged Bull, burnish
his horns with the ages on the fissured altar
in the silver of dawn. And let death carry its metal
instrument amid the ancient choir
of Nebuchadnezzar’s sun. As for me, the descendant
from without this time, I must have
a suitable horse for this procession. And if
there must be a moon let it be high ... high
and made in Baghdad, not Arabic or Persian
and not claimed by any of the gods around us. And let it be empty
of memories and of ancient kings’ wine,
for us to complete this holy procession, together, you daughter
of the eternal moon, in this place that your hands brought down
to the edge of the earth from the balcony of the fading paradise! ...
For you, the one reading

the newspaper in the hall,
the one sick with influenza
I say: Take one cup of hot chamomile
and two aspirins
for Inanna’s milk to quiet in you,
and for us to know what time it is now
at the confluence of the two rivers!

‫سُوَنَاتا'[‪]171‬‬
‫‏‪. ised sis‬كمون اي مسا ٍيذلاانأهيف‬

‫ممق الليل أشجارة‪,‬وسيغفو‬ ‫من الحُلم‪0‬‬
‫على أرضه ‪goh‬‏ لغياب قليل‪ .‬ونامي ‪yb‬‏‬
‫‏‪ Sips serine‬وعقباميوعا‬
‫‏‪َ G55‬كْرْعَشقوف كماَحُرًاوْدَب نوماني اوُهَس‬

‫يوحللامون‪ .‬يُضيئُكروجاباكم كنَََيْكِ‬
‫إل أقظواق منامك‪ .‬نامي عليك وفيك‪ .‬عليك‬
‫سلام السماوات والأرض تفتحانهاه لَك‪ 0‬فبهوا‬
‫‪ als‬مونلا ‪.‬يب ال ةكئالم نولمحي ريرسلا‬

‫‏‪las‬‬
‫ولا شبح يُوقظ الياسمينة‪bl .‬‏ ‪ Ib5SE luoS‬نامي‬
‫فلاناي ّي عل قىَرسِهاربمنخيامي‬
‫‪SLA‬‏ ‪delA ]yy‬‬

‫كماتحلمينتكونين» يا‬
‫نامي‬ ‫م‬ ‫وس‬
‫يُخَدْرٌ غاباته الألف ‪3‬‬
‫مدا في منامي‬ ‫شت‬ ‫ولا توقظي ‪1‬‬

Sonnet IV
Slowly I massage your sleep. You’re the name of what's in me

of dream, so sleep. The night will blanket its trees, and will doze off
on its earth as a master of a brief absence. Sleep and I will float
on drops of light that leak from a moon I enclose ...
Your hair above your marble is a tent for bedouins who absently sleep
and don’t dream. Your pair of doves illuminates you from your shoulders
to your daisy sleep. Sleep upon and in yourself. Upon you
the salaam of heaven and earth opening up their halls one by one
Sleep wraps you up with me. No angels carry the bed

and no ghost awakens the jasmine. O my feminine name, sleep
since no flute cries over a mare that escapes my tents
You are as you dream, the summer of a northerly land

anesthetizing its thousand forests in the pounce of sleep. Sleep
and don’t awaken a body desiring a body in my sleep

‫أنا أمرأة‪ .‬لا أقلّ ‪yV‬‏ ‪SP‬‬
‫‏‪ gle‬كما هي‬
‫أعيش‬
‫‪ Aa gs2‬ال‬
‫‏‪x Sly‬‬
‫‪‎‬لمكأل ‪Lake depend‬‬
‫وأرى ما أرى‬
‫‪‎‬امك‪als 3 2‬‬
‫حدق مابين حين‬ ‫بيد‏‪ji‬‬
‫وآخرّ في ‪bla‬‏‬
‫‏‪ oe‬بنبض الخسارة‪.‬‬
‫‪juz CS‬‬
‫على وَرّقِ الأمس‪ :‬لا صَوْتَ‬
‫إلالضدف؟‬
‫أحبٌ الغموض الضرورقٌ في‬
‫كلمات المسافر ليلاًإلى ما اختفى‬
‫ملنطير فوق ‪stoc‬‏الكلام‬
‫ا‬
‫‪‎‬قوفو‪Sill geht‬‬
‫‏‪ dtyo! Ul‬ال ّلقأ الو َرثكأ‬
‫‏‪ Sab‬زَهْرَةٌ اللوز‪.‬‬

‫في شهر آذارء من شرفتي‬
‫حنيناً إلى مايقول البعيُ‪:‬‬
‫«المسيني ا خيلي ماء الينابيع»‬
‫‏‪dol, eels wis My Sl‬‬
‫أنتَ كما ‪le‬‏ لاسَتَداً‬
‫‪Ss 9‬‬
‫ويطلع من كتفيّ نهارٌ عليك‬

‫ويهبطءحينأَضمّكَ ‪duJ‬‏ ‪]A‬‬
‫‏‪ Cals‬بهذا ولاذاك‬
‫لاه لست شمساً ولا قمراً‬
‫أنا امرأةٌ لا أقلَّ ولا ‪TSB‬‏‬

No More and No Less
Iam a woman. No more and no less

I live my life as it is
thread by thread
and I spin my wool to wear, not
to complete Homer’s story, or his sun.
And I see what I see
as it is, in its shape,
though I stare every once
in a while in its shade
to sense the pulse of defeat,
and write tomorrow
on yesterday’s sheets: there’s no sound
other than echo.
I love the necessary vagueness in
what a night traveler says to the absence
of birds over the slopes of speech
and above the roofs of villages
I am a woman, no more and no less
The almond blossom sends me flying

in March, from my balcony,
in longing for what the faraway says:
“Touch me and I'll bring my horses to the water springs.”
I cry for no clear reason, and I love you
as you are, not asa strut
nor in vain
and from my shoulders a morning rises onto you
and falls into you, when I embrace you, a night.
But I am neither one nor the other
no, I am not a sun or a moon

‫‏‪ ui ae‬قا‬
‫‪1‬‬ ‫إذا شئت‬
‫‪Pay‬‬
‫فيعجيني أن ‪sL‬‏ ‪ SL‬أنا‬

‫‏‪ y‬صُورَة‬
‫‪ 3 ia‬الجريدة‪ ,‬أو‪3,88‎‬‬
‫في القصيدة بين الآيائل‪‎...‬‬ ‫ملق‬
‫‪ lam‬صرخة ليلى البعيدة‪‎‬‬
‫من غرفة النوم‪ :‬لا تتركيني‪‎‬‬
‫سجينة قافية في ليالي القبائل‪‎‬‬
‫لا‪ ASH‎‬لهم‪ae‎‬‬
‫‪FST Vy al Y diye {Ul‬‬
‫أنامَن أمنثالءما‬
‫تمَنْأنت‪susa :‬‏ ‪3‬‬
‫أن '‬
‫وأَسكنُفيك إليك ولك‬
‫أحبٌ الوضوح الضروري في لغزنا المشترك‬
‫أنلاك حين أفيضٍعن الليل‬
‫‪lol Es as‬‬
‫‪iio‬‬
‫ولا‪‎‬‬
‫أناأمرأةٌ ل أَاقَلَّ ولا أكثرٌ‬
‫‪5355‬القن الأنثوي‬
‫‏‪Ge Dyess‬‬
‫‪551‬‬
‫‪1,35‬‬
‫‪Ayo iUI‬‬
‫‪daly‬‬
‫ولاأكثر!‬

So be the Qyss of longing,
if you wish. As for me
I like to be loved as I am
not as a color photo
in the paper, or as an idea
composed in a poem amid the stags ...
I hear Laila’s faraway scream
from the bedroom: Do not leave me
a prisoner of rhyme in the tribal nights
do not leave me to them as news ...
I am who I am, as
you are who you are: you live in me
and I live in you, to and for you
I love the necessary clarity of our mutual puzzle
I am yours when I overflow the night
but I am not a land
or a journey
And Itire
from the moon’s feminine cycle
and my guitar falls ill
string
by string
I am a woman,
no more
and no less!

‫غنية زفاف‬
‫وانتقلتٌ إليكَء كما انتقل الفلكيّونَ‬

‫من كوكب نحو آخر‪ .‬روحي ‪snu‬‏‬
‫على جسدي من أصابعك العشر‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ Ald} GAS‬قلطنا ةماميلاب ىتح‬
‫أقاصي الهديل على جانبيك‪ :‬المدى‬
‫والصدى‪ .‬وَدّع ‪IEL‬‏ ‪shS SSB‬‬
‫‪he‬‬ ‫سدى‪ .‬فأنا لاأرى«‪oyh‬‏‬
‫في مائها‪ ...‬لا أرى خا‬
‫لذارى أحذا‪ :‬تداراك قاذ‬
‫سُورٍ المدينة؟ لا أمّتعجنُ ‪dS‬‏‬

‫الطويل بحنّائها ‪laG‬‏ لالت‬
‫تضفرةُ‪ .‬مَنْ أنا خارج السور بين‬
‫حقول حياديّة وسماء رماديّة‪ .‬فلتكن‬
‫‏‪ Cai‬أمّيَ في بَلّد الغُرَبَاء‪ .‬وخذني‬
‫برفق إلى مَنْ أكون غدا‬
‫‪go dish. Uo Shae bg51 32‬‬
‫‏‪|dels‬مرأةًلهاُمُومَله ‘ا‪bn‬‏زينة‬
‫‏‪ afads‬فوس بأ كانه ىلع‬
‫حَجَرٍكانيُرْشِدُ غيمي إلى ماء ‪RAF‬‏‬
‫خذني إلى آخر‬
‫الأرض قبل طلوع الصباح على قَمَرٍكان‬
‫‪By diss ee‬‬ ‫‏‪lesSe‬‬
‫كما تأَخْذْ النجمة الحامين إليها سُدىٌ‬
‫و‬
‫وسدى‬
‫وسدىٌ‪ .‬أتطلّعُ خلف جبال مُؤَابِء‬

‫فلا ريح تُرْجعٌ ثوب العروس‪ .‬أحبّك‬
‫‏‪ dy lb‬عجرب ىدصلا نحو‬
‫إلى سَوْسَنِ ‪oJ 15‬‏ ‪lsa 33G ehW‬‬
‫‪5O‬‬ ‫‪MAHMOUD‬‬ ‫‪DARWISH‬‬

Wedding Song
And I moved into you, as astronomers move

from one planet to another. My soul looks upon
my body through your ten fingers.
Take me to you, dash off with the dove to
the remoteness of cooing on your two sides: expanse
and echo. And let the horses run after me
in vain. Because I do not, yet, see my image
in its water ... I see no one
I see no one, I do not see you. What

have you done with my freedom? Who am I
behind the city wall? No mother kneads my long
hair with her eternal henna, and no sister
braids it. Who am I outside the wall between
neutral fields and an ashen sky. Be
my mother in the stranger's land. And take me
gently to who I become tomorrow
Who do I become tomorrow? Will I be born

out of your rib a woman without worry except to adorn
your life. Or will I cry over there on a rock
that used to guide my clouds to your water well?
Take me to the end
of the earth before morning rises on a moon that used
to cry blood in bed, and take me gently
as a star takes the dreamers in vain
And in vain, I look behind Moab’s mountains,

since no wind brings back the bride’s dress. I love you
but my heart resonates with echo’s return and longs
for another iris. Is there a sorrow more

‫التباساً على النفس من قَرّح البنت‬
‫فيعُرْسها؟ وأحبك ‪egal‬‏ ‪585E‬‬
‫‏‪ cual‬ومهما تذكرتٌ ‪lJ‬‏ سيت‬
‫الصدى في الصدى‬
‫ألصدى في الصدىء وانتقلتٌ إلِيكَ‬

‫ئنن نحوآخر‪.‬‬
‫ام‬‫كاسم‬
‫كماانتقل ال‬
‫كنا غريبين في بلدين بعيدين قبلقليل‪,‬‬
‫فماذا أكون غداةً غد عندما أصبح‬
‫اثنين؟ ماذا صَنَعْتَ بحريّتي؟ كلما‬
‫ازداد خوفي منك اندفعتٌ إليك»‬
‫ولا فضل لي يا حبيبي الغريب سوى‬
‫‪ «52‬فلتكن ثعلباً طيّباً في كرومي‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ Glos‬بخُضرة عينيك فويجعي‪ .‬لن‬
‫أعود إلى أسمي وبرّيتي» أبداً‬
‫أبدا‬
‫ابدا‪.‬‬

confusing than a woman’s happiness
on her wedding night? And I love you no matter how often I remember
my yesterday, no matter how often I remember that I forget
the echo in echo
Echo in echo, and I moved into you

as a name moves from one creature to another.
We were two strangers in two faraway lands a while ago,
so what will I be tomorrow when I become
two? What have you done with my freedom? Whenever
my fear of you mounts I rush into you,
my beloved stranger, since my ardent desire
is my only credit. So be a kind fox in my vineyard
and stare with the green of your eye into my ache. I
won't return to my name and my wilderness, never
never
never.

‫تدبير منزلي‬
‫كم أنا‬
‫في الصباح ذهبتٌ إلى سوق يوم‬
‫الخميس‪ .‬اشتريتٌ مره ‪)lia‬‏‬
‫واخترثٌ أقركيةة وبعثت الرسائل‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ Stal 564 vill‬برائحة البرتقالة‪.‬‬
‫هل ‪slE‬‏ ‪ aa J‬إنني‪elad 5514‬‏‬
‫أ تمخيّلتُ ال لمتجدني‬
‫الهواء‬ ‫‪de5B‬‏‬
‫أَرفُ ‏‪ che‬فلا ‪6‬‬
‫وَنَمْي حابيبي نَوْاملَهنا‪...‬‬
‫كم أنا؟‬
‫في الظهيرة‪)aeS ,‬‏ مراياي‪ .‬أعددتٌ‬
‫نفسي لعيد سعيد‪ .‬ونهداقء فخا‬
‫يمام لياليك يمتلئان بشهوة أمس‪.‬‬
‫أرى في عُروق الرخام ‪eloC‬‏ ‪ILS‬‬
‫الإباحي يجري ويصرخ بالشّعراء‬
‫أكتبوني» ‪SL‬‏ قال ريتسوس‪luo .‬‏‬
‫اختفيت وأخفيت منفاق عن رغبتي؟‬
‫لا أرى صُورَقٍِ فير شرك ولا صُورَةٌ‬
‫امرأة من ‪sale‬‏ ‪ ldiL‬تُدِيترٌَدَابِيرَها‬
‫‪1‬‬ ‫‏‪Ld Joo Zable‬‬
‫كم أنا؟‬
‫في المساء‪ .‬ذهبتٌ إلى السينما‬
‫مع إحدى الصديقات‪ .‬كان الهُنُودٌ‬
‫القدامى يطيرون في زمن الحرب والسلم‬

Housework
How often
did I go in the morning to Thursday’s
market. I bought our house supplies,
and chose an orchid and mailed the letters.
A rain made me wet and filled me with the scent of oranges.
Did you tell me once that I was a pregnant palm tree,
or did I imagine that? If you don’t find me
fanning you, don’t fear the feeble air,
and sleep, my love, a blissful sleep ...
How often?
At noon, I brandished my mirrors. I prepared
myself for a happy feast. And my breasts, your nights’
baby doves, were filling with yesterday’s lust.
I see in the marble veins the milk of licentious
talk running and screaming at the poets:
Write me, as Ritsos said. Where
have you hidden yourself
and hidden my exile from my desire?
I do not see my image in mirrors, or the image
of a woman from Athens running her emotional
errands as I do here
3
How often?
In the evening, I went to the cinema
with one of my girlfriends. The ancient American Indians
were flying in the time of war and peace

‫كالشّهُب الأثريّة مثلي ومثلك‪.‬‬
‫حدَّقَتُ في طائر فرأيتٌ ‪elsi‬‏‬
‫يرتديان جناحيّ في شجر الأكاليبتوس‪.‬‬
‫اةر من‬ ‫بجا‬‫غجون‬
‫لننن‬‫هاانح‬
‫النهر‪.‬مَنْكانفيناالضحيّةَفلئِحلم‬
‫‪1‬‬ ‫الآنأكثرمن ‪enoc‬‏‪yti‬‬
‫كم أنا؟‬
‫بعد مُنْتَصف الليلء أشرقت‬
‫الشمسٌ في دمنا‬
‫كم أناأَنْسَءي صااحبي‬
‫كم أنا! مَنْ أنا!‬

like antique meteors, like you and me.
I stared at a bird and I saw your wings
wearing my wings in eucalyptus trees.
We are rescued here the way dust is rescued
from the river. Whoever the victim is between us should dream
now, more than the other
4
How often?
After midnight, the sun rose
in our blood,
how much of me is you, my love
how often! Who am I!

‫سوناتا‪[V] ‎‬‬
‫‏‪ Lil‬مَسٌ الكمان الوحيد ضواحي المكان البعيد‬

‫‏‪ٌ leyJasJe‬رهنلاهتّضح نم ذاذر زطملا‬
‫ويدنو رويداًرويدا ‪és‬‏ عابر فيالقصيد‬
‫فأحملٌ رض البعيد وتحملني في طريق السفرز‬
‫على‏‪ =vis‬خصالك ‪sih‬‏‪0‬‬
‫أناأبنفعالكفي ‪ow‬‏ و إِبِنُ جروحي‬

‫وقد أشعلت وحدها ‪!sis‬‏ بساتينك امغلقة‬
‫من الياسمين يسيل دم الليل أبيض‪ee .‬‏‬

‫ضعفي ‪suht‬‏ يتبعني مثل لدغة أفعى‪ .‬وشَعْرْك‬
‫‏‪ dass‬ديح خريفيّة اللون‪ .‬أمشيأن‪A‬ا‪yl‬‏‬
‫إلى آخر الكلمات التي قالها بدويّ لزوجي حمام‬
‫أجِسّك جَِسٌ الكمان حريرٌ الزمان البعيذ‬

‫جديدٌ‬ ‫وينبت حولى وحولك ‪ebuC‬‏ مكان قديم‬

Sonnet V
I touch you as a lonely violin touches the suburbs of the faraway place
patiently the river asks for its share of the drizzle
and, bit by bit, a tomorrow passing in poems approaches
so I carry faraway’s land and it carries me on travel’s road
On a mare made of your virtues, my soul weaves

a natural sky made of your shadows, one chrysalis at a time.
I am the son of what you do in the earth, son of my wounds
that have lit up the pomegranate blossoms in your closed-up gardens
Out of jasmine the night’s blood streams white. Your perfume,

my weakness and your secret, follows me like a snakebite. And your hair
is a tent of wind autumn in color. I walk along with speech
to the last of the words a bedouin told a pair of doves
I palpate you as a violin palpates the silk of the faraway time

and around me and you sprouts the grass of an ancient place— anew

‫طائران غريبان في ريشنا‬
‫‪dg gab Ld Holey Slow‬‬

‫على‪ M ea ‎‬غريبٌ» جدائلشعري‪Bs ‎.‬‬
‫‪jog ds SASi§ 3 d‬‬
‫في‏‪ vax JB igs Jb‬مالكلا‬
‫البسيط‪ ...‬الكلامٍ الذيتشتهي |مرأةٌ‬
‫أن ‪uj‬‏لها‪sléL‬‏ ‪ 5 y‬العبارة‬
‫‪‎ALIS‬يفتكأ ‪a 3 GAS HLYL‬‬
‫تاشارفلا‪‎‬نيب ‪.‎ oe‬سمشلاو ‪dJa‬‬
‫لك كالنوم‪ :‬لا لامتلاء‪‎‬‬ ‫‪ee ld‬‬
‫الطبيعة بالماء حولي وحولك‪ .‬وأبشط‪‎‬‬
‫‪ eY‬جناحاً من الأزرق اللانهاي‪‎...‬‬
‫!‪Boley Glow 5‬‬
‫ورماديّةٌ مثل لَوْح ‪SLA‬‏ ‪SU‬‬
‫الكتابة‪ .‬فأ كتّبْعليهابحبر دمي أي‬
‫شيء يُغيرُها‪:‬لفظة‪ ...‬لفظتين بلا‬
‫هَدَفٍ مُسْرفٍِ في المجاذ‪sB .‬‏ ‪]lt‬‬
‫طائرانٍ غريبانٍ في أرض مِصْرٌ وفي‬
‫الشام‪.‬‬
‫قل إننا طائران غريبان في‬

‫ريشنا‪ .‬واكتب أ‪woG‬‏ و أ سمّكُ تحت‬
‫العبارة‪ .‬ما الساعة الآن؟ ما لَوْنُ‬
‫‪ lhe‬قوف ايارخلا ‪:‬ةديدجلا‬
‫‏‪seaes‬‬
‫ما‏‪ se‬أملكشيئاً‪)didaH‬‏ هل‬
‫‏!‪,8551 da AST ell Sata eto‬‬
‫على صخرةالبحر عن نفسِكَء ‪TEB‬‏‬
‫تَتَِيهكَعشرين عاماً‬
‫الآنأنّكمََدّدْت‬
‫‏‪ ee‬آسيريديها‪ .‬وقل بيفي م‬
‫‪eiigl Boley dloaudl4‬‬
‫‪ SH‬نيح ‪‎‬ريصت‬
‫إنَّسمائي رماديّةٌ‪‎‬‬
‫صرتٌ | ما ليس يشبهني‪:‬‬
‫هل ‪ 52‬الرجوع إلى ليل منفاك‬

Two Stranger Birds in Our Feathers
My sky is ashen. Scratch my back. And undo

slowly, you stranger, my braids. And tell me
what's on your mind. Tell me what crossed
Youssef’s mind. Tell me some simple
talk ... the talk a woman always desires
to be told. I don’t want the phrase
complete. Gesture is enough to scatter me in the rise
of butterflies between springheads and the sun. Tell me
I am necessary for you like sleep, and not like nature
filling up with water around you and me. And spread
over me an endless blue wing ...
My sky is ashen,
as a blackboard is ashen, before
writing on it. So write with my blood’s ink anything
that changes it: an utterance ... two, without
excessive aim at metaphor. And say we are
two stranger birds in Egypt
and in Syria. Say we are two stranger birds
in our feathers. And write my name and yours
beneath the phrase. What time is it now? What color
are my face and yours in new mirrors?
I own nothing for anything to resemble me.
Did the water mistress love you more? Did she seduce you
by the sea rock? Confess now
that you have extended your wilderness twenty years
to stay prisoner in her hands. And tell me of what
you think when the sky is ashen ...
My sky is ashen
I resemble what no longer resembles me.
Do you want to return to your exile night
in a mermaid’s hair? Or do you want to return

‫في شَغْر حُوريّة؟ أمتريد الرجوع‬
‫إلى تين بيتك‪ .‬لا عَسَلُ جارج للغريب‬
‫هنا أو هناك‪ .‬فما الساعَةٌ الآن؟‬
‫ماأسم المكانالذينحنفيه؟وما‬
‫الفرق بين سمائي وأرضك‪ .‬قل لي‬
‫ماقال آَمفيسره‪.‬هلتَحَرْرَ‬
‫‏‪ di BSH yo‬ءيش رّيَغُي نول‬
‫السماء ‏!)‪ d 0 Godley‬بعض —‬
‫‏‪ opal‬الكلامالذي‪ :‬تشتهي ا‪oyi‬‏‬
‫أن يُقاللها بين حين ‪s185‬‏ ‪B‬‬
‫‏‪ J‬في وسع شخصينء مثلي ومثلك‪,‬‬
‫أن يحملا كل هذا التشابه بين الضباب‬
‫‪oo‬‏ ‪ lo‬ي‪َs‬رْحِعَا سالمين‪ .‬سمائي‬ ‫وبين‬

‫كوخ لباه‬ ‫‏‪ Bale‬اوناكو‬
‫‏)‪$Bole‬‬

to your home figs. For no honey wounds astranger
here or there. What time is it now?
What's the name of this place we’re in? And what’s
the difference between my sky and your land. Tell me
what Adam said in secret to himself. Was he emancipated
when he remembered. Tell me anything that changes the sky’s
ashen color. Tell me some simple
talk, the talk a woman desires
to be told every now and then. Say
that two people, like you and me,
can carry all this resemblance between fog
and mirage, then safely return. My sky
is ashen, so what do you think of when the sky
is ashen?

‫متظر أحداً‬
‫أن‬
‫‪-‬‬ ‫‪-‬‬
‫ع‬
‫‏‪ pea‬مهما ذَهَبْتَ‪sR‬‏ ‪ ue« ly‬كيف‬

‫أعيدك‪ .‬أعرف ‪ah‬‏ ‪ bG a‬بعيدك‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ C5318‬كما تذهبٌ الذكرياتٌ إلىبئرها‬
‫دلسو مريه يسامْلة عد‬
‫‏‪ Ba‬لن ‏‪Jos‬ا‬
‫للصدى في انتظاركَ‬
‫‏‪ UTI‬فسأعرف كيف أعيدٌكَ‬
‫‏‪ Coasts‬تقودٌك‪:‬ناياثٌ أهل البخَان القدامى‬
‫وقافلةٌ الملح في ‪sgol‬‏ اللانهاي‪ .‬واذهب‬
‫نشيدّك يُفْلتُ مني ومنك ومن ‪)dig‬‏‬
‫باحثاًعن حصان جديد ‪yap‬‏ إيقاعَة‬
‫اكز لن تجدالمستعيل‪ :‬كماكان يَوْمَ‬
‫‏‪Goat Go BI eg: bis‬‬
‫جالساً في انتظارك»‬
‫‪ ib iG‬فسأعرف كيف‪Jusl ‎‬‬
‫واذهب مع النهر من ‪ 832‬نحو‪‎‬‬
‫آخرء‪ sleg ‎‬جاهزةٌ لاقتلاعك من‪‎‬‬
‫قمريء والكلامُ الأخيرٌ على شجري جاهرٌ‪‎‬‬
‫للسقوط على ساحة التروكاديرو‪ .‬تَلّقْتْ‪‎‬‬
‫وراءك § تجد الخُلْمَ واذهب‪‎‬‬
‫إلى‪ er sa ij ‎‬يزيدك منفىّ‪‎,‬‬
‫ويُبْعدُني خطوةٌعن سريري وإحدى‪‎‬‬
‫سماوات نفسي الحزينة‪ .‬إِنّالنهاية‪‎‬‬
‫‪ laC‬البداية‪ .‬فاذهبْ تَجِدْ ما تركتٌ‪‎‬‬
‫هناء في انتظارك‪‎‬‬
‫وم أنتظر أحداً‪.‬‬ ‫&|‬
‫مك شعري‬
‫كان لا بد ليأن‬
‫ةءاسنلاب تاديحولا‬
‫‪32‬‬
‫‏‪galJee Ue‬‬
‫في ليلهنٌ» ‪ylo‬‏‪ tsuj‬أمري‪ .‬وأكسرّ‬
‫فوق الرخام زجاجة ماء الكولونياء وأمنع‬
‫نفسي من الانتباه إلى — في‬
‫الشتاءء‪ .‬كأني أقوللها‪hti :‬‏‬

I Waited for No One
I'll know, no matter how often you go with the wind, how
to bring you back. I’ll know from where your faraway comes.
So go as memories go to their endless
wells, you won't find a Sumerian woman carrying an urn
of echo waiting for you.
As for me, I’ll know how to bring you back
so go led by the flutes of ancient sea peoples
and by salt caravans in their endless march. And go
while your anthem slips away from me and you and from my time,
and search for a new horse that makes its free rhythm
dance. You won't find the impossible, as it was
the day I found you, the day my passion birthed you,
waiting for you,
as for me, I’ll know how to bring you back.
And go with the river from one fate
to another, the wind is ready to uproot you
from my moon, and the last words on my trees
are ready to fall on Trocadero square. And look
behind you to find the dream, go
to any east or west that exiles you more,
and keeps me one step farther from my bed
and from one of my sad skies. The end
is beginning’s sister, go and you'll find what you left
here, waiting for you.
I did not wait for you, I waited for no one.
I should have combed my hair
slowly in the manner of lonely women
in their nights, pondered my needs, broken
a bottle of perfume over the marble, and prevented
myself from attention to herself
in winter, as if I were telling her: Warm me up

‫أُدفُنكياأمرأق‪ ,‬وأغْتّني ‪sesoh‬‏‬
‫ده‬
‫ع‬
‫فما هو شأثهما بنزول السماء إلى‬

‫الأرض ‪A‬‏ رخلة الأرض نحو السماء‪.‬‬
‫أعتني بيديك لكي تَحْمِلآك ميّدَاكِ‬

‫هماسَيّداك» كما قال إيلوار‪ ..‬فاذهب‬
‫أريدٌكَ أو لا أريدذك‪.‬‬
‫م‪ -‬أنتظرْكء وم أنتظر أحداً‪.‬‬

‫‏‪duit! Cool of UB os‬‬
‫بكأسين مكسورتينء وأمنعٌ نفسي من‬
‫الانتباه إلى نفسها في انتظارك!‬

my woman and I'll warm you up, take care of your hands,
for what's their concern with heaven's descent
to earth or earth’s journey to heaven,
take care of your hands so that they carry you: “Your hands
are your masters” as Eluard said ... So go
I want you or I don’t want you
I did not wait for you, I waited for no one.

I should have poured some wine
in two broken glasses, and prevented myself
from attention to herself while waiting for you!

‫و‬
‫ا‬
‫‪ina asad‬‬
‫‪ee‬‬
‫‪s‬‬
‫فليكن جَسَدي مَعْبَدي‪‎‬‬
‫‪ . .‬وَعَليْكَ الؤْصُولُ إلى خبز روحي‬

‫لتعرف نفسَك‪ .‬لا حدّ لي‬
‫إن أردتٌ‪:‬‬
‫أوَسْعُ حقلي بسنبلة‬

‫و‬
‫وأوسّعٌ هذا الفضاء بترغلة»‬
‫والجفاف يُحَدَّقُ في النهر‪,‬‬

‫أو يتطلّعٌ نحو النخيل‬
‫ويُخْطىءٌ بئري العميقة‪,‬‬
‫‏‪wth J 45-9‬‬
‫‪]5‬‏ !‪ sled‬حقيقيّةٌ في الخريف‬
‫‏‪ diss‬ولو ‏‪alo| ET ie‬‬
‫لترى ما أرى‪.‬‬
‫جسدي سيّدي‬
‫والجفافٌ على حاله‪:‬‬

‫كلما‏‪ Ores‬الفكرةٌ ‏)‪Bye E5595‬‬
‫المنشدين املريدين‪ :‬ماءء وماء‬
‫فما حاجتي للنُبُوءة؟ إِنَّالملائكة‬
‫الطيّبين ضيوفٌ على غيمة الحالمين‪.‬‬
‫وما حاجتي لكتابك ما دام ما بك‪ ...‬بي؟‬
‫جَسَدي يَتَفتَّحُ في جَسَدي‬

Drought
This is a difficult year

autumn promised us nothing
we waited for no messengers
and the drought remains the same: a tortured land
and a gilded sky,
so let my body be my temple
... but you must arrive to my soul’s bread

to know yourself. There is no limit to me.
If I want:
I widen my field with a grain of wheat
and widen this space with a turtledove,
let my body be my country
And the drought stares into the river,

or looks toward the palm trees
and misses my deep well,
there is no limit to me with you ...
the sky is real in autumn.
Just imagine, if only once, you were a woman
to see what Isee.
My body is my master
And the drought remains the same: whenever

the idea dries up, the choir
of suitors prospers: water, water
so what’s my need for prophecy? The kind
angels are the guests of the dreamer’s cloud.
And what’s my need for your book
as long as what's in you ... is in me?
My body blooms in mine

‫والجفاف يودُعٌ سَبْعَ السنين العجاف‬
‫فلا بُذّمن هُدْنّة في المدينة‪,‬‬
‫‪Cubs! Gadi jel go LY‬‬
‫‪ SU eo‬البابليين أو غيرهم‪‎,‬‬
‫فأضىء عَثُمتي ودمي بنبيذكَ‬

‫وأسْكنْ‪ :‬معي‪ .‬جسدي!‬

And the drought bids the seven emaciated years farewell
because there must bea truce in the city,
there must be goats that gnaw at the grass
of Babylonian and other books,
for the sky to become real ...
So light up my darkness and blood with your wine
and reside, in my body, with me!

‫‪1‬‬
‫صُنَؤْبَرَةٌ في يمينك‪ .‬صَفْصَافَةٌ في شمالك‪ .‬هذا‬

‫هو الصيف‪ :‬إحدى غزالاتك المائة استسلمت للندى‬
‫ونامت على كتفيء قُرْبَ إحدى جهاتك‪ ,‬ماذا‬
‫لو انتب الذئبٌُء واحترقتٌ غابةٌ في المدى‬
‫نعاسّك أقوى من الخوف‪ .‬بريِّةٌ من جمالك‬

‫تغفو‪ ,‬ويصحو ليحرس أَشجارّهاقمرمٌن ظلالك‬
‫ما أسم المكان الذي وَشْمَبّهُ خُطاك على الأرض‬
‫أرضاً سماويّة لسلام العَصَافير قرب الصدى؟‬
‫وأقوى من السيف نومك بين ذراعيك منسابتين‬

‫كنهرين ف جينّةالحالمينَبم تاصنعينَعلىالجانبين‬
‫بنفسك محمولة فوق نفسك‪ .‬قديحمل الذئبٌنايا‬
‫‏‪ Kus‬على ضفّة النهر‪ :‬يمُوالَنمْتْ‪ ...‬سُدَى‬
‫قليلٌ من الضعف ف الاستعارة يكفي غدا‬

‫‏‪ Cogs gat‬جايسلا َّرسكنيو ٌفْيَسلا تحت ىدنلا‬

Sonnet VI
A pine tree in your right hand. A willow in your left. This

is summer: one of your hundred gazelles has surrendered to the dew
and slept on my shoulder, near one of your regions, and what
if the wolf notices, and a forest burns in the distance
Your sleepiness is stronger than fear. A wilderness of your beauty

dozes off, and a moon out of your shadows wakes to guard its trees.
What's the name of the place your footsteps tattooed on the ground
a heavenly ground for the salaam of the birds, near echo?
And stronger than the sword is your sleep between your streamlined arms,
like two rivers, in the dreamer’s paradise, of what you do on the banks
to yourself carried above yourself. The wolf might carry a flute
and cry by the river: What isn’t feminized ... is in vain
A bit of weakness in metaphor is enough for tomorrow

for the berries to ripen on the fence, and for the sword to break beneath
the dew

‫رزق الطيور‬
‫رُزْقتُ مع الخبز ‪SEL‬‏‬

‫الو ‪‎‬نأش ‪«Sag J‬‬
‫ما دام قَرْبَكُ‬
‫فَحُذَهُ إلى ‪iG‬‏معنى تريدٌ‬

‫معى‪ ,‬أو وحيداً‬
‫ول بدَيْتَ أقرَبَ ‪ 2‬حش به‬
‫‏‪ Lge‬في الربيع السريع‬
‫على شجر الآخرين‬
‫‪ete ui Ll a3‬‬
‫‏‪ isi,‬للطريقء ولا تحمل الطيد‬
‫‏‪ yas go ASI‬اهّشير نينحلاو‬
‫‏‪ ding‬قم ضروريَّةٌ للغناءء فكن‬
‫في ‏‪ Slow‬كما‬
‫أنا في سمائك‪eo 1 ,‬‏ «‪SU‬‬
‫كُنْيا غريب المُوَشّح لي‪ .‬مثلما‬
‫أنالَكَ‪ :‬ماي لمائك ملحي‬
‫‏‪ٌ lau! Je Leal 9 «clot,‬ةذيوعت‬
‫تقَقدَرّبنا من تلال سَمَرِقَنْدَ‬
‫في عصرها الذهبيٌ‪ .‬فلا بُلَّمني‬
‫ول باُدَّمنك‪.‬ولابُدَّمنآخرين‬
‫لنسمع أبواق إخوتنا السابقين‬
‫وهم يمتطون ظهور الخيولء من الجانبين‬
‫ولا يرجعون‪ .‬فكن يا غريبٌ سلام‬
‫الغريبة‪siH 3‬‏ المُمْعَبين‬
‫‪‎‬نكو ‪ls gta, le‬‬
‫َم بها‪ 55‬عائدٌمنأريحاءكما‬
‫تعود الإلهاثٌ بعد الحروب إلى الحالمين‬
‫‏‪ in SE JS‬انأو‬
‫لا‏‪ Gol‬الرجوع إلى نجمتي‬

‫‏‪ lez:‬كبرت حكمتيء‪ .‬هات‬
‫‪74.‬‬ ‫‪MAHMOUD‬‬ ‫‪DARWISH‬‬

The Subsistence of Birds
Along with bread, I was given your love to subsist on

and my fate isn’t my concern
as long as you are near
so take this to any meaning you want
with me, or alone
for no home is closer than what I feel
right here in this swift spring
on others’ trees ...
You were given to me as mother, father, friend

and brother for the road, and no bird
bears more than it can: its feathers and its longing
and a grain of wheat necessary for song, so be
in my sky as I am
in your sky, or something like it,
be, you stranger to the muwashah, mine. As I am
yours: my water is for your water, my salt
is for your salt, and my name upon your name is an amulet
that might draw us near the hills of Samarkand
in its golden age. Because you and I
are inevitable, and others are inevitable
for us to hear the trumpets of our previous brothers
when they mount their horses, from either side,
and never return. Be, stranger, another stranger's
salaam in the truce of the weary
and be her daydream, whenever
a moon suffers her on its way back from Jericho, the way
goddesses return after the wars to the dreamers
since every there is here. And I
don’t love coming back to my star
now that my wisdom is older, so bring

‫هات البعيد إلى خيمتي سلما‬
‫‪Be Voli GLASS Aolseal‬‬
‫حائط الآخرين [ونحن نصير غداً آخرين]‪‎‬‬
‫فلابَيْتَ أرب مما‪ loaG ‎‬به ههنا‪‎‬‬
‫وأنا حامل بالربيع السريع‬
‫تقزَر ‪‎‬عم ‪JES jbl‬‬
‫‪Gag J lt Ys‬‬
‫ما‏‪53els‬‬
‫ويا ليتني م ‪loid‬‏‬

‫يا ليتني لأحمبّكَ!‬

the faraway to my tent as a ladder
we can climb on higher like two branches of a birch tree
on others’ walls (and we'll become others tomorrow).
For no home is closer than what I feel right here
while I’m pregnant with this swift spring.
Along with bread I gave sustenance to your love
and my fate isn’t my concern
as long as you are near
and I wish I never loved you
I wish I never loved you!

‫‏}‪ Sv Lg‬ءاعنقنلا زخات”‬
‫‪Gea‬‬
‫‪١‬‬
‫ليللاتحت ْرْطَملا‬
‫‏‪goJaf‬‬
‫حنينُ حماسيّة‬
‫إلى أمسها ‪LEB‬‏‬

‫وأكثرٌممادتقولٌيد لِيّد‬
‫على‪ERJ‬‏ف ميَهَبُالسَفَر‬
‫‪y‬‬
‫شماليّة هذه الريحخ‬

‫فليكتب العاطفيّونء ل الكلام الجريح»‬
‫رسائلأخرىإلىم واراءاًلطبيعة‬
‫‪ui ui‬‬
‫‪ La‬نفس إلى الريح‪/- ‎‬‬
‫‪y‬‬
‫‪ YL‬عِنْدَكء إذتَدْلفينَ‪‎‬‬
‫إلاىلليلوَحَدَك‪.‬أنتِمُنا‬
‫تَكسرينَبنظرتك ‪)gnE‬‏ ‪lac‬‬
‫هنا فيمكانك بعدي وبعدك‬
‫‪‎‬ال‪ cai‬ءنيرظتنت ‪‎‬الو ‪phy As‬‬
‫‪€‬‬
‫‪ 1‬خيالي ‪laeg‬‏من ‪sna‬‏‬
‫‏‪ Chall‬شماليّةٌ‪ .‬لن حبك ‪ISA‬‏‬
‫إنْلمتكوني معي‬
‫هنا الآن ما بين انقو فين‬
‫‏‪> ESS Blues‬اهتز ْرَمَقلل‬
‫‪78 MAHMOUD DARWISH‬‬

Maybe, Because Winter Is Late
Less than the night beneath the rain

is a pentad’s longing
for its awaited past,
but more than what a hand says to a hand
in the hurry of travel’s draft
Northerly is the wind

so let the sentimentalists, kin of wounded talk, write
other letters to nature’s beyond
as for me
I'll throw myself to the wind ... /
3
You have no night, when you saunter
toward the night alone. You are here
breaking time with your look. You
are still here in place after me and you
neither you wait, nor anyone waits
4
Perhaps my imagination is more lucid than my reality
and the winds are northerly. I won't love you more
if you are not with me
here, now between two icons
and a guitar that has opened its wound to the moon

‫‪0‬‬
‫أنا والمسيحُ على حالنا‪:‬‬

‫‪Gre dads Bs hogs Sod‬‬
‫‪idol Jal 4s gLsly Lely‬‬
‫ولك‏‪EBsbmgal‬‬
‫‪ 55533‬بِالأَحُوّة بين السماوات والأرض‪/...‬‬
‫‪5‬‬
‫يصيرٌ الحصى لْعَةَ أوصدى‬

‫‪ٌ‎‬فطاوعلاو ‪3 DS gL’ 3‬‬
‫‏‪ Ley‬كان هذا الحنينٌ طريقَمَنا في البقاء‬
‫ورائحة العُشْبٍ بعد المَطْرْ‬
‫‪V‬‬
‫‪ ELA LS‬وَضَعَمَِنًا السماء‪‎‬‬

‫على الأرض إِلْقَيْن مؤتلفين وباسمين‪RAE ‎‬‬
‫فلا اسميّ كان يُرَيِّنْ خاتمّك الذهبيّ‪‎‬‬
‫‪by} OS ALL Yo‬‬
‫كقافية في كتاب الأماطير‪‎/...‬‬
‫‪A‬‬
‫‪ let‬لا مموتون‪ime ‎‬‬

‫‏‪ S54 gly‬يف ءانغلا ثيدحلا فيفخلا‬
‫ولا يقفون‪ .‬وحيدينء فوق الرصيف‬
‫‪SALI‬‬ ‫لأنّ القطارات أكثرٌمن عَدَد‪‎‬‬
‫‪Bal dnd ofLalo tints ds‬‬

5
Christ and I are as we've been:
he dies and lives, Mary within him
and J live, and I dream again that I dream
but my dream is quick like a telegraph
reminding me of the brotherhood between earth and sky ... /
6
Unintentionally,
pebbles become language or echo
and emotions are within every hand’s reach.
Maybe this longing is our way of surviving
and the smell of grass after rain
7
Without purpose, the sky placed us
on earth as two harmonious intimates with two different names,
so that my name would not adorn your gold ring
nor would your name ring
as a rhyme in the book of myth ... /
8
The likes of us don’t die, not even once,
from being in love with the nimble modern song
and they don’t stand alone on the sidewalk
because trains are more numerous than words
and we can always reconsider

‫‪9‬‬
‫وأمثاننالا يعودون ِل‬
‫لِيَسْتَحْسُِوا وَقْعَأقدامهم‬
‫علىأرض أحلامهم‪,‬‬
‫أو ليعتذروا للطفولة عن حِكمّة‬
‫‏‪[uatd\ dle Je logis‬‬
‫‪٠‬‬
‫‪ std y‬ما بك ومحنم اليل‪‎‬‬

‫خّرصي ‪:‬صخش ‪‎‬انأ« | ‪ly.‬‬
‫‪ 3‬المنام‪ .‬وتصرخ أنفى‪« :‬أنا رَجلي»‪‎‬‬
‫‪Bed seal Cal i‬‬
‫تضيقء ويتّسعٌ المُنْحَدَرْ‪‎/...‬‬
‫‪1‬‬
‫‪‎ esi‬ىتح‪‎ ogel‬ىلإ ‪ase‬‬
‫‪ً.‎1,515‬الئاز ‪ Sle Y‬ولا‪‎‬‬
‫مأوَتحفِيمساٌ به‬
‫طائراً عابراً ما وراء الطبيعة‬
‫‪10‬‬
‫ماذا سنفعلُ بالحُبٌ؟ قُنْتَ‬

‫ونحن ندسٌ ملابسنا في الحقائب‬
‫‏‪vas oish‬مَ ‏‪ g Alas‬؟ةنازخلا‬
‫قلتُ‪ :‬ليَدْهَبْ ‪)J‬‏ ‪sla euC‬‬
‫فقد شبّ عن طؤقناء وانتشر‬

9
And the likes of us return only
to approve of their footsteps
on their dreamland,
or to apologize to childhood about a wisdom
they reached at the edge of the well ... /
10
I have in me what’s in you of night’s craving.

A man screams in his sleep: “I am my woman!”
And a woman screams: “I am my man.”
Which one of us are you? You? We become narrow
narrow, and the descent widens ... /
11
I embrace you, until I return to my void

as an eternal visitor. No life and no
death in what I sense
as a bird passing beyond nature
when I embrace you ... /
12
What will we do with love? you said

while we were packing our suitcases
do we take it with us, or hang it in the closet?
I said: Let it go wherever it wants
it has already outgrown our collar and spread

‫‪1‬‬
‫وأمثالنا لا يزورون حاضرهُم أبداً‬

‫لا يريدون أن يبلغوا بلداً‬
‫في الطريق إلىالريح» حيث ؤلدنا‬
‫على دفعتين‪ :‬أنا وجمالك‪/...‬‬
‫‪1‬‬
‫ولد‬
‫‪+‬‬
‫‏‪ّ dle O55‬تَبَت ىدحإك‬
‫حدائق قَيْصَرَ ‪S8‬‏ ‪1892 5‬‬
‫‏‪ Cabs 56 Jos W‬قيانز‬
‫معنى وصورته في أعالي السَّجَرْ‬
‫‪61‬‬
‫لا شيءَ فيك يزيدُ وينقصٌ عن‬

‫جَسَّدي‪ .‬أنت أمّك وابنتها‬
‫تُولّدِين كما تطلبين من الله‪/...‬‬
‫‪5‬‬
‫ماذا سنصنع بالأمس؟ قلت‬
‫ونحن نهيل الضباب على غدنا‬
‫‏‪ aii‬الحديثةٌ ترمي البعيدّ إلى‬
‫سلة المهملات‪ .‬سيتبعنا الأمسء‪.‬‬
‫قلتُ‪ .‬كما يتبع التَهوَنْدُ الوَكَرْ‬

15
Our fragility is the pearl of losers.
The likes of us never visit their present
and don’t want a country
on the road to the wind, where we were born
in two thrusts: your beauty and 1... /
14
Near my life you sprouted as one
of Caesar’s gardens. How often have the mighty left
trees for us. How often have I picked lilies
secretly off your fence. How often were you
a meaning and its image at treetops
15
I embrace you, dark white, until vanishing
I scatter your night. Then I gather you whole ...
Nothing in you is more or less than
my body. You are your mother and her daughter
you are born as you ask of god ... /
16
What will we do with yesterday? you said
while we were heaping the fog upon our tomorrow
and the modern arts were throwing the faraway into
the trash canister. Yesterday will follow us,
I said, as the nahawand follows the string

‫‪\V‬‬
‫‪Cuts ile ws ese duele‬‬
‫كما عاش عازف جيتارة قرب نجمته‪‎.‬‬
‫‪ O‬ن‪ e‬لي‪ eli‎‬من أناشيد‪ sba‎‬كذعلن‪‎‬‬
‫‪!‎‬يتايح ‪laud Good! Ge iss‬‬
‫وتسعين أغنيّةٌ وانتحز‬
‫‪\A‬‬
‫دم ‪ُ‎‬نامزلا ‪4s 44 glcles‬‬

‫كضيوف على حنطة الله‬
‫يضر سابق» حاضر لاحق»‬ ‫فحا‬
‫هكذا هكذا نحن في حاجة للخرافة‬
‫كي نتحمّل عبء المسافة ما بَيْن بابين‪/...‬‬
‫‪15‬‬
‫‪‎ bow Cite‬ىلع ‪NI Ble‬‬

‫‏)‪ ILS G9 6 5‬اَمَل‬
‫‏‪ Esta! )4-542 Lest‬وشاعً التصوّفُ‪,‬‬
‫لولم تكوني هنا ‪YSALE‬‏ ‪gL‬‬
‫يصنعٌ النهرٌ بي‪ ...‬وبوجه الحَجَرْ‬
‫‪Ys‬‬
‫ويكفية ‏‪ Gh‬هي البعيدة‪ ,‬أن‬

‫تُرْجعي ليبَرْقَ القصيدة حين انقسمتٌ‬
‫إلىأثنيون‪saaS 3‬‏‬
‫أنالك كال ‪GI‬‏‬
‫فماحاجتي لغدي‬
‫‪ah ata‬‬

17
On the bridge, near your life, I lived
as a guitar player lived near his star.
Sing for me, she said, a hundred of your love songs
and you will enter my life! So he sang ninety-
nine songs about love, then killed himself
18
Time passes through us, or we pass through it
as guests to god’s wheat.
In a previous present, a subsequent present,
just like that, we are in need of myth
to bear the burden of the distance between two doors ... /
19
A generous exile on the edge of the earth.
Had you not been there the strangers would not have
built their castles nor would Sufism have spread,
had you not been here I would have been satisfied
with what the river would do with me ... and with the face of stone
20
And it is enough, to know my faraway self, that

you return to me the poem’s lightning when Isplit
into two within your body
I am yours as your hand is yours
so what’s my need for my tomorrow
after this journey?

‫‏‪ 399 Ll ys‬؟ىفنم‬
‫غريبٌ على ضفة النهرء ‪SIUQ‬‏ ‪sbs5‬‬

‫من بعيدي‬ ‫باسمك اماء‪ .‬لا شيء ‪yra‬‏‬
‫إلى ‪oo‬‏ لاالسلام ولاالحربٌ‪ .‬لا‬

‫شيء ‏‪ eS‬فيكتابالأناجيل‪ .‬لا‬
‫شيع‪ ...‬لاشيء يُومض من ساحل الجَزْر‬
‫واد ما بين دججلة والنيل‪ .‬لا‬
‫شيء يُنْزلني من مراكب فرعون‪ .‬لا‬
‫شيءيَحْملني أويُحَمّلني فكرة‪ :‬لا الحنينُ‬
‫ولا الوَعْدُ‪ .‬ماذا سأفعل؟ ماذا‬
‫سأفعل من دون منفىء وليل ‪bo‬‏‬
‫يُحَدَّقُ في الماء؟‬
‫]‪0 Lb‬‬
‫لا شيء يأخذني من فراشات حُلّمي‬
‫إلى واقعي‪ :‬لا الترابُ ولا الناز‪ .‬ماذا‬
‫سأفعل من دون وَزْدِ سَمَرْقَنْدَ؟ِ ماذا‬
‫سأفعل في ساحة تصقُلُ المُنْشدين بأحجارها‬
‫القمرّية؟ صرّنا خَفيقيّن مثل مناذلنا‬
‫في الرياح البعيدة‪ .‬صرنا صَدِيقَيْن للكائنات‬
‫الغريبة بين الغيوم‪ ...‬وصرنا طَلِيقَينَمن‬
‫جاذييّة أرض الهُويّة‪ .‬ماذا سنفعل‪ ...‬ماذا‬
‫سنفعل من دون منفىء وليل طويلٍ‬
‫م يبق منيسواف»وموبقهنك‬
‫سواي غريباً ‪atA‬‏ ‪ wdrby SRU‬يا‬

Who Am I, Without Exile?
A stranger on the riverbank, like the river ... water

binds me to your name. Nothing brings me back from my faraway
to my palm tree: not peace and not war. Nothing
makes me enter the gospels. Not
a thing ... nothing sparkles from the shore of ebb
and flow between the Euphrates and the Nile. Nothing
makes me descend from the pharaoh’s boats. Nothing
carries me or makes me carry an idea: not longing
and not promise. What will I do? What
will I do without exile, and a long night
that stares at the water?
Water
binds me
to your name ...
Nothing takes me from the butterflies of my dreams
to my reality: not dust and not fire. What
will I do without roses from Samarkand? What
will I do in a theater that burnishes the singers with its lunar
stones? Our weight has become light like our houses
in the faraway winds. We have become two friends of the strange
creatures in the clouds ... and we are now loosened
from the gravity of identity’s land. What will we do ... what
will we do without exile, and a long night
that stares at the water?
Water
binds me
to your name... |
There’s nothing left of me but you, and nothing left of you
but me, the stranger massaging his stranger’s thigh: O

‫غريبةٌ! ماذا سنصنع في ما تبقّى لنا‬
‫من هدوء‪ ...‬وقيْلولة بين أسطورتين؟‬
‫ولا شيء يحملنا‪:‬لاالطريق ولاال‬
‫هل كان هذا الطريق كما هوّء منذ البداية‪,‬‬
‫امأن ادلامنا ‪55E‬‏ ‪ dyL‬من ‪baoJ‬‏‬
‫المَُول ‪el‬‏ ‪ laJ‬فَاسْتَيْدَكَتْناة‬
‫‪‎‬ذامو )‪4daa‬‬
‫ماذا‬
‫سنفعلٌ من‬
‫دون‬
‫منفى؟‬

stranger! what will we do with what is left to us
of calm ... and of a snooze between two myths?
And nothing carries us: not the road and not the house.
Was this road always like this, from the start,
or did our dreams find a mare on the hill
among the Mongol horses and exchange us for it?
And what will we do?
What
will we do
without
exile?

‫‪-‬‬
‫=‬ ‫و‬
‫ا‬ ‫‏‪٠‬‬
‫جميل ‪ytud‬‏‬
‫| ناء ‪97‬‬
‫‪is dE Juars tl 3S‬‬

‫‪GEG’ gle} 3g dio Je‬‬
‫هُوَ الوقتٌ يفعل ما تفعل الشمسش‪‎‬‬
‫والريخ‪ :‬يَصْقُّنا ثم يقتلنا حينما‪‎‬‬
‫اظفل عاطفة القلب؟ أو‬ ‫ع‬
‫عندما ‪eli‬‏ القلبٌ ‪oS‬‏‬
‫‪«jis és‬‬ ‫‪an‬‬ ‫‪‎‬اي‪Mores‬‬
‫‪.‬ربكتاي‪‎‬ءيبحاص ‪GI BE‬‬

‫فايلنآظرخرين‪ .‬وفيداخلي تستحمٌ‬
‫الغزالة في نبعها المتدفق من ذاتها‬
‫‏‪ Ge‬أمتلك صُورَتُها؟‬
‫‪doeg‬‬ ‫‪say‬‏‬ ‫إنها هي ياصاحبي‪.‬‬
‫واسمّها‪ .‬لا زمان لها‪ .‬رما استؤقفتني‬

‫غداً في الطريق إلى أمسها‬
‫!‪(bine‬‬ ‫‪hl‬‬ ‫‪nated‬‬

‫في أغانيك؛ لؤلؤة كُلَّما حدَّقتُْ في‬
‫لياليكَ واغرورقتٌ ‪ . .‬أشرقتٌ ‪824 301‬‬
‫ا‬
‫هو الحُبُء يا صاحبيء موتّنا المُنْتَقَى‬
‫عابرٌ يَكرَوجُ من عابر ‪’bI‬‏ ‪. .‬‬
‫ل ناهايةليل بادايةلي‪.‬لا‬
‫‏‪Jd aah‬انأ ‪.‬ةنيثبل اذه‬
‫‪Cred ees Used ge‬‬
‫أصغرٌ مني بعشرين باباًلكان‪‎‬‬

Jameel Bouthaina and I
We grew older, Jameel Bouthaina and I, each

alone, in two separate eras ...
It is time that does what sun
and wind do: it polishes us then kills us whenever
the mind bears the heart’s passion, or
whenever the heart reaches its wisdom
Jameel! does she grow old, like you, like me,

Bouthaina?
She grows old, my friend, outside the heart

in others’ eyes. But inside me
the gazelle bathes in the spring that pours out of her being
Is that her, or is that her image?
That’s her, my friend. Her flesh, her blood,

and her name. Timeless. She might stop me
tomorrow on her road to her yesterday
Did she love you, Jameel? Or did she like being a metaphor
in your songs, a pearl ... whenever she stared
into your nights and welled up, she rose easterly as a moon
with a heart of stone?
It’s love, my friend, our chosen death

one passerby marrying the absolute in another ...
No end for me, no beginning for me. No
Bouthaina for me or me for Bouthaina. This
is love, my friend. I wish I were
twenty doors younger than myself

‫‏‪ log‬خفيفاً ‏‪ «de‬وصورثها الجانبيةٌ‬
‫في الليل أوضح من شامة فوق‬
‫شّتها‪...‬‬
‫‏‪ dg; Cie Jo‬ايءليمج ىلع سكع‬

‫لارلُعنوكاة‪yddE .‬‏ ‪LES‬‬
‫مااق‬
‫‪.‎‬اهثجّوزت‪Clad elma bas‬‬
‫فتَّحَتٌ‪ )ay5,3 gnilag ‎‬وآراقغدي‪‎‬‬
‫خمرةٌقطرةً قطرةً في أباريقها‬
‫خهُللِفْتَ لهاءياجميل‪.‬‬
‫وتبقىلها؟‬
‫و‬
‫ع‬
‫لاشأنَلي‬ ‫‏‪yl‬ل‬
‫بوجودي ‪!taG‬‏ ‪ Sols‬على جلدها‬

‫العتبيّ‪ .‬ولا شبأناَللخيلود‬
‫الذي سوف يتبعْنا ككلاب الرعاة‪.‬‬
‫فماأن ‪S‬ا‪y‬‏ كما‪s82‬‏ ‪asi‬‬
‫هلتشرَّحُالحُبّليهياجميل‪,‬‬
‫لأحفظهُ فكرةٌفكرةٌ؟‬
‫!‪ Sob lll ie‬أكثْرهُمْ‪one ‎‬‬

‫علراف نفسكء لكن‬
‫تقء‬
‫لحتر‬
‫فا‬
‫أعلى من الليلء طار جميلٍ‬

‫‏‪ ABEcass‬لامو ىلعند‬
‫هامساً‪ :‬إن رأيت بثينة في امرأة‬
‫غيرهاء فاجعل ‪!hg‬‏ يا صاحبي‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ Vie Wg Lolo‬يف مسا‬
‫‏‪ duds‬نونلاك يف !ةيفاقلا‬

for the air to be light on me, and for her side-profile
at night to be clearer than a mole
above her navel ...
Did you seduce her, Jameel, contrary to what

the narrators have said about you, and did she seduce you?
I married her. And we shook the heavens and they streamed

milk on our bread. Whenever I came to her my body
bloomed flower by flower, and my tomorrow spilled
its wine drop by drop into her jugs
Were you created for her, Jameel,

and will you remain for her?
I was ordered and tutored. I have no concern

for my spilled presence like water on her grape
skin. And no concern for the immortality
that will follow us like shepherd dogs.
I am only as Bouthaina created me
Would you explain love to me, Jameel,

to remember it one idea at a time?
People who know love best are the most perplexed,

you must burn, not to know yourself, but
to illuminate Bouthaina’s night ...
Higher than the night, Jameel flew

and broke his crutches. And leaned into my ear
and whispered: If you see Bouthaina in another
woman, make of death, my friend,
a friend. And shimmer over there, in Bouthaina’s
name, like the nun in rhyme!

‫قناع ‪ ...‬مجنون ليلى‬
‫الميضع خسان حلاوة‬

‫الوجودهي الكلماتٌُ‪ .‬وكنثُ‬
‫مريضاً بليلى ‪sg‬‏‪ sG‬شَعٌّ‬
‫في دمه‪lle4‬‏ إن‪ ¢‬تكن ‪e‬‏‬
‫موجودةجةًسَداً فلها صُورَةٌالروح‬
‫‏‪ Abe.agi dS 3‬نم‬
‫مدار الكواكب‪ .‬تُبْعدُن عن حياتي‬
‫على الأرض‪ .‬لاهي مَؤْتّ ولا‬
‫هي ليلى‪« .‬أنا‪45‬أنت»‬
‫فلا بُذَّمن (‪i‬‏أزرق للعناق‬

‫‏‪ «ya‬عَالجِنَي النهرٌحين‬
‫قذفتٌبنفسي إلىالنهر ‪ssej‬‏‬
‫ثم أرجعني ‪ed‬‏ ‪ elp‬فسألتٌ‪:‬‬
‫يلاذا تعيد ‪J‬‏ الهواء ‪slee‬‏‬
‫موق طول قال‪ :‬لتعرف‬
‫‏‪. odd Uae‬ىليل ؟تنأو‬

‫فقال‪:‬‏‪ ui‬زوجها‬
‫‪élse pela‬‬ ‫‪3 Lat 38s‬‬

‫نتذكرأثامنافي الخليج البعيد‪‎.‬‬
‫‏‪ we‬عن‏‪ alse‬وعن زمني‬

‫لا‪laS‬‏ ‪ !lailG‬كجذع النخيل‬
‫لأدفععني الخسارة‪ ,‬أو استعيد‬
‫الهواء على أرض نَجْد‪.‬ولكنني»‬
‫والبعيدٌ على حاله وعلى ‪do‬‏‬

A Mask ... for Majnoon Laila
I found a mask, so I liked that

I can become my other. I was less
than thirty years old, thinking the boundaries
of existence were words. And I was
sick with Laila like any other young man
when salt beams in his blood. When she wasn’t
present as body she was the soul’s image
in everything. Drawing me closer
to the orbits of planets. Distancing me from life
on earth. She is neither death
nor is she Laila. “I am you, Laila,
there must be a blue void for the endless
embrace.” The river doctored me
when I threw myself to the river as suicide,
but a passerby brought me back, so I asked:
Why do you give me back the air and prolong
my death? He said: To know
yourself better ... Who are you?
I said: I am Qyss Laila, and you?
He said: I am her husband
And we walked together in Granada’s alleys

remembering our days in the Gulf ... painlessly
remembering our days in the faraway Gulf
Iam Qyss Laila

a stranger to my name and to my time
I do not shake absence like a palm tree trunk
to push away loss, or to bring back
the air on the ground of Najd. But I—
and the faraway is as it has been on my shoulder—

‫‏‪ Ad Gee‬ىلإ اهبلق‬
‫فلتكن للغزالة بريّة‬
‫‪éd‬‏‬ ‫غير دربي‬
‫هل ‏‪ gel‬صحراءها أمأوسعٌ ‪re‬‏‬
‫لتجمعنا نجمتان على دربها؟ ‪7‬‬
‫لاأرى في طريقي إلى ‪eyl‬‏‬
‫‪َ‎‬ريغ ‪PAH gprs Jad ual‬‬
‫نُعَاسَ القوافل في ليلهاء ويْضيءٌ‬
‫طريق الحرير بجرحي القديم‬
‫لعلالتجارةً في حاجة ‪eg‬‏ ‪laL‬‬
‫‏‪43 UT Ub‬انأ نم ‪:‬كتلوأ‬
‫‏‪ jae‬يموتون حين ‪oigO‬‏ لا شي‬
‫‏‪ dal‬من ‏‪ oe gid‬ةقّلعمياهاجلا‬
‫‪3‬‏?‪ag‬رامق ‪ia‬‏ عن أمير‬
‫‏‪. O5l uf ga‬نيرساخلاانأ‬
‫‏‪ a‬لابوا وغنة البغيةا أن‬
‫‏‪ 8,53 bly oS 6 S35‬ةديصقلل‬
‫ليس لها بَلَدّأو جْسَدْ‬
‫وليس لها والدٌ أو وَلَدْ‪.‬‬
‫الاق نان‬
‫وأنا ‪ ...‬لا أَحَذ!‬

am Laila’s voice to her heart
so let there be a wilderness for the gazelle
other than my path to her unknown.
Shall I diminish her desert or expand my night
for two stars on her path to unite us?
I only see on my road to her love
a yesterday amusing with my ancient poetry
the sleepiness of caravans in her night, and lighting
the Silk Road with my ancient wound.
Perhaps commerce also has a need
for what I’m in. I am of those
who die when they love. Nothing
is further than my name from the Jahili’s ode
and nothing is further than my language from the prince
of Damascus. I am the first of losers. I am
the last of dreamers and faraway’s slave. I am
a being who never was. And I am an idea for the poem
without land or body
without father or son
Iam Qyss Laila, I am

and I am ... no one!

‫درس من كاما سوطرا‬
‫بكأس الشراب المرضّع باللازورد‬

‫انتظرهاء‬
‫على بركة الماء حول المساء وزّهْر الكولونيا‬
‫بصبر الحصان المُعَدَ لمُنحّدرات الجبال‬
‫‪:‬‬ ‫انتظرهاء‬
‫بِذَوْقٍ الأمير الرفيع البديع‬
‫بسبع ‏‪ lag‬مَحْشُوّة بالسحاب الخفيف‬
‫‘‬ ‫انتظرها‬
‫بنار البَخُور النساق ملء املكان‬
‫‪١‬‬ ‫انتظرهاء‪‎‬‬
‫برائحة الصَئْدَلِ الذّكَريّة حول ظهُور الخيول‬
‫ولا تتعجّلُء فإن أقبلَتْ بعد موعدها‬
‫فانتظرهاء‬
‫وإن أقبلث قبل موعدها‬
‫فانتظرهاء‬
‫ولا تُجفل الطيرَ فوق جدائلها‬
‫وانتظرهاء‬
‫لتجلس مرتاحةً كالحديقة في أؤج زيئتها‬
‫ليتتنفْسَهذا الهواء الغريبَعلىقلبها‬
‫لترفع عن ساقها تَوْبَها غيمة غيمة‬
‫وحُذْها إلى شرفة لترى قمراً غارقاً في الحليب‬
‫‪:‬‬ ‫انتظرهاء‬
‫وقدَّمْ ‪yl‬‏ ‪ !ulc SL !bU‬ولا‬
‫‏‪ Jas Gal35 J) alls‬نيمئان ىلع اهردص‬

A Lesson from Kama Sutra
With the drinking glass studded with lapis

wait for her,
by the pool around the evening and the rose perfume
wait for her,
with the patience of the horse prepared for mountain descent
wait for her,
with the manners of the refined and marvelous prince
wait for her,
with seven pillows stuffed with light clouds
wait for her,
with burning womanly incense filling up the place
wait for her,
with the sandalwood male scent around the backs of horses
wait for her,
and don’t hurry, so if she arrives late
wait for her,
and if she arrives early
wait for her,
and don’t startle the birds in her braids
and wait for her,
so that she sits comfortably in her beauty’s summit in the garden
and wait for her,
so she may breathe this strange air upon her heart
and wait for her,
so that she lifts her dress off her calf cloud by cloud
and wait for her,
take her to a balcony to see a moon drowning in milk
and wait for her,
offer her water, before wine, and don’t
look at twin partridges sleeping on her chest
and wait for her,

‫‪losis Lads Lge Ute juss‬‬
‫تَضَعٌ الكأسّ فوق الرخام‬
‫‪ teed ats‬عنها‪“gal ‎‬‬
‫تحدَّثْ إليها كما يتحدَّتُ ناي‬
‫إلى وَثَرِخائفٍ في الكمانٍ‬
‫كأنكما شاهدان على ما يُعد غَّ لكما‬
‫‪:‬‬ ‫عطقا نه‬
‫عملو ‪‎‬اهل ‪lab ee WL‬‬
‫وانتظرها‪‎‬‬
‫إلى أن يقولَ ‪SE‬‏ ‪lU‬‬
‫م يَبْقَ غيركما في الوجود‬
‫‏‪ doiks‬برفقء إلى موتك المُشْتَهى‬
‫وانتظرها!‪...‬‬

slowly touch her hand
when she places the glass on the marble
as if you were carrying dew for her
and wait for her,
talk to her as a flute talks
to a frightened violin string
as if you two were witnesses to what tomorrow prepares for you
and wait for her
brighten her night ring by ring
and wait for her
until the night says to you:
You are the only two left in the universe
so take her, gently, to your desired death
and wait for her! ...

‫طوق الحمامة الدمشقيٌ‬
‫ب‪.‬‬
‫‪ 3‬دمشق‪:‬‬
‫وه‬ ‫‪2‬‬
‫‪Gls add yl‬‬
‫على حبّة القَمْح مكتوبة‪‎‬‬
‫‪0‬‬ ‫‪ees‬‬
‫‪OMI LHS WRAL‬‬
‫‪ 25‬الجاهليّة‬
‫حتى القيامة‪.‬‬
‫‪ ...‬بخْيُوط الذَهَبْ‬
‫‪.‬‬
‫‪OW‬‬
‫‪oe‬‬ ‫‪reo‬‬
‫‪Gales‬‬
‫على الطرّقات القديمة‪‎‬‬
‫‪Lalo isle‬‬

The Damascene Collar of the Dove
In Damascus,
the doves fly
behind the silk fence
two...
by two ...
In Damascus:
I see all of my language
written with a woman’s needle
on a grain of wheat,
refined by the partridge of the Mesopotamian rivers
In Damascus:
the names of the Arabian horses have been embroidered,
since Jahili times
and through judgment day,
or after,
... with gold threads
In Damascus:
the sky walks
barefoot on the old roads,
barefoot

‫فما حاجةٌ الشُعّراء‬
‫إلى الوخي‬
‫والوزن‬
‫والقافيّة؟‬
‫على ظلّه واقفاً‬
‫مثل مِنْذْنّة في سرير الأبد‬

‫‪O95‬و إألحىذبَل‪..‬د‪ِ.‬‬
‫أ‬
‫‪9‬‏‬
‫ح‪.‬‬
‫في دمشق‪:‬‬
‫يُوَاصِلٌ فعْل المُضَارِع‬

‫نمشي إلى غَدِنا واثقين‬
‫‏‪ yaad! ga‬انما‬
‫نحن والأبديَّةُ‬
‫‏‪ Sie‬هذا المَلَّدً!‬
‫خ‪.‬‬
‫تَدُورٌ الحوارات‬
‫‏‪ me‬الكَمَنْجَة والعُود‬
‫‏‪sso lbw 55‬‬
‫وحول النهايات‪:‬‬
‫مَنْ قَتَلَّتْ عاشقاً مارقاً‬
‫‏‪roan Se GL‬‬

so what’s the poet’s use
of revelation
and meter
and rhyme?
In Damascus:
the stranger sleeps
on his shadow standing
like a minaret in eternity’s bed
not longing for a land
or anyone ...
In Damascus:
the present tense continues
its Umayyad chores:
we walk to our tomorrow certain
of the sun in our yesterday.
Eternity and we
inhabit this place!
In Damascus:
the dialogue goes on
between the violin and the oud
about the question of existence
and about the endings:
whenever a woman kills a passing lover
she attains the Lotus Tree of Heaven!

‫‪3‬‬
‫م‪s‬‏‬ ‫ي‪do‬‬‫‘‬
‫يَُودُالكلامُ إلى أصله‪.‬‬
‫‏‪zeLb‬‬
‫لا الشغرٌ شِغرٌ‬

‫‪5‬‬
‫‪* 5‬‬
‫ولا ‪aR‬‏يه‬
‫وأنتتقولين‪:‬ل أدَعَكُ‬
‫‏‪ jis‬اليك‬
‫‏‪1 Gisg‬‬
‫‪١‬‬ ‫‪100‬‬
‫ينام غزالٌ‬
‫إلى جانب امرأة‬
‫في سرير الندى‬
‫‏‪(bid,‬بهتَرَدَى!‬

H
In Damascus:
Youssef tears up,
with the flute,
his ribs
not for a reason,
other than that
his heart isn’t with him
In Damascus:
speech returns to its origin,
water:
poetry isn’t poetry
and prose isn’t prose
and you say: I won't leave you
so take me to you
and take me with you!
J
In Damascus:
a gazelle sleeps
beside a woman
in a bed of dew
then the woman takes off her dress
and covers Barada with it!
In Damascus:
a bird picks
at what isleft of wheat
in my palm

‫‪Ais J Izy‬‬
‫‪lata‬‬
‫غدي!‬
‫من‬
‫‪ 3‬د ممَشْقَّ‪:‬‬
‫‪oe‬‬ ‫‏‪sy‬‬
‫وامش ‪ 3‬أثر‬
‫في د‬
‫لمي الخفيفٌ‬
‫‏‪ ١‬ل‏‪ho‬‬
‫على )‪#88‬اللور يضحَك‪:‬‬
‫كن واقعياً‬
‫‏‪ist 3iy‬‬
‫‏‪Use‬ءام اهمسا‬
‫‏‪ً js‬ايعقاو‬
‫لأعبرفيخُلمها!‬
‫ص‪.‬‬
‫في دمَشَقَ‪:‬‬
‫‏‪ jel‬نفسي‬
‫ههناء تحت عَيْنَيْن لوزيّتَين‬

‫نطيرٌُ معا تَوْأْمَيْر‬
‫ونزْجىء ماضينًا المشترك‬

and leaves for me a single grain
to show me my tomorrow
tomorrow!
In Damascus:
the jasmine dallies with me:
Don’t go far
and follow my tracks.
But the garden becomes jealous:
Don’t come near
the blood of night in my moon
In Damascus:
I keep my lighthearted dream company
and laughing on the almond blossom:
Be realistic
that I may blossom again
around her name’s water
and be realistic
that I may pass in her dream!
In Damascus:
I introduce myself
to itself:
Right here, beneath two almond eyes
we fly together as twins
and postpone our mutual past

‫يرق الكلام‬
‫في ‪ 2533‬الرخام‪:‬‬
‫‪ eae‬نم ينبا‬
‫‏‪is‬‬
‫تقول السجينةٌ لي‬
‫القع نكر‬
‫‪wb‬‬
‫‏‪pis‬‬
‫فيدمَشْقَ‬
‫‏‪4cF J} 48 grils‬‬
‫‏‪Je‬يتلا ‏‪AES‬‬
‫إل ظىلّها‬
‫قَتَلَئْنيء‬
‫‪... LET bg‬‬

0
In Damascus:
speech softens
and I hear the sound of blood
in the marble veins:
Snatch me away from my son
(she, the prisoner, says to me)
or petrify with me!
Pe
In Damascus:
I count my ribs
and return my heart to its trot
perhaps the one who granted me entry
to her shadow
has killed me,
and I didn’t notice ...
In Damascus:
the stranger gives her howdah back
to the caravan:
I won't return to my tent
I won't hang my guitar,
after this evening,
on the family’s fig tree ...
In Damascus:
poems become diaphanous
they’re neither sensual

‫ولا هي ذهْنيّةٌ‬
‫إنّه‪l‬ا‪e‬‏‪ sisI‬الصدى‬
‫للصدى‪...‬‬
‫يشْقَ‬
‫دفمَ‬
‫‏‪ches‬السحابةٌعصراً‬
‫فتحفُرٌ بزراً‬
‫لصيف القمحباّينسَْف سيَفُْحوِن‪,‬‬
‫والنايُيُكَملُعاداته‬
‫فيالحنين إلىما‪!VO85‬‏ ‪3.4‬‬
‫ع‬
‫\ ‪0‬‬
‫‪a‬‬
‫‪°‬‬
‫‪‎‬م‪١‬‬ ‫‪1‬‬
‫\‬
‫اء‬
‫‪cn‬‬
‫‪3‬‬
‫‪Bs‬‬
‫ا‪‎3‎‬ع‬
‫‪1‬‬
‫‪.‬‬ ‫‪1‬‬ ‫‪re‬‬
‫‪eS‬‬ ‫‪ey‬‬
‫كيمحي‬ ‫‪gs‬‬ ‫ولا‏‪gw‬‬
‫من ليل فثْنّتك الزائدةٌ‬
‫أرى كيف ‪ytip‬‏ليل دمَشْقَ‬

‫رويداًرويداً‬
‫وكيف تزيدٌ إلهاثنا‬

‫واحدة!‬

nor intellectual
they are what echo says
to echo ...
In Damascus:
the cloud dries up by afternoon,
then digs a well
for the summer of lovers in Qasyoon Valley,
and the flute completes its habit
of longing to what is present in it,
then cries in vain
In Damascus:
I write in a woman’s journal:
All that’s in you
of narcissus
desires you
and no fence, around you, protects you
from your night’s excess allure
In Damascus:
I see how the Damascus night diminishes
slowly, slowly
and how our goddesses increase
by one!

‫‪J‬‬
‫يغني المسافر في سره‪:‬‬

‫لا أعوة من الشام‬
‫حيا‬
‫ولا ميتاً‬
‫بل سحاباً‬
‫عبء الفراشة‬ ‫ل‬
‫عن روحي الشاردة‬

327
In Damascus:
the traveler sings to himself:
I return from Syria
neither alive
nor dead
but as clouds
that ease the butterfly’s burden
from my fugitive soul
The.Stranger’s Bed 7
A State of Siege
ees
2002
‫هناء عند مُنْحدرات التلالء أمامَ الغروب‬
‫‏‪Bg)! Lagi‬‬
‫قُرْبَ بساتينَ مقطوعة الظلء‬
‫‏‪ Jandy Le indi‬ءءانجسلا‬
‫وما يفعلٌ العاطلون عن العمّل‪:‬‬
‫وغ‬
‫نربي الأمل‪.‬‬
‫سوه‬
‫‪oll dal Ye Sb‬‬

‫صرنا أَكَلَّ ذكاء‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ § Gloss LY‬ةعاس ‪:‬رصنلا‬
‫لا لَيْلَ في ليلنا المتلأليء بالمدقعيّة‬
‫‪0‬‬
‫وأعداؤنا يُشُعلون لنا النورّ‬
‫‪4,89! Slo 3‬‬
‫‪cp‬‬
‫‏‪ ia‬بعد أشعار «أيوب» ‪ ¢‬ننتظر أحدا‪...‬‬
‫هناء لا «أنا»‬
‫هنا يتذكر «آدة» ‪elaM‬‏‬
‫سيمتدٌ هذا الحصار إلى أن تُعَلّمأعداءنا‬

‫نماذج من شعرنا الجاهلي‪.‬‬
‫السماة رصاصية في الشحى‬

‫برتقاليّةٌ في الليالي‪ .‬وأما القلوبٌ‬
‫فظلّت حياديّةٌ مثل ورد السياج‬

Here, by the downslope of hills, facing the sunset
and time’s muzzle,
near gardens with severed shadows,
we do what the prisoners do,
and what the unemployed do:
we nurture hope
A country on the verge of dawn,

we have become less intelligent,
because we stare into victory’s hour:
no night in our artillery-glistened night
our enemies are sleepless,
and our enemies ignite the light for us
in the blackness of shelters
Here, after Job’s poems we waited for no one ...
Here, no “I”
here “Adam’” recalls his clay
This siege will extend until we teach our enemies

paradigms of our Jahili poetry
The sky is leaden at twilight

orange at night.As for the hearts
they’ve remained neutral like fence flowers

‫في الحصارء تكون الحياةٌ هي الوقتٌ‬
‫بين تذكر أوّلها‬
‫ألحياة‪.‬‬
‫الحياةٌ بكاملهاء‬
‫الحياةٌ بنْقُصَانهاء‬
‫تستضيفٌ نجوماً مُجِاوِرَةٌ‬
‫لا زمانَ لها‪...‬‬
‫وغيوماً مهاجرةً‬
‫لاافكاق لها‪:‬‬
‫والحياةٌ هنا‬
‫تسا دل‬
‫كيف تُعيدٌ إليها الحياةٌ‬
‫‏‪ Jods‬على حاقة الموت‪:‬‬

‫لميَبْقَ بي مؤطىء للخسارة‪,‬‬
‫‪ie Gi Ui je‬‬
‫وغدي في يدي‪...‬‬
‫فوس ‪‎‬ءُلُخدَأ ‪Glo Wd os‬‬
‫‪gut oie isl‬‬
‫‏‪ juss‬لاسمي حروفاًمن اللآزورد‪...‬‬
‫انه دنع ‪‎‬تاعفترُم ‪Cull 253 he GEM‬‬

‫‪Bg C85 Y‬‬
‫نفعَلُ ما يفعَلٌ الصاعدونّ إلى اللّه‪:‬‬
‫‪eI gait‬‬

In siege, life becomes the time
between remembering life’s beginning
and forgetting its end ...
Life.
Life in its entirety,
life with its shortcomings,
hosts neighboring stars
that are timeless ...
and immigrant clouds
that are placeless.
And life here
wonders:
How do we bring it back to life!
On the brink of death he says:

I have no foothold in me left to lose,
I am free near my freedom
and my tomorrow is in my hand ...
I will enter, in a little while, my life
and become born free and parentless,
and choose for my name letters of lapis ...
Here, by upslopes of smoke, on the house steps

there is no time for time,
we do what ascenders to Allah do:
forget pain |

‫الآلم‬
‫هو أن لاتعلق سيذة البيتحَبَلَ الغسيل‬
‫‏‪ Glo‬وأن تكتفي بنظافة هذا العَلَمْ‬
‫‪A‬‬
‫‏‪ٌ Guo Y‬يريموه ءيشل ‪.‬انه‬

‫فالأساطيرٌ تطرقٌ أبوابنا حين نحتاجها‬
‫لاصدىٌ هوميري لشيء‪...‬‬
‫هنا جنرالٌ يُتَقّبُ عن دولة نائمة‬
‫تحت أنقاض طروادةً القادمة‬
‫وه‬
‫يقيس الجنودٌ المسافةٌ بين الوجود‬

‫وبين العدم‬
‫بمنظار دبابة‪...‬‬
‫وه‬
‫نقيس المسافةً ما بِينَأجسادنا‬

‫والقذيفة‪ ...‬بالحاسّة السادسة‬
‫‪OW‬‬
‫أنها‪:‬الوآقفؤن ‪:‬عاق ‪ELS‬‏ ‪!selod‬‬

‫وإشربوا معنا القهوةٌ العربيّة‬
‫[قَدْ تَشْعَرونَ بأنْكم بَشَرَ مثلنا]‬
‫أيُّهاالواقفون على ‪EELG‬‏ البيوت»‬
‫اخرجوا من 'صباحاتناء‬
‫‪ Stabs‬إلى‪UST ‎‬‬
‫‪OW‬‬

Pain
is: that a housewife doesn’t hang up her clothesline
in the morning, and that she’s satisfied with this flag’s cleanliness
No Homeric echo to a thing here.

Myths knock on our doors when we need them
no Homeric echo to a thing ...
Here a general excavates for a country sleeping
beneath the rubble of the upcoming Troy
The soldiers measure the distance between being

and nonbeing
with a tank’s scope ...
We measure the distance between our bodies

and mortar shells ... with the sixth sense
You standing at the doorsteps, enter

and drink Arabic coffee with us
(you might sense you’re human like us)
you standing at the doorsteps of houses,
get out of our mornings,
we need reassurance that we
are human like you!
A State of Siege 5
‫نجدٌ الوقتّ للتسلية‪:‬‬
‫‏‪ SW! Gli‬وأ ُحّفصتن انرابخأ‬
‫في جرائد أمس الجريح»‬
‫ونقرأ زاوية الحظ‪ :‬في عام‬
‫ألفين واثنين تبتسم الكاميرا‬
‫لمواليد برج الحصارٌ‬
‫نجوه‬
‫كُلّما جاءني الأمسء ‪SNE‬‏ ‪4‬‬

‫ليس موعدنا اليوم؛ فلتبتعدٌ‬
‫وتعال غدا!‬
‫قال ‏‪sobs Cals J‬‬

‫لو عرفتٌ النهايةء منذ البداية‪,‬‬
‫مََبْقمََليلُ ف اليلَعَةُ‬
‫عي‬
‫مه‬
‫موت‬
‫‏‪ Sls‬كان منتظراًء‬

‫‪3‬‬ ‫هوة و‬ ‫وما‬
‫هو أول موت‬

‫فكيف أرى‬
‫قمراً‬
‫‪2 6‬ر‪1‬‬ ‫‏‪Lab‬‬
‫‪ٌ‎‬ركفأ ‪1694S 399 Oe‬‬

‫بماذا يفكر مَنْ هو مثلي‪ :‬هْنَاكَ‬
‫على قمّة ‪llaG‬‏ ‪elg ING SB eL‬‬
‫وفي هذه اللحظة العابرة؟‬
‫فتوجعني الخاطرة‬
‫وتنتعش الذاكرة‪.‬‬

We find time for entertainment:
we throw dice or flip through our papers
for news of yesterday's wounded,
and read the horoscope column: In the year
two thousand and two the camera smiles
for those born in the sign of siege
OW
Whenever yesterday arrives, I tell it:

Our appointment is not today, so go away
and come back tomorrow!
A satirist said to me:

Had I known the ending, from the start,
I would have had no work left in language
Every death,
even if anticipated,
is a first death
so how can I see
a moon
sleeping beneath each stone?
I think, to no avail:
What would another like me think, there
on the hilltop, three thousand years ago,
of this fleeting moment?
Then the notion pains me
and the memory revives

‫عندما تختفى الطائراتٌ تطيرٌ الحماماتٌ»‬
‫‪algal Ai Leaks ae slag‬‬
‫بأجنحة حرة‪ .‬تستعيدٌ البهاء وملكيّة‪‎‬‬
‫الجو واللَهُو‪ .‬أعلى وأعلى تطيرٌ‪‎‬‬
‫الخيافات‪ :‬نضاء بيضاء‪ .‬لبك السماء‪‎‬‬
‫‪[gales gy ple dey J Uli] Lago‬‬
‫الوميضء البصيرةٌ» والبرقٌ‬
‫عمّا قليل سأعرف إن كان هذا‬
‫أو يعرفٌ الأصدقاء الحميمون‬

‫أن القصيدة ‪ay‬‏‬
‫وأودث بشاعرها‪...‬‬
‫‪aS‬‬
‫[إلى ناقد‪Y ]:‬‏ ‪SA dda‬‬

‫‏‪ dial,‬الشايأو بفخاخ الطيور!‬
‫يحاضرني في المنام كلامي»‬
‫وَيكْتبُني ثم يتركني باحثاً‬
‫شَجَرْ السَرّو خلف الجنود‪ :‬مآذنُ‬

‫تحمي السماء من الانحدار‪ .‬وخلف سياج‬
‫الحديد جنودٌ يبولون ‏ تحت حراسة دبّابة ‪-‬‬
‫والنهار ‪uos‬‏‪ si‬يُكملُ نزهته الذهبيّة ‪:‬‬
‫في شارع واسع كالكنيسة‬
‫بعد صلاة الأحد‪...‬‬

When the fighter planes disappear, the doves fly
white, white. Washing the sky’s cheek
with free wings, reclaiming splendor and sovereignty
of air and play. Higher and higher
the doves fly, white white. I wish the sky
were real (a man passing between two bombs told me)
Flash, perception, and lightning

are under simile’s consideration ...
Ina little while I’ll know if this is
revelation ...
or the intimate friends will know
the poem had passed,
and perished its poet ...
(To a critic:) Do not interpret my words

with a teaspoon or a bird snare!
My speech besieges me in sleep,
my speech that I have not yet said,
it writes me then leaves me searching
for the remnants of my sleep ...
The cypress trees, behind the soldiers, are minarets

that protect the sky against declivity. And behind the iron
fence the soldiers are urinating —under a tank’s guard—
and the autumn day completes its golden stroll
in a street spacious like church
after Sunday prayer ...

‫‪oil Gal Ye dsb‬‬
‫لن نختلف‬
‫‪La GamaysilDes ie‬‬
‫‪| Basa‬‬
‫يفرشون لنا العَشْبَ‬
‫كي نأتلف!‬
‫‪QW‬‬
‫‏‪ Good‬الحياةً غداً‬

‫عندما يضل‪:‬العَدُ سوف نحبٌ الحياة‬
‫كما هي» عاديةٌ ماكرة‬
‫)‪EL of 45a‬‬
‫لا قيامة فيها ولا آخرة‪.‬‬
‫وإن كان لا بُدمن فرَح‬
‫خفيفاً على القلب والخاصرة!‬
‫‏‪ُ Gall vs‬نِمْؤُملا ‪ُ.‬نرمتملا‬
‫‪care‬‬ ‫‪Pane‬‬
‫سوه‬
‫[إلى قاتل‪ ]:‬لو تأْمَلْتَ وجه الضحية‬

‫وفكُرْتَ كُنْتَ تذكْرْتَ أُمكَ في عُرقة‬
‫الغازء كُنْتَ تحرّرتَ من حكمة البندقية‬
‫وغيّرتَ رَأَيْكَ‪:‬ما هكذا تُسِتَعَادٌ الهُويّة!‬
‫‪Qa‬‬
‫[إلى قاتل آخر‪ ]:‬لو ‪SSE‬‏ ‪!deuO‬‬

‫ثلاثين يوماً ]‪ 31‬لتغيّرت الاحتمالاتٌ‪:‬‬
‫قد ينتهي الاحتلالٌ ولا يتذكر ذاك‬
‫الرضيع زمان الحصارء‬
‫فيكبر ‏‪ «Glee Mab‬حبصيو ًاباش‬

we won't disagree
on the martyrs’ share of the land,
they are equals here
furnishing us with grass
so that we'd get along!
OW
We love life tomorrow

when tomorrow arrives we will love life
as it is, ordinarily shrewd
gray or colored,
no resurrection in it or end.
And if there must be a joy
let it be
light on the heart and hip!
For no faithful veteran is stung
from ajoy ... twice!
‫ عن‬a‫‏‬
(To a killer:) If you’d contemplated the victim’s face

and thought, you would have remembered your mother in the gas
chamber, you would have liberated yourself from the rifle’s wisdom
and changed your mind: this isn’t how identity is reclaimed!
(To another killer:) Had you left the fetus

for thirty days, the possibilities would have changed:
the occupation might end and that suckling
would not remember the time of siege,
and he’d grow upa healthy child, become a young man

‫ويَدْرْسُ في معهد واحد مَعَإحدى بَنَاتَكَ‬
‫تاريخ آسيا القديم‬
‫وقد يَقَعَانِ معاًفيشباك الغرام‬
‫وقد ‏‪ُ dus) Glad‬نوكتو[ ٌةّيدوهي ]ةدالولاب‬
‫ماذا فعلتٌ إذا؟‬
‫صارت ابنتكَ الآن أرملة‬
‫والحفيدةٌ صارت يتيمة؟‬
‫فماذ فَعَلْتَ بأسرتكَ الشاردة‬
‫وكيف أصبتٌ ثلاتٌ حمائم بالطلقة الواحدة؟‬
‫‪ ¢‬تكن هذه القافية‬

‫ضروريَة لا لضبط النغم‬
‫ولا لاقتصاد الأنم‬
‫إنها زائدة‬
‫‏‪ bss‬على المائدةٌ‬
‫‪Qa‬‬
‫الضبابٌ ظلام‪blA .‬‏ ‪ Sd‬البياض‬

‫تُقَشّرهُ البرتقالة والمرأةٌ الواعدة‬
‫وحيدونء نحن وحيدون حتى الثمالة‪.‬‬

‫لولا زياراتُ قَوْسٍ ‪832‬‬
‫‪98-5‬‬
‫هلنُسيء إلىأحد؟ هلتُسيء إلى‬

‫‏‪ all‬لو أصبناء ولو من بعيدء‬
‫‏‪ dy ols‬ذاذرب ؟حرَفلا‬

and study in the same institution with one of your daughters
the ancient history of Asia
and they might fall together in passion’s net
and beget a girl (and she'd be Jewish by birth)
so what have you done then?
Now your daughter has become a widow
and your granddaughter an orphan?
What have you done to your fugitive family
and how did you strike three doves with one shot?
This rhyme was not

necessary, not for melody
or for the economy of pain
it is additional
like flies at the dining table
The fog is darkness, thick white darkness

peeled by an orange and a promising woman
Alone, we are alone to the dregs,

had it not been for the visits of the rainbow
Do we harm anyone? Do we harm any

country, if we were struck, even if from a distance,
just once, with the drizzle of joy?
A State of Siege 5
‫الحصار هو الانتظار‬
‫هو الانتظارٌ على ‪sle‬‏ ‪!!elodd 55£ sli‬‬
‫‪OW‬‬
‫لنا أخوةٌ خلف هذا المدى‬

‫أخوةٌ طيّبونء يُحبونناء ينظرون إلينا‬
‫ويبكون» تُمْيقولون في سرهم‪:‬‬
‫«ليت هذا الحصار هنا علني‪»...‬‬
‫ولا يُكُملُون العبارة‪« :‬لا تتركونا‬
‫وحيدين‪ ..‬لا تتركونا»‬
‫‏‪ SLA‬لا تستعين بكسرى‬

‫ولا قَيْصَرِ طمّعاً بالخلافة‪,‬‬
‫فالخكم شُورى على طبَّق العائلة‬
‫ولكثها أعجبّثْ بالحداثة‬
‫الت‬
‫بطائرة سإمِابِلَالقافلةٌ‬
‫لا‬
‫‪a‬‬
‫‪He 3 gel.‬‬
‫لا لي أوقظ النائمين‪‎.‬‬
‫ولكن‪ i)ig ‎‬صرختي‪‎‬‬
‫من خيالي السجين!‪‎‬‬
‫‪a‬‬
‫أنا آخر الشعراء الذين‬

‫يؤرَقُهُم ما يُوَرقُ أعداءهم‪:‬‬
‫رما كانت الأرض صِيّقَةٌ‬
‫‏‪cull le‬‬
‫والآلهة‬
‫‪134.‬‬ ‫‪MAHMOUD DARWISH‬‬

Siege is the waiting
the waiting on a ladder leaning amid the storm
We have brothers behind this expanse

kind brothers, who love us, look at us
and cry, then say to themselves in secret:
“We wish this siege were public ...”
But they don’t finish the phrase: “Do not leave us
alone ... do not leave us”
The tribes ask, in their greed

over khilafah, neither Khosrau nor Caesar for help,
because rule is through council at the family plate.
Yet modernity awed them
and so they exchanged
the camels of the caravan for a plane
I will scream in my solitude,

not to wake up the sleeping.
But for my scream to wake me
from my imprisoned imagination!
Iam the last of the poets who

are insomniac by what makes their enemies insomniac:
perhaps the earth is too narrow
for people,
and for the gods _

‫‪leo Palo! US Rood die‬‬
‫سوداء‪ .‬لولا الخطايا لكان الكتابُ‪‎‬‬
‫‪ lGllup )oV fsj hoG‬لكانت‪‎‬‬
‫‪ sB‬الأنبياء على الرمل أقوىء وكان‪‎‬‬
‫الطريق إلى الله أَقَصَرَ‪‎‬‬
‫تمل الأبديّةُ أعمالها الأزلية‪...‬‬
‫‏‪ LT LI‬سمهأسف ‪ٌ:‬لظلل ول‬
‫كان تاريخ هذا المكان أقلّ زحاماً‬
‫لكانت مدائحنا للتضاريس في‬
‫شَجَر الحور‪ ...‬أكثرً!‬
‫سوه‬
‫خَسَائرنا‪ :‬من شهيدّيّن حتى تمانية‬

‫‪es: dS‬‬
‫وعشرةٌ جَرْحَى‬
‫وعشرون بيتاً‬
‫‪ign} Squads‬‬
‫بالإضافة للخَلل البنيويٌ الذي‬
‫سيصيبٌ القصيدةٌ المسرحيةً واللوحة الناقصة‬
‫تُخَزْنُ أحزاننا في الجرار‪WM ,‬‏‬

‫يراها الجنودٌ فيحتفلوا بالحصار‪...‬‬
‫تُخَرْنُها لمواسم أخرى»‬
‫لذكرى‪.‬‬
‫لشيء يفاجئنا في الطريق‪.‬‬
‫فحين تصيرٌ الحياةٌ طبيعيّةٌ‬
‫سوف نحزن كالآخرين لأشياء شخصية‬
‫‏‪ WLS‬عَتَاوِينُ كبرى‪.‬‬
‫فلم تَنْتَبهُ لنزيف الجروح الصغيرة فينا‪.‬‬
‫غداً حين يَشْقَى ‪!LSI‬‏‬
‫نُحس بأعراضه الجانبيّة‬

Here, histories gather in us red,
black. If it weren't for the sins the holy book would’ve been
smaller. If it weren't for the mirage
the prophets’ footsteps on the sand would’ve been stronger, and
the road to god shorter
so let endlessness complete its infinite chores ...
As for me, I’ll whisper to the shadow: If
the history of this place were less crowded
our eulogies to the topography of
poplar trees ... would’ve been more!
Our losses: from two martyrs to eight

every day,
and ten wounded
and twenty homes
and fifty olive trees,
in addition to the structural defect
that will afflict the poem and the play and the incomplete painting
We store our sorrows in our jars, lest

the soldiers see them and celebrate the siege ...
We store them for other seasons,
for a memory,
for something that might surprise us on the road.
But when life becomes normal
we'll grieve like others over personal matters
that bigger headlines had kept hidden,
when we didn’t notice the hemorrhage of small wounds in us.
Tomorrow when the place heals
we'll feel its side effects

‫في الطريق امُضَاء بقنديل منفى‬
‫أرى خيمةٌ في مَهَبّ الجهاث‪:‬‬
‫الجنوبٌ ‏‪ gad‬على الريح‪.‬‬
‫والشرقٌ عَرْبٌ تَصَوْفَه‬
‫والغربٌ هذنةٌ قتلى يسكون تَقْدَ السلام‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ Lely‬الشمالٌء الشمال البعيد‬
‫فليس بجغرافيا أو ‪ead‬‏‬
‫إنه مجمع الآلهة!‬
‫يقولٌ لها‪ :‬انتظريني على حافة الهاوية‬

‫‪Ne‬‬
‫تَحَالَ‪ ...‬تَعَالَ! أنا الهاوية‬

‫تقولٌ‪- :‬‬
‫‪1‬‬
‫‪‎‬تلاق ‪ane GbE blew Styl‬‬

‫‪ Atle uls of‬بِدَمة!‪‎‬‬
‫‪QO‬‬
‫)‪ 58¢5 51‬مَطراًي حابيبي‬

‫‪is ifs‬‬
‫‏‪ bebe‬بالخصوبّة‪ ...‬كُنْ شَجَرا‬
‫وإن م ‪ 585‬شَجِراً ي حابيبي‬
‫فكُنْ حجراً‬
‫ًاعبْشُم ‪...‎‬ةبوطرلاب ‪lao ES‬‬
‫وإن لمتكن حَجراً ي حابيبي‬
‫فكنْ قمراً‬
‫في مَنَام الحبيبة‪ ...‬كُنْ قمرا‬
‫[هكذا قالت امرأة‬
‫لابنها في جنازته‬
‫‪J‬‬

On the road lit with an exile lantern
I see a tent in leaping directions:
the south too stubborn for the wind,
the east a Sufi west,
and the west a truce of the dead who stamp the coins of peace.
As for the north, the far north
is neither geography nor direction
it is the assembly of the gods!
He tells her: Wait for me by chasm’s edge

She says: Come ... come! I am the chasm
A woman told a cloud: Cover my lover

because my clothes are wet with his blood!
If you’re not a rain my love

be a tree
soaked with fertility ... be a tree
and if you're not a tree my love
be a stone
soaked with humidity ... be a stone
and if you’re not a stone my love
be a moon
in the lover's sleep ... be a moon
(that’s what a woman said
to her son at his funeral)
OW

‫[إلى الليل‪ ]:‬مهما ‪!SEE‬‏ ‪!kcilS‬‬
‫‏‪als,‬للكلٌ»‪ ...‬للحالمين ‪sohw‬‏‬
‫أحلامهم‪ :‬فلنا كُمَْرَ ناقصء ودمَ‬
‫‪= Oz‬‬ ‫‪92-3‬‬
‫‪3‬‬
‫‏‪: Ui S583‬هنباب مّرَك«هللا هَجَو »ديهشلا‬

‫وبعد قليلء ‪)g2‬‏ ‪edyh gd‬‬
‫‪OQ‬‬
‫[إلى الموت‪ ]:‬نعرف من أ دَبابة‬

‫‏‪nies eed 33N3le 8585 Ede‬‬
‫ناقصاً خاتاً‪ .‬واعتذرٌ للجنود وَضبّاطهم‪,‬‬
‫قائلاً‪ :‬قد رآني العروسان أنظر‬
‫نحوهماء فتردّدتٌ ثم أعذتُ العروس‬
‫إلى أهلها‪ ...‬باكية!‬
‫إلهي‪ ...‬إلهي! لماذا ‪sefaC‬‏ ‪ei‬‬

‫‏‪ً.. CJ} leg‬الفط مو ؟ينحَتَمت‬
‫قالت الأم‪:‬‬
‫م أرهُ ماشيا في دم‬
‫م أر اَلأَرَجِوانَ على قَدَمهُ‬
‫كان مستنداًللجدار‬
‫وفي يده‬

(To the night:) No matter how much you claim equality
“Your all is for all” ... for the dreamers and the guards
of their dreams, we still have a missing moon, and blood
that doesn’t change the color of your shirt O night ...
cP
We console a father for his son: “May god honor the martyr’s face”
and after a while, we congratulate him on his newborn
(To death:) We know from which tank

you came. We know what you want ... so go back
missing one ring. And apologize to the soldiers and their officers,
and say: The newlyweds caught me looking
their way, so I hesitated then returned the tearful bride
to her kin ... alone
My lord ... my lord! why have you forsaken me

while I’m still a child ... and you haven't tested me yet?
The mother said:

I did not see him walking in his blood
I did not see the purple flower on his foot
he was leaning against the wall
and in his hand
a cup of hot chamomile
he was thinking of his tomorrow ...

‫قالت الأم‪:‬في بادىء الأمر لم‬
‫أفهم الأمر‪ .‬قالوا‪:e:e‬‏‪eid‬‬
‫ثم رَقَصْتٌ وغنيت‬ ‫قليل‪55555 .‬‬
‫حتى الهزيع الأخير من الليل» حيث‬
‫مضى الساهرون وم تبق إلاسلالٌ‬
‫البَتَفْسَج حَولِي‪ .‬تساءلتٌ‪ :‬أين العروسان؟‬
‫قيل‪ :‬هنالك فوق السماء ملاكان‬
‫يُستكملان طَقُوس الزواج‪ .‬فَرَعْرَدْتُ‬
‫‪do‬‬ ‫‪2 0s,‬‬ ‫‪2‬‬ ‫‪eg‬‬ ‫‪3%‬‬
‫مث تصفر ‪‎‬تينغو ‪Casal io‬‬
‫‪SLES! clas‬‬
‫فمتىينتهيء يا‪ener‬‏ شَهْر ‪eS‬‏‬
‫سيمتدٌ هذا الحصارٌ إلى أن‬

‫يُحس الْحَاصرٌء ‪eoJ‬‏ ‪!delop‬‬
‫‏‪peal of‬‬
‫صفةٌ من صفات البَشّر‬
‫أيها الساهرونٌ! ألمتتعبوا‬

‫‪a‬‬ ‫‪-‬‬ ‫‪de‬‬
‫من مراقبة الضوء في ملحنا؟‬

‫ومن وَمَج الورد في جرحنا‬
‫ألمتتعبوا أيُهالساهرُون؟‬
‫واقفون هنا‪ .‬قاعدون هنا‪ .‬دائمون هنا‪.‬‬

‫خالدون هنا‪ .‬ولنا ‪siS‬‏ ‪ yleL‬واحدٌ‪:‬‬
‫أن نكون‪.‬‬
‫وممُنخبعْدتهَنحلنفُونَ على‪SJ‬‏شيء‪:‬‬
‫‏‪ a‬صورة العَلَم الوطنيّ‬
‫‏‪ junc‬صنعاًلو اخْتَرْتَ يا‬
‫‏‪ّ CollGat‬رَمَر رامحلا ]طيسبلا‬
‫‪gees‬‬
‫ومُخْتَلفُونَعلى كلمات النشيد الجديد‬

The mother said: In the beginning of the matter I didn’t
comprehend the matter. They said: He just got married
a little while ago. So I let out my zaghareed, then danced and sang
until the last fraction of the night, when
the sleepless were gone and only baskets of purple flowers
remained around me. Then I asked: Where are the newlyweds?
Someone said: There, above the sky, two angels
are consummating their marriage ... So I let out my zaghareed,
then danced and sang until I was struck
with a stroke.
When then, my beloved, will this honeymoon end?
This siege will extend until

the besieger feels, like the besieged,
that boredom
is a human trait
O you sleepless! have you not tired

from watching the light in our salt?
And from the incandescence of roses in our wounds
have you not tired, O sleepless?
We stand here. Sit here. Remain here. Immortal here.

And we have only one goal:
to be.
Then we'll disagree over everything:
over the design of the national flag
(you would do well my living people
if you choose the symbol of the simpleton donkey)
and we'll disagree over the new anthem

‫[سَتْحْسنُ صنعاً لو أَخْترْتَ أغنيَةٌ عن زواج الحمام]‬
‫ومَخْتَلفُونعلىواجباتالنساء‬
‫[ستُحسنٌ صنعاًلواخترتٌ سيّدةٌلرئاسةأجهزة الأمن]‬
‫مختلفون على النسبّة المئوية» والعام ‪yldloc‬‏‬
‫مختلفون على كلَّ شيء‪ .‬لنا هَدَفٌ واحدّ‪:‬‬
‫‪ISI‬‬
‫ومن بعده يجد الفَردُ متسعاً لاختيار الهَدَفْ‬
‫عميقاً عميقاً‬
‫‏‪ hols:‬فعلٌ المضارع‬

‫‏‪gtd! Hest‬‬
‫في ما وراء الهدف‪...‬‬
‫‪OW‬‬
‫قاالللطيفرييق إلى سججنه‪:‬‬

‫‪+,‬‬
‫عندما ‏|‪ S‬أعرف‬
‫أن مديح لطن‬
‫كهجاء الوَطَنْ‬
‫‏‪Sat Bl Ste dige‬‬
‫‏‪ dsb‬على أهبّة الفجرء‬
‫وأُصعَدٌ‬
‫تيت إذا ماطلتك السماء ‏‬

‫علىصَخْرةٍتَتَنهَدْ‬
‫‪A‬‬

(you would do well if you choose a song about the marriage of doves)
and we'll disagree over women’s duties
(you would do well if you choose a woman to preside over security)
we'll disagree over the percentage, the private and the public,
we'll disagree over everything. And we have one goal:
to be ...
After that one finds room to choose other goals
CDi
Deeply, deeply
the present tense continues
its manual chores,
past the goal ...
He told me on his way to his prison:

When I liberate myself I'll know
that praising the land
is like scoffing the land
a profession like any other profession

awaken your horse
and ascend lightly,
lightly
to surpass your dream,
then sit—when the sky paints you—
on a rock and sigh

‫نسكنُ من بعد ‪ERA‬‏ «‪ !Se‬وماذا‬
‫أقول لها في الصباح‪ :‬أنمْت كما ينبغي‬
‫أن تنامي إلى جانبي؟ وحَلّمتِ بأرض السماء؟‬
‫وهمت بذاتك‪ .‬هل قُمْت ساةً من منامك‬
‫هلتشربينمعي الشايّأمقهوةٌبالحليب؟‬
‫وهل تؤثرين عصيرٌ الفواكه ‪le‬‏‪BLS‬‬
‫[كيف أجعل خريتي حرة؟] يا غريبةٌ!‬
‫‏)‪ Cua‬غريبّك‪ .‬هذا السرير سريرك‪ .‬كوني‬
‫‏)‪ Aly V > Hol‬يرثناو يدّسَِج‬
‫‪ 52,8 50,8‬بلهائك‪ .‬حريتي! عوديني‬
‫عليك‪ .‬خحُديني إلى ما وراء المفاهيم كي‬
‫نصبح اثنين في واحد!‬
‫‪:‬ينلمعت فيك حبصأ اهدّيس‬
‫‏‪CAS dylacl aS‬‬
‫وأنا عبدها‪ .‬كيف أجعل حريتي حرةٌ‬
‫دون أن نفترق؟‬
‫قليلٌ من الُطلّق الأزرق اللانهاي‬
‫لتخفيف وَطأة هذا الزمان‬

‫اانْ‬
‫وتنظيف حمأة هذا مك‬
‫‪BT Ud] Sleepy! Nie tess‬‬

‫تُقلّم أشجارنا‪‎‬‬
‫بأيدي الأطباء‪ .‬والكهتة‪‎‬‬
‫سيمتدٌُ هذا الحصارٌ‪ .‬حصاري المجازيه‬

‫حتى أعلّم نفسي ‪llla 501‬‏‬
‫‪3‬‬ ‫‪- os‬‬ ‫‪2‬‏‬
‫َثةٌ‬ ‫تبك‬ ‫س‏‬‫وفسي‬‫َلن‬

‫ساقب‬‫م‬
‫ومابعدنفسي ‏ بكث سوستَة‬
‫واملكانُ‪ssalG‬‏ في‪ELC‬‏ الأزمنة‬

How doI carry my freedom, how does she carry me? Where
would we live after the nuptials, and what
would I tell her in the morning: Did you sleep as you should
sleep beside me? Did dreaming of the sky’s land
distress your being? Did you rise safely from your sleep?
Would you drink with me some tea, or coffee with milk?
Do you prefer fruit juice, or my kisses?
(How do I make my freedom free?) O stranger!
I am not your stranger. This bed is your bed. Be
licentious, free, endless, and scatter my body
flower by flower with your gasp. My freedom! make me
accustomed to you. Take me beyond meaning
for us to become two in one!
How doI carry her, how does she carry me, how do I become her master
when I am her slave. How do I make my freedom free
without us parting?
A little of the endless blue

is enough
to make the footstep of this time lighter
and to clean up the mud of this place
This siege will extend until

we trim our trees
with the hands of doctors and oracles
This siege, my metaphorical siege, will extend

until I teach myself the ascetics of meditation:
before myself — an iris cried
after myself—an iris cried
and the place is staring at the futility of the ages

‫‪Je ol es, Je‬‬
‫وتمشي على قَدَمَيْها الحريريتين‬
‫‏}‪ً cle J‬اديو هديب اذكه نيبحاص‬
‫قديمين يَفْتَسمانِ الرغيفٌ القديم‬
‫وكأسّ النبيذ القديم‬
‫لنقَطعَ هذا الطريق معاً‬
‫ثم تذهب أيَامنا في اتجاهين مَخْتَلفَين‪:‬‬
‫رد‬ ‫أنا ما وراءَ الطبيعة‪ .‬أمًا م‬
‫<‪a‬‏‬ ‫فتختار أن تجلس‬
‫على صخرة عاليةٌ‬
‫‪OW‬‬
‫[إلى شاعرٍ‪ ]:‬كُلّما غاب عنك الغيابُ‬

‫تورظتُ في غزلة الآلهة‬
‫فكن «ذاتَ» موضوعك التائهة‬
‫و«موضوع» ذاتك‪,‬‬
‫كُنْ حاضراً في الغياب‬
‫[إلى الشعر‪ ]:‬حاصر حصاركٌ‬
‫‪QW‬‬
‫‏‪ li‬وق كذ‬

‫[إلى النثر‪ ]:‬جر البراهينَ من‬
‫البراهين‪ylre .‬‏ غبارك‪.‬‬
‫‪cP‬‬
‫[إلى الشعر والنثر‪ ]:‬طيرا ‪eet‬‏‬

‫كجناحي سَنْونُوة تحملان الربيع المبارك‬
‫‪MAHMOUD‬‬ ‫‪DARWISH‬‬
The soul must dismount
and walk on her two silken feet
beside me, hand in hand, as two old friends
sharing old bread
and vintage wine
to traverse the road together
then our days can go in two separate directions:
I beyond nature. As for the soul
she sits on a high rock
crouching
(To a poet:) Whenever absence is your absentee

you get mixed up in the solitude of the gods
so be the bewildered “self” of your subject
and the “subject” of your self,
be present in absence
(To poetry:) Besiege your siege
(To prose:) Drag the evidence

out of the scholar’s encyclopedia to a present
that the evidence destroyed. And explain your dust
(To poetry and prose:) Fly together

as the wings of a swallow carry the blessed spring

‫‪Taw Ga pteGod! ge ES‬‬
‫‪‎ 5‬ليغ ‪d‬‬
‫أن هذا الخصار‪‎‬‬

‫تراجع عشرين مترا!‪...‬‬
‫‏‪ dow‬الوقتَ للسخرية‪:‬‬

‫هاتفي لا ‪rL‬‏‬
‫ولا جَرَس الباب أيضاً‪by‎‬‬
‫‪il oe CHa ASS‬‬
‫‪Signii 6‬‬
‫=‬
‫يجد ‏!)‪ EB‬للأغنية‪:‬‬

‫في انتظارك‪ ,‬لا أستطيعٌ انتظارك‬
‫لا أستطيع قراءةٌ دوستويفسكي‬
‫ولا الاستماع إلى ‪yhp‬‏كلثوم» أو «ماريًا كالاس»‬
‫وغيرهما‪ .‬في انتظارك تمشي العقاربٌ في‬
‫ساعة اليد نحو اليسار‪ ,‬إلى )‪4‬‬
‫لا امكاوله‪:‬‬
‫في انتظارك ل أنتظرك» انتظرتٌ الأَرَّلْ‬
‫خم‬
‫يقولٌ لها‪ :‬أي زهر تُحبِيتَهُ؟‬

‫فتقول‪ :‬أحبٌ القُرنْفُلَ‪aoS ...‬‏‬
‫يقول‪ :‬إلى أين تمضينَ بي»‬
‫‏‪ JasAlly‬؟دوسأ‬
‫‪:‬لوقت ‪‎‬ىلإ )‪els & sgall 5‬‬

I wrote twenty lines about love
and imagined
this siege
has withdrawn twenty meters! ...
He finds time for sarcasm:

My phone doesn’t ring
and neither does the doorbell
so how were you certain that I
wasn’t here?
He finds time for song:

While I wait for you, I can’t wait for you
I can’t read Dostoevsky
or listen to Om Kalthoum or Maria Callas
or anyone else. While I wait for you the hands
in my wristwatch move to the left, to a time
that has no place, while I wait for you
I didn’t wait for you, I waited for eternity
He says: What flowers do you love?

She says: I love carnations ... black
He says: Where are you taking me
while the carnations are black?
She says: To the seat of light inside me
And she says: And farther ... farther ... farther
‫وه‬
A State of Siege 1
‫[إلى الحُبّ‪ ]:‬يا حب يا طائر العَيْب!‬
‫‏‪ Liss‬من الأزرق الأبدي وحمى الغياب‪.‬‬
‫تعال إلى مطبخي لنعدٌ العَشَاء‪aef‬‏‬
‫سوف ‏‪ eggbl‬وأنتَ ‏‪ wes‬النبيذ‪,‬‬
‫‪aَl‬م‪s‬ن‪h‬‏ ‪BSG‬‬ ‫‪c‬ئت‬
‫وتختارٌ ماش‬
‫بحياد المكان وقَوْضَى العواطف‪ :‬إِنْ‬
‫قيلَ إِنَْكَجنْس من الجن‪ ...‬صَدَّقْ!‬
‫وإن قيلَ إِنّكَ نوع من الأنفلونزا‪ ...‬فصدّق!‬
‫‏‪ST LS chloe Sag EW) Glos‬‬
‫قُرْبيأليفٌ لطيفٌ تُقَشْرَ ثُوما وبعد العشاء‬
‫ستختازٌ لي فيلماً عاطفياً قدياً‬
‫لنشهد كيف غدا البطلان هناك‬
‫هنا شاهدَينْ‬
‫في الصباح الذي سوف يعقبٌ هذا الحصار‬

‫سوف تمضي فتاةٌ إلى حبها‬
‫بالقميص امْرَرْكُشء والبَنْطَلُونِ الرماديّ‬
‫مَفَافَةَ احُتَويّاتَمكشاّمشيّات في‬
‫‪‎ jg‬واذا ‪lS ty Jig! Ide‬‬
‫‪ ald‬اي ءيبيبح ‪‎‬الف ‪Lys 5315‬‬
‫لئلاً يَخطّ غرابٌ على كتفي‪...‬‬
‫وستقضم تُفَاحَة في انتظار الأَمَلْ‬
‫في انتظار الحبيب الذي‬
‫ٌلصَي‬
‫ريماء‏‪jyLey‬‬
‫«أناء أو هو»‬
‫هكذا تبدأ الحربٌ‪ .‬لكنها‬

‫تنتهي بلقاء خرج‪:‬‬
‫«أنا‪ 3‬هو»‬

(To Love:) O love, O bird of the unseen!
free us from the eternal blue and the fever of absence.
Come to my kitchen and let us prepare dinner together.
I will cook, and you'll pour the wine,
and choose what you like of songs that remind us
of the neutrality of place and the mayhem of emotions: if
it were said that you are a kind of jinn ... believe it!
and if it were said that you are a kind of flu ... believe it!
Stare at yourself and tear your veil. But you are now here
near me, pleasant and domestic peeling garlic, and after dinner
you'll choose for me a romantic movie,
we can witness how the two heroes over there
became two viewers
On the morning that will follow this siege

a girl will walk to her love
in an ornate shirt, and ashen pants,
transparent in spirit like apricots
in March: Today is all ours,
all of it, my love, don’t be too late
lest a raven alight on my shoulder ...
And she'll bite an apple waiting for hope
waiting for a lover who,
perhaps, might not arrive
“Me, or him”
that’s how war starts. But
it ends in an awkward stance:
“Me and him”

‫«أناهي حتى «‪I‬‏‬
‫هكذا يبدأ الحبٌ‪ .‬لكنه‬
‫عندما ينتهي‬
‫ينتهي بوداع حرج‪:‬‬

‫«أنا و هي»‬
‫لا أحبكَء لا أكرهكَ‬

‫‪0‬‬
‫قال ‪eiJ‬‏ ‪ef dl( ao‬‬

‫ع‬
‫بما ليس ‪ssid‬‏ (‪gilAh yldod sda 8‬‬

‫قلبي بريء» مضيء‪ .‬ملي‬
‫ولا وَقَتَ في القلب للامتحان‪sh« .‬‏‬
‫ل أعبك‪lsE 23 .‬‏ ‪ os‬أحيك؟‬
‫هل أنت بعص أنايء وموعدٌ شاي‬
‫بْحَةُ ناي‪ .‬وأغنيةٌ ي أحبِّكَ؟‬
‫‪ass‬‬
‫لكنني ‪ 15,6‬الاعتقال ولا أكرهك‪.‬‬

‫هكذا قال مُعْتقلٌ للمحقّق‪ :‬عاطفتي‬
‫لا تَخْصْكَ‪ .‬عاطفتي هي لَيْلِيالخصوصي‪...‬‬
‫‏‪ how Gul WI‬نيب دئاسولا ًارح‬
‫من الوزن والقافية!‬
‫سيمتدٌ هذا الحصار إلى أن يُنَقُحَ‬

‫سادةٌ «أومب» إلياذةٌ الخالدةٌ‬
‫في شارع الموت‪ ...‬في الساعة الواحدة‬
‫=‬
‫سيلعب طفلٌ بطائرة ‪#O‬‏ ‪993‬‬

‫بألوانها الآربعة‬

“Iam she until the end”
that’s how love begins. But
when it ends
it’s an awkward farewell:
“She and I”
I don’t love you, I don’t hate you

the detainee told the interrogator: My heart is filled
with what doesn’t concern you. My heart overflows with sage scent,
my heart is innocent, illuminated, full,
and there is no time in the heart for cross-examination. Yes,
I don’t love you. Who are you that I should love you?
Are you some of my I, and a meeting over tea
and a nay’s hoarseness, and a song that I should love you?
But I hate detainment and I don’t hate you.
This is what the detainee told the interrogator: My passion
does not concern you. My passion is my private night ...
my night that moves between the pillows free
of meter and rhyme!
This siege will extend until the gods

at Olympus are done pruning the Iliad Immortal
A boy is about to be born, here and now,

in the street of death ... at one o'clock
A boy will play with a kite

of four colors

‫[أحمر أسود» أبيض» أخضر]‬
‫ثم يدخلٌ في نجمة شاردةٌ‬

‫‪OQ‬‬
‫جِلسنا بعيدين عن ‪ /‬مصائرنا كطيور‬

‫تُوَنْتُ أعشاشّها في تُقُوبٍ التماثيلء ‪١‬‏‬
‫أو ‪ 3‬امداخن»‬
‫أو في الخيام التي تُصبّتْ‬

‫في طريق الأمير إلى رحلة الصيذ‪...‬‬
‫‪OW‬‬
‫[إلى حارس‪ ]:‬سأَعلّمُكَ الانتظاز‬

‫على ‪bo‬‏ ‪!hseJ 25G‬‬
‫لعل تكسامٌمن‬
‫‪apeals 25,39‬‬
‫وتدخُلُ ليلَكَ حراً‬
‫[إلى حارس آخر‪ ]:‬سأعلّمَكَ ‪!ysaUj‬‏‬

‫على ‪bG‬‏ ‪eda‬‬
‫القشعريرةٌ مثلي‬ ‫قد ‏‪ys‬‬
‫‪Set‬‬ ‫‪i adptell‬‬

‫أندلسي الأسى فارسيّ المداز‪‎‬‬
‫فيوجِعَكَ الياسمينء وترحَلٌ‪‎‬‬
‫‪OW‬‬
‫[إلى حارس ثالث‪ ]:‬سأعلّمك الانتظار‬

‫‪eee‬‬ ‫=‬ ‫‪ae‬‬
‫علىمقعد حجريء فقد‪‎‬‬

(red, black, white, green)
then he'll enter a fugitive star
We sat far from / our destinies like birds

that furnish their nests inside the cavities of statues,
or in chimneys,
or in tents pitched
on the prince’s way to a hunt...
(To a guard:) I'll teach you waiting

at my postponed death’s door
be patient, be patient
maybe you'll get bored with me
and lift your shadow off me
and enter your night free
without my ghost!
(To another guard:) I'll teach you waiting

at a café entrance
for you to hear your heart slow down, speed up
you might know shuddering as I do
be patient,
and you might whistle as I do a migrant tune
Andalusian in sorrow, Persian in orbit
then the jasmine hurts you, and you leave
WS
(To a third guard:) I'll teach you waiting

on a stone bench, perhaps

‫نتبادلٌ أسماءنا‪ .‬قد ترى‬
‫‪: Gy‬انتيب‬ ‫‏‪ys‬‬
‫‪al‬‬
‫ولي والدة‬
‫‪ Ws‬مَطرَ‪Joly ‎‬‬
‫‪Joly 505 Wy‬‬
‫وغيابٌ قصيرٌ عن المائدةٌ‬
‫على‏‪52) Jit5 Ib‬‬

‫والذئبٌ يغفو على ‪ey‬‏ ‪LG‬‬
‫ويحلمْ مثليه‬
‫ومثل الملاكٌ‬
‫بأنّ الحياةٌ هنا‬
‫لا هناك‪...‬‬
‫الأماطير ترفض تَعدِيلَ حبكتها‬

‫ريما مسها خَلَلُ طارىء‬
‫‏‪ 905 Gu Coie Ley‬ةسباي‬
‫‪.‬‬ ‫غير مأهولة‪,‬‬
‫‏‪... lsu Eis‬يعقاولاب‬
‫‏‪ 50 iss Los‬الاهُمئالي‬

‫‏‪, diac‬ةقارجب‬
‫فالحقيقةٌ جاريةٌ‪laoc‬‏ ‪eerA‬‬
‫يضاف من غير ‪ega‬‏‬
‫مستشرق‪]:‬ليكُنْما ‪so‬‏‬ ‫[إلىشبه‬

‫‪ ea eoid‬ف‬ ‫لنفترض‪ee‬‏‬
‫ولا ألعبٌ الجولف»‪.‬‬
‫لا أفهم التكنولوجياء‬

we would exchange our names. You might see
an urgent simile between us:
you have a mother
and I have a mother
and we have one rain
and we have one moon
and a brief absence from the dining table
LPeae
On my ruins the shadow sprouts green,

and the wolf dozes off on my sheep’s wool
and dreams as I do,
and as an angel does,
that life is here
not there ...
The myths refuse to adjust their plot.

They may suffer a sudden malfunction
and some of the ships may drift to a dry
unpopulated land
where the imaginary becomes afflicted with the real ...
but they don’t change their plot.
Whenever they find a reality that doesn’t suit them
they alter it with a bulldozer,
because reality is an ongoing text, lovely
white, without malady ...
(To a quasi-Orientalist:) Suppose what you think is true

suppose now that I’m an idiot, idiot, idiot
and I don’t play golf,
and I don’t comprehend technology,

‫ولا أستطيع قيادةٌ طيّارة!‬
‫ألهذا أخذتٌ ‪olG‬‏ ‪ aia‬منها حياتكَ؟‬
‫لو كُنْتَ غيركَ» لو ‪SE‬‏ ‪xo‬‬
‫لكنَا صديقَيْنِ يعترفان بحاجتنا للغباء‪...‬‬
‫أما للغبيّء كما لليهودي في‬
‫«تاجر البندقية» كَلْبٌه وخبرٌ‬
‫وعينان تغرورقان؟‬
‫في الحصارء يصيرٌ الزمانُ مكاناً‬

‫تحجر في أبده‬
‫في الحصارء يصيرٌ المكانٌ ‪}elB‬‏‬
‫تخَلْفَ عن مَوْعدهِ‬
‫عله‬
‫الممكانُ هو الرائحة‬
‫عندما أتذكر أرضاً‬
‫أَشُمْدم الرائحة‬
‫‪dost gud J) Sols‬‬
‫‪OW‬‬
‫هذه الأرض ‪elbi‬‏ عالية‬

‫زانية‬ ‫أو ‪edan‬‏‬
‫لا ثُبالي كثيراً بفقه الصفات‬
‫فقد يصبح الفرج‬
‫فَرج السموات»‬
‫‪١‬‬ ‫جغرافية!‪‎‬‬
‫ألشهيدُ يحاصرني كُلّما عشت يوماً جديداً‬

‫ويسألني‪ :‬أين كُنتَ؟‬
‫‏‪ def‬للقواميس كُلَّ الكلام الذي‬

and I can’t fly a plane!
Is that why you took my life and made of it your life?
If you were another, if I were another
we would be two friends who confess a need for idiocy ...
Doesn't the idiot, as the Jew
in the Merchant of Venice, have a heart, and bread,
and eyes that well up?
In siege, time becomes place

petrified in its eternity.
In siege, place becomes time
late for its appointment
Place is the scent.

When Irecall a land
I smell the blood of scent
and long for my displaced self
This land is low, high

or holy, fornicator
we don’t care much for the jurisprudence of adjectives
because the orifice,
the heavens’ orifice, might become
a geography!
The martyr besieges me whenever I live a new day

and asks: Where were you?
Give back to the dictionaries all the talk

‫دوس‬ ‫عه‬ ‫‪°‬‬
‫تَ ‏‪Ac dal‬‬ ‫‪5‬‬
‫وخقّفٌ عن النائمين طنينَ الصدى!‬
‫الشهيد يُوَضْحْ لي‪ :‬لمأفتش وراء المدى‬

‫و‬ ‫وغ‬
‫و‬
‫‏‪Blo! Col Gis agli! whic ge‬‬

‫على الأرضء بين الصنوبر والتين» لكنني‬
‫ما استطعت إلنها سبلل‬
‫ففتَّمْتُ عنها بآخر ‪el‬‏ ‪lad‬‬
‫الدم في جَسّد اللازورد‬
‫ٌديهشلأ ‪:‬ينمّلَعُي ‪‎‬ال ‪Ro GE Glo‬‬

‫‪52-5‬‬
‫هو‬ ‫‪556‬‬ ‫‪2‬‬ ‫‪Be‬‬ ‫‪F638‬‬ ‫‪2‬‬ ‫‏‪4‬‬
‫الشهيد يحذرني‪ :‬لا تصدق زغاريدهن‬

‫وصدّق أبيحين ينظر في ‪egaG‬‏ ‪LSU‬‬
‫كيف يَدَّلْتَ أدوارتاء يا بني»‬
‫وسرت أمامي؟‬
‫أنا أولاً‬
‫وأنا أولاً!‬
‫ألشهيدٌ يُحاصرفي‪ :‬م أغيدٌ سوى مَؤقعي‬

‫وأثائي الفقير‪.‬‬
‫غزالاًعلى مخدعي‬ ‫‪953‬‬
‫وهلالاً على إصبعي‬
‫كي أخفّفَ من وَجَعي‬

you gave to me as gift,
and ease the drone of echo off the sleeping!
‫ته‬
The martyr clarifies for me: I didn’t search beyond the expanse
for immortal virgins, because I love life
on earth, among the pines and figs, but
I couldn't find a way to it,
so I looked for it with the last thing I owned:
blood in the lapis body
The martyr teaches me: no aesthetic outside my freedom
The martyr cautions me: Don’t believe the women’s zaghareed

and believe my father when he looks into my picture tearfully:
How did you swap our roles, my son,
and walk ahead of me?
Me first
and me first!
The martyr besieges me: I only changed my position

and my impoverished furniture,
I placed a gazelle in my bedroom
and a crescent on my finger
to ease my pain

‫ألشهيدٌُ يحاصرني‪ :‬لا تَسرٌ في الجنازة‬
‫إلاإذا كنت تعرفني‪.‬‬
‫و‬ ‫‪2‬‬ ‫سد ودة‬

‫سيشتد هذا الحصار‬
‫‪-‬‬ ‫‪oF‬‬
‫‪tottA‬‬
‫باختيار عَبُوديّة لا ‪SAG‬‏‬

‫‪50‬‬
‫ولكنْ بحريّة كاملةٌ‬

‫‪OW‬‬
‫‪ ol‬واق ‪:‎‬ينعي !‪oe sty‬‬

‫‪ igus‬بلقلا ‪‎‬او ‪aa5‬‬
‫ومن دائكَ المتأصل‪‎:‬‬
‫داء الأمل‬
‫وفيماتبقّىمنالفجرأمشي إلىخارجي‬
‫‏‪ GisleGs‬نم ليللاٌعمَسأ عفوىطُخلا يلخاد‬
‫إذ! عرض القن عالحتة‬

‫بالرياضة والسخرية‬
‫‪..‬نع ةينغألا‬ ‫‏‪salt Lass‬‬
‫شاه‬
‫‪52‬‬

The martyr besieges me: Don't walk in my funeral
unless you had known me.
I need courtesy from no one
This siege will intensify

to convince us
to choose a harmless slavery,
but with total freedom of choice
To resist means: to be certain

of the well-being of the heart and testicles,
and of your chronic illness:
the illness of hope
And in what remains of dawn I walk to my exterior

and in what remains of night I hear the fall of footsteps inside me
When love falls ill I treat it

with sports and sarcasm
and with separating the singer ... from the song
The siege transforms me from a singer into ...

a sixth string on the violin
ia

‫[إلى قارىء‪ ]:‬لا تثق بالقصيدة‪,‬‬
‫فلا هي حدس‬
‫ولا هي فكر‬
‫ولكنها حاسّة الهاوية‬
‫‪o--‬‬ ‫‪2 -- 38‬‬ ‫‪‎‬و‬

‫الكتابة جِرو صغيريعضالعَدَمْ‬
‫‪0‬‬ ‫ا‬
‫الكتابة تجرح من دون دم‬
‫‪Aa‬‬
‫أصدقائي يُعَدُون لي‪sléL‬‏ ‪sala‬‬

‫للوداع» وقبراً مريحا يُطَلْلَهُ السنديانُ‬
‫وشاهدةًٌ من رخام الرّمَنْ‬
‫فأسبقهم دائماً في الجنازة‪:‬‬
‫‪$50 wale ja‬‬
‫أالشهيدةٌ بنتٌ الشهيدة بنتٌّ الشهيد‬

‫وأخبٌ الشهيد وأختٌ الشهيدة كنةُ‬
‫‏‪ٌ gl gl‬ةديفح دج ‏ ديهش ‪-‬‬
‫وجارةٌ عم الشهيد [الخ‪ ...‬الخ‪]...‬‬
‫ولا شيء يحدّتُ في العام المتمدن»‬
‫فالزمنَ البربري انتهى»‬
‫والضحيّةُ ‏‪ٌ oul)! Tagore‬ةيداع‬
‫والضيية‪ :‬مل الحقيقة نسي‬
‫[الخ‪ ...‬الخ‪]...‬‬
‫‪QW‬‬
‫هدوءاً‪ .‬هدوءاً فإن الجنودٌ يريدون‪‎‬‬

‫في هذه الساعة الاستماعً إلى الأغنيات‪‎‬‬
‫التي استَمّع الشُّهِدَاءٌ ‪)lagla‬‏ وظلّتْ‬
‫كرائحة البْنْفي دمهم‪ ...‬طازجة‬

(To a reader:) Don’t trust the poem,
this daughter of absence,
she’s neither speculation
nor intellect,
she’s chasm’s sense
Writing is a small puppy biting void

writing wounds without drawing blood
My friends always prepare a farewell party

for me, a comfortable grave shaded with holm oak
and a tombstone made of time’s marble
but in the funeral I’m always ahead of them:
Who died ... who?
The martyr is the daughter of a martyr who is the daughter of a martyr

and her brother is a martyr and her sister is a martyr and a daughter-in-law
of a martyr’s mother who's the grandchild of a martyr’s grandfather
and a martyr’s uncle’s neighbor etc., etc.
And nothing happens in this civilized world,
the age of barbarism is over,
and the victim is nameless, ordinary
and the victim ... like truth ... is relative
etc., etc.
Quiet, quiet, the soldiers want

_in this hour to listen to the songs
the martyrs listened to, the songs that remained
like the aroma of coffee in their spilled blood ... fresh

‫وه‬
‫‏‪ Bim ode‬رابتخال ‪:‬ميلاعتلا‬
‫هل تصلحٌ الطائراتُ محاريتٌ؟‬
‫‏‪ Bim ite og) Ls‬ناحتمال ءاياونلا‬
‫فقد يتسرَبٌ شيء من السلم للنفس!‬
‫عندئذ نتبارى على ‪eG‬‏ أشيائنا‬
‫بوسائل شعرية‪.‬‬
‫فأجابوا‪ :‬ألا تعلمون بأنَّ السلامَ ‪og‬‏ ‪bu‬‬
‫يفتحح أبوابَ ‪ssaL‬‏‬
‫‏‪ pli‬الحجاز أو التَهوند؟‬
‫فقلنا‪ :‬وماذا؟‪ ...‬ويعد؟‬
‫فناجينٌ قهوتنا‪ .‬والعصافيرٌ‪ylloj .‬‏ ‪wap‬‬

‫الأزرقٌ الظل‪ .‬والشمس تقفرٌ من‬
‫حائط نحو خم ‪eb‬‏ الغزالة‪...‬‬
‫واماء ‪$‬الك اللانهائية الشكل‬
‫في ما تبقى لنامن سماء‪.‬‬
‫‪‎‬ءايشأو ‪‎ el‬ى ‪SL SU deh‬‬
‫‏‪ Jus‬على أنهذا الصباح قو بهي‬
‫‏‪ Baud iy‬ىلع‪.‬ةيدبألا‬
‫‪‎ dL‬ىلع ‪oil Lal‬‬
‫‏‪ als‬الكواكبٌ في )‪ 34‬الشعر‪.‬‬

‫‏‪Auld los‬‬
‫نودّعٌ هذا الطريق الطويل‬
‫ونسألٌ‪ :‬من أين نبدأ؟‬
‫‏‪ los‬قليلٌ‬
‫تُحذَّر نرجسنا الجبليّ الجميل‬
‫من الافتتان بصورته‪ :‬لم‪SI‬‏‬
‫صالحاً للقصيدة‪ .‬فانظر‬
‫إلى عابرات السبيل‬

Truce, truce to test the instructions:
Would fighter jets work as plows?
We said to them: Truce, truce to test the will,
some peace might leak into the self!
Then we can compete over how to love our things
with poetic methods.
They answered: Don’t you know that peace with self
opens our citadel doors
to the hejaz and the nahawand?
We said: So what? ... What then?
Our coffee cups. And birds. And the green trees

with blue shadows. And the sun leaping from
one wall to another like a gazelle ...
and the water in clouds with endless shapes
in what is left to us of sky,
and other things of postponed memory
indicate this morning is strong and beautiful,
and that we are eternity’s guests

ina little while
the planets will sleep in poetry’s language.
Ina little while
we will bid this long road farewell
and ask: Where do we begin?
Inalittle while
we will caution our beautiful mountain narcissus
against infatuation with its image: You are no longer
fit for the poem, so look
toward the passersby

‫‏‪ Arle‬على مَنْ يُشَاطْرَن الانتباة إلى‬
‫نَشُوَة الضوء‪ .‬ضوء الفراشة» في‬
‫ليل هذا التقق!‬
‫سيلاُمٌقعَلىامَسنْمُني قدحي‬
‫‏‪ JJ asus 3‬ضيفي نم ‪:‬نيدعقملا‬
‫بعحلىي!‬
‫شام‬
‫سل‬
‫‏‪ OL‬كلام الَمسفَافْرسفِيه‬

‫للمسافر في الجهة الثانية‪...‬‬
‫ألسلامٌ حَمَامْ غَرِيبَينِ يقتسمان الهديل‬

‫الأخيرء على حافّة الهاوية‬
‫ص‬ ‫‪3‬‬ ‫‪Gs-‬‬ ‫‪8‬‬ ‫‪‎‬و‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫السلام حنين عدوينء كل على حدة‬
‫للتثاؤبٍ فوق رصيف ‪lla‬‏‬
‫ألسلامُ ‪luG‬‏ مُحبَيْنِ يغتسلانٍ‬
‫بضوء القَمَر‬
‫ألسلامُ اعتذار القوي لمن هو‬

‫‏‪ Leds die Canal‬ىوقأو قدما‬
‫ألسلامُ انكسارٌ السيوف أمام الجمال‬

‫‏!‪ٌ JAF Cue «eda‬ديدحلا ىدنلا‬

Salaam upon whoever splits with me the attention to
light’s ecstasy, the butterfly light, in
this tunnel’s night!
Salaam upon whoever shares with me my glass

in the density of a night that overflows two seats:
salaam upon my ghost!
Salaam is what a traveler says to himself

to another traveler on the other side ...
Salaam is the doves of two strangers sharing their last

cooing, on the edge of the chasm
Salaam is two enemies longing, each separately,

to yawn on boredom’s sidewalk
Salaam is two lovers moaning to bathe

in moonlight
Salaam is the apology of the mighty to the one

with weaker weapons and stronger range
Salaam is the sword breaking in front of natural

beauty, where dew smelts the iron
A State of Siege 1
‫ألسلام نهار أليفٌ‪ .‬لطيفٌ‪ .‬خفيفٌ‬
‫لح‬ ‫‏‪ “2 hss ١‬ال‏‪goles‬‬
‫ألسلام كطار ‪sgod‬‏ سَكانَهُ العائدينَ‬

‫‪SS Se Dw‬‬
‫أو الذاهبينَ إلى تُزْهَة في ضواحي الأبَدْ‬

‫حر‬
‫ألسلام هو الاعترافء ‪eid‬‏ بالحقيقة‪:‬‬

‫ماذا صَبَعْتَمم بطيف القتيل؟‬
‫ألسلام هو الانصرافٌ إلى عَمَل في الحديقة‪:‬‬

‫ماذا سنزرع عمًا قليل؟‬
‫ألسلام هُوَ الانتباهُ إلى الجاذبيّة في‬

‫‏‪ ULES Calas‬نايوْغُت ٌةزيرغلا يف ةأرما ةفئاخ‬
‫ألسلام هو الآه ‪gans‬‏ مُرِتَفَعَات‬

‫ممح في قلب جيتارة نازفة‬
‫سوه‬
‫ألسلام رثاء فتىّ تَقَبَتْ قلبَهُ شامةٌ‬

‫صاصر الو ‏‪AL38‬‬ ‫‏‪ «dlyal‬ال‬
‫‏‪ Ll‬غناء حياة هناء في الحياة‪,‬‬

‫على وثر السنبكة‬

Salaam is a friendly day, pleasant, light-
footed, enemy of no one
Salaam is a train that unites all its passengers

who are coming from or going toa picnic in eternity’s suburbs
Oo
Salaam is the public confession of truth:

What have you done with the murdered’s ghost?
Salaam is the turning toward an errand in the garden:

What will we plant in a little while?
Salaam is the caution against a fox’s attractive

eyes that lure the instinct of a frightened woman
Salaam is the aah strutting the crescendo

of a muwashah, in the heart of a bleeding guitar
Salaam is the lament of a young man whose heart a woman’s beauty

mark pierced, not a bullet or a bomb
Salaam is the singing of life here, in life,

on the string of an ear of wheat
A State ofSiege 173

‫ا‬
‫توارد خواطرء أو توارد مصائر‪:‬‬

‫لا أنت أنت‬
‫ولا الدياز دياز‬
‫[أبو تمام]‬
‫‏‪ gig‬لا أناأنا‬

‫ولا البيثٌ بيتي‬
‫[لوركا]‬
Don’t Apologize
for What You’ve Done
et
2003
A telepathy of minds, or a telepathy of destinies:
Neither you are you

nor home is home
ABU TAMMAM
And now, I am not I

and the house is not my house
FEDERICO GARCIA LORCA
I. IN THE LUST OF CADENCE
‫يختارني الإيقاع‬
‫‪BGs Eley! HESS‬‬

‫‪ ea lU‬الكمان‪ .‬ولستٌ عازقة‪‎‬‬
‫أنا في حضرة الذكرى‪‎‬‬
‫صدى الأشياء ‪sbb‬‏ بي‬
‫‏‪ٌ prod Casual LS‬تعمتسا ىلإ‬

‫هديل يَمَامَة ‪yals‬‏‬
‫‪73 S445‬‬
‫أخي! أنا ‪132L‬‏ ‪aga‬‬
‫فأذرف باسمها دَمُعَ الكلام‬
‫وكُلما آبِصرْتُ جذعَ ‪IESAC‬‏‬
‫على الطريق إلى الغمام‪,‬‬
‫أنا أ مرأة مطَلَّقَةُ‬

‫فألعن باسمها زيرٌ الظلام‬
‫‏‪Glas God! Ef,‬‬
‫أنا ما ‪;SE‬‏موجوداً‬
‫ولكن لن تعود كما تركتّكَ‬
‫لن تعود‪ .‬ولن ]‪693‬‬
‫فيكملٌ الإيقاع دَوْرتَهُ‬
‫ويشرقٌ بي ‪...‬‬

Cadence Chooses Me
Cadence chooses me, it chokes on me

I am the violin’s regurgitant flow, and not its player
I am in the presence of memory
the echo of things pronounces through me
then I pronounce ...
Whenever Ilisten to the stone I hear
the cooing of a white pigeon
gasp in me:
My brother! I am your little sister,
so I cry in her name the tears of speech
And whenever I see the zanzalakht trunk
on the way to the clouds,
I hear a mother’s heart
palpitate in me:
I am a divorced woman,
so I curse in her name the cicada darkness
And whenever I see a mirror on a moon
I see love a devil
glaring at me:
Iam still here
but you won't return as you were whenIleft you
you won't return, and I won't return
Then cadence completes its cycle
and chokes on me ...
Don't Apologize for What You’ve Done 179

‫بي حكمة المحكوم بالإعدام‬
‫لي ‏‪ dado‬المحكوم بالإعدام‪:‬‬

‫لا أشياء أملكها لتملكنى‪:‬‬
‫كتبتٌ وصيتي بدمي‪:‬‬
‫«ثقُوا بالماء يا سَكَانَ أغنيتي!»‬
‫من خريطتهاء‬
‫واوضح من مراياها ‪gniti‬‏‬
‫إلى أعلى‬
‫كأنني ‏‪ Abdo‬والريخ أجنحتى‪.‬‬
‫‏& ‪AN sajobivah‬‬

‫من حلمي ومن لغتي‪:‬‬
‫‏‪ diss‬في ‏‪ Trios‬الأخيرة‪.‬‬

‫قد تأجل موعدٌ الإعدام ثانيةً‬
‫‏‪Sowell nest‬‬
‫قال‪ :‬انتظر لتموت ‪)SF‬‏‬
‫قُلْتُ‪ :‬لا أشياء أملكها لتملكني‬
‫كتبتٌ وصيتي بدمي‪:‬‬
‫«ثقُوا بالماء‬
‫ياسكان أغنيتي!»‬

I Have the Wisdom of One Condemned to Death
I have the wisdom of one condemned to death:

I own nothing for anything to own me,
I wrote my will with my blood:
“Trust in water O dwellers of my song!”
Then I slept smeared and crowned with my tomorrow ...
I dreamt that the land’s heart is bigger
than its map,
and clearer than its mirrors and my gallows.
I dreamt up a white cloud that takes me
higher
as if I were a hoopoe, and the wind my wings.
And by dawn, the calling
of the night guard woke me
from my dream and from my language:
You will live another death,
alter your last will,
execution has been postponed a second time
I asked: Until when?
He said: Wait to die some more
I said: I own nothing for anything to own me
I wrote my will with my blood:
“Trust in water
O dwellers of my song!”
Don't Apologize for What You've Done 181

‫سيجيء يَوْمٌآحَرء يوم ‪salG‬‏‬
‫‪1‬ل‬ ‫‏‪ ands‬ا‬
‫مامي ‪EIB‬‏ الزيارة‪ ,‬مُشْمِسء‬
‫‏‪ Joly I) Bias uli‬لد‬
‫برغبة في الانتحار أو الرحيل‪SSJ .‬‏‬
‫شيء‪ .‬خارج الماضيء ‪baG‬‏ ‪euA‬‬
‫رديفٌ صفاته الأولى‪ .‬كأنَّ الوقتّ‬
‫يرقد في إجازته‪« ...‬أطيلي وقت زينتك‬
‫الجميل‪ .‬تشمّسي في ‪daw‬‏ ‪ SGI‬الحَرِيرِيين‬
‫وانتظري البشارةً ريثما تأتي‪ .‬وفي ما‬
‫بعد نكبرٌ‪ .‬عندنا ‪sdC‬‏ ‪]alB‬‬
‫لنكبر بعد هذا اليوم‪/»...‬‬
‫سوف يجيء يوم آخَرء يوم ‪dalG‬‏‬
‫‏‪ 529939 SLAY! Sle‬ةيحتلا‬
‫والعبارة‪ .‬كل شيء أنثويخارج‬
‫‏!‪ «galt‬مل اما من ضرع الحجارة‪.‬‬
‫لا عْبَارَ ولا جَقَافَه ولا خسارة‪.‬‬
‫والحمام ينام بعد الظهر في دبابة‬
‫مهجورة إن لم‪uoJ‬‏ ‪cespI ESL‬‬
‫في سرير العاشقين ‪...‬‬

Another Day Will Come
Another day will come, a womanly day

diaphanous in metaphor, complete in being,
diamond and processional in visitation, sunny,
flexible, with a light shadow. No one will feel
a desire for suicide or for leaving. All
things, outside the past, natural and real,
will be synonyms of their early traits. As if time
is slumbering on vacation ... “Extend your lovely
beauty-time. Sunbathe in the sun of your silken breasts,
and wait until good omen arrives. Later
we will grow older. We have enough time
to grow older after this day ...” /
Another day will come, a womanly day
songlike in gesture, lapis in greeting
and in phrase. All things will be feminine outside
the past. Water will flow from rock’s bosom.
No dust, no drought, no defeat.
And a dove will sleep in the afternoon in an abandoned
combat tank if it doesn’t find a small nest
in the lovers’ bed ...

‫وأناء وإن كنت الأخير‬
‫‪‎‬ءانأو ‪ol tr) ols‬‬

‫وَجَدْتٌ ما يكفي من الكلمات ‪...‬‬
‫‏‪ JS‬قصيدة رَسْمْ‬
‫سأرسم للسنونو الآن خارطة الربيع‬
‫وللمُشَّاة على الرصيف الزيزفونَ‬

‫وللنساء اللازورد ‪...‬‬
‫وأناء سيحملني الطريق‬
‫وسوف أحملَهُ على كتفي‬

‫‏‪ SF‬يستعيدٌ الشيء صورتة‪,‬‬
‫‪ipa oS‬‬
‫واسمّة الأصلي في ما بعد‪/‬‬
‫‪efdanas Ls‬‬
‫تفش للسحابة عن أخيها‬
‫قرب بثر الماء‪:‬‬
‫«يا ‏‪ hous‬سأعطيك البديل‬
‫‏‪ Ss‬قصيدة حلم‪:‬‬

‫»‪«ble J obExale‬‬
‫سيحملني وأحملة‬
‫إلى أن أكتب السَطْر الأخير‬
‫على رخام القبر‪:‬‬
‫‏»‪ SU ... Exe‬أطير»‬
‫‪ ...‬وسوف أحمل للمسيح حذاءة الشتويّ‬

‫‪cll ISS ashe J‬‬
‫من أعلى الجبال ‪ ...‬إلى البحيرة‪‎‬‬

And I, Even ifI Were the Last
And I, even if I were the last,

have found enough of words ...
Every poem is a sketch
I'll sketch now for the swallow the map of spring
and for the pedestrians on the sidewalk some jujube
and for the women the lapis lazuli ...
As for me, the road will carry me
and I will carry it on my shoulder
until each thing regains its image,
as it was,
and its original name later on /
Every poem is a mother
searching for the cloud’s brother
near the well:
“My son! I’ll give you a replacement
I’m pregnant ...” /
And every poem is a dream:
“I dreamt that I have a dream”
that will carry me and that I will carry
until I write the final line
on the grave’s marble:
“I slept ... so that I can fly”
... and I will carry for Christ his winter shoes

so he can walk, like all people,
from the highest mountain ... down to the lake

‫في بيتأَمْ‪d‬ي‪eso‬‏ ترنو إل‬
‫ال‪:‬‬
‫سفؤعن‬
‫والالتك‬
‫عاديا صبفيدانا‬
‫هل كنت في العشرينَ من عْمْريء‬
‫بلا نطّارة طبيّةء‬
‫وبلا‪“$C ‎‬‬
‫‏‪ OB lS‬يف رادج روسلا يفكي‬
‫كي تعلّمك النجومٌ ‪egL‬‏ ‪)doG‬‬
‫‪ 3‬الأبدي ‪53‬‬
‫‏]‪ Els )854$ Le‬مخاطباً نفسي]‬
‫ويا ضيفي ‪...liaC‬‏ ‪SUS SL TU‬‬
‫أتذكرٌ حافرٌ القَرَس الحرون على جبينكَ‬

‫أممَسَحْتَ الجِرْح بالممكياج كي تبدو‬
‫وسيم الشكل في الكاميرا؟‬
‫أأنتَ أنا؟ أتذكر قلبَكَ المثقوبٌ‬
‫بالناي القديم وريشة العنقاء؟‬
‫‪$0055 Gye lous HS She el‬‬
‫قلت‪ :‬يا هذاء أنا هوَ أنت‬

‫لكني قفزتٌ عن الجدار لكي أرى‬
‫ماذا سيحدث لو رآني الغيبٌ أقطفٌ‬
‫من حدائقه المُعلّقة البنفسج باحترام=‬
‫ريما ألقى ‪!dade‬‏ وقال لي‪:‬‬
‫‪ve Ul LE‬‬
‫وقفزت عن هذا الجدار لكي ‪law‬‏‬
‫ما لا ‪yS‬‏‬
‫وأقيس عمق الهاوية‬

In My Mother's House
In my mother’s house my photo gazes at me

and doesn’t cease asking:
Are you, my dear guest, me?
Were you once twenty of my years,
without medical glasses,
and without suitcases?
A hole in the wall was enough
for the stars to teach you the hobby of staring
into the eternal ...
(What's the eternal? I said to myself)
And my dear guest ... are you me as we once were?
Which one of us renounced his features?
Do you remember that stubborn horse’s hoofprint on your forehead
or did you blend the wound in with makeup to appear
handsome for the camera?
Are you me? Don’t you remember your heart punctured
with the old flute and with the phoenix feather?
Or did you change your heart when you changed your path?
I said: Listen you, I am he you

but I jumped down from the wall to see
what would happen if fate saw me picking
purple flowers from its hanging gardens respectfully ...
It might greet me and say:
Get back safe ...
And I jumped down from this wall to see
what can’t be seen
and to measure the depth of the abyss

‫‏‪ Las ydisi ¥‬تلغف‬
‫لا تعتذر عمًا فَعَلْتَ ‏ أقول‬

‫سفريّي‪ .‬أقول لآخَري الشخصي‪:‬‬
‫ها هي ذكرياتكَ ‪slt‬‏مرئيةٌ‪:‬‬
‫صَجَرٌ الظهيرةفينُعَاس القطّ‪/‬‬
‫‪See‬‬
‫‏‪ 35s‬الديك‪/‬‬
‫‪ jhe‬المريميّة‪/‎‬‬
‫قهوةٌ الأم‪/‬‬
‫الحصيرةٌ والوسائد‪/‬‬
‫بِابُ عُرْقَتكَ الحديديّ‪/‬‬
‫الذبابةٌ حول سقراط‪/‬‬
‫السحابةٌ فوق أفلاطونَ‪/‬‬
‫ديوانٌُ الحماسة‪/‬‬
‫صورةٌ ‪IMI‬‏‬
‫‪[Isl] ease‬‬
‫شيكسبير‪‎/‬‬
‫‪ENS) SULA ASW LL‬‬
‫وأصدقاؤك في الطفولة‪ ,‬والفضوليُون‪‎:‬‬
‫«هل هذا هو؟» اختلف الشهود‪‎:‬‬
‫لعلّه وكأنه‪ .‬فسألتٌ‪ :‬من هو؟»‪‎‬‬
‫‪ ¢‬يجيبوني‪ .‬ملك لآخري‪sah» ‎:‬‬
‫الذي قد كان أنتّ ‪ ...‬أنا؟» فغض‪‎‬‬
‫الطرف‪ .‬والتفتوا إلى أُمَيلتشهد‪‎‬‬
‫أننى هو ‪ ...‬فاستعدَّتٌ للغناء على‪‎‬‬
‫طريقتها‪ :‬أنا الأالتي ولد‪‎‬‬
‫لكنَّ الرياح هي التي )‪34‬‬
‫‏‪ Els‬لآخري‪ :‬لا تعتذر إلا لأمفُ!‬

Don’t Apologize for What You’ve Done
Don’t apologize for what you’ve done—I say

to myself. To my personal otherI say:
Here they are, your memories, all visible:
The noon boredom in a cat’s drowsiness /
The rooster’s crest /
The sage fragrance /
Mother's coffee /
The straw mat and the pillows /
Your room’s metal door /
The fly around Socrates /
The cloud above Plato /
The Hamassa Diwan /
Father’s picture /
The Encyclopedia of Countries /
Shakespeare /
The three brothers, and the three sisters,
and your childhood friends, and the nosy people:
Is that him? The witnesses disagree:
Perhaps! he looks like him. I asked: Who?
They didn’t reply. So 1 whispered to my other self: Is the one
who was once you ... me? But he moved his eyes
away from me. Then people turned to my mother to confirm
that Iam he ... so she got ready to sing
in her own style: I am the mother who gave birth to him,
but the winds are the ones that raised him.
Then I told my other self: Apologize only to your mother!
Don’t Apologize for What You've Done 189

‫فيمثل هذا اليوم‬
‫في مثل هذا اليوم في الطّرّف الخفيّ‬

‫من الكنيسةء في بهاء كاملٍ التأنيث»‬
‫في السنة الكبيسة‪ 3 ,‬التقاء الأخضر‬
‫الأبديّ بالكحلي في هذا الصباح» ‪oB‬‏‬
‫التقاء الشكل بالمضمونء والحسيّ بالصوف‪.‬‬
‫تحت عريشة ‪’iled‬‏في ‪bd‬‏ ‪992$‬‬
‫يوثر صورةٌ المعنى» وفي هذا المكان‬
‫العاطفيٌ‪/‬‬
‫سألتقي بنهايتي وبدايتي‬
‫وأقول‪ :‬ويحكما! خذاني و أ تركا‬
‫‏‪ Cis‬الحقيقة طارّجاً لبنات آوى الجائعات»‬
‫‪.‬‬ ‫أقول‪ :‬لَسَتٌ مواطناً‬
‫‏‪ey si‬‬
‫وأريد شيئاً واحداً لا غير‬
‫‏‪ is‬واحداً‪:‬‬
‫موتاً بسيطاً هادئاً‬
‫في مثل هذا اليوم‪»,‬‬
‫في الطرف الخفي من الرْنَابِقِء‬
‫‪ 35532 82‬كثيراً أو قليلا‬
‫عن حياة كنت أخصيها‬
‫دقائق ‪1‬‬
‫أو رحيلا‬
‫وأريد موتاً في الحديقة‬
‫ليش ‪TSA‬‏ ‪781 fo‬‬

On a Day like Today
On a day like today, in the hidden corner

of the church, in full feminine adornment,
in a leap year, in the meeting of endless
green with koh] darkness on this morning, and in
the meeting of shape with substance,
and the sensory with the Suf,,
beneath a spacious grapevine trellis
in a house sparrow’s shadow
that distresses meaning’s image, and in this
sentimental place /
I will meet with my end and my beginning
and say: Damn you! take me and leave
the heart of truth fresh for the jackals’ daughters,
I'll say: I am not a citizen
or a refugee
and I want only one thing, nothing else,
one thing:
a quiet simple death
on a day like today,
in the hidden corner of irises,
which might compensate me alot oralittle
for a life I used to measure
in minutes
or departures
and I want a death in the garden
no more and no less!

‫‪-‬‬
‫‪ j‬نزل» هناء والآن‬
‫أنزل» ‏‪ Bas OF «Dy clio‬كرب‬

‫‏‪ٌ Has bely‬ةَصْرُق ىرخأ ميمرتل ةياكحلا‬
‫‏‪Lge et LS Gud‬‬
‫ليست الأرض اغتراباً مزمناً‬
‫فلربما جاءت مناسبةٌ‪ .‬فتنسى‬
‫‏‪ HIS esl Load) dei‬بحت‬
‫وأنتَ لا تدري فتاة لا تحبكَ‬
‫أو ‏‪ ios‬دون أن تدري طاذا‬
‫لا‏‪dies‬أو تهبك‪/‬‬
‫أو تحسٌ وأنت مستندٌ إلى درج‬
‫‏‪ Eas ebb‬كريغ يف ‪/‬تايئانثلا‬
‫فاخرج من «أنا» كَ إلى سواكٌ‬
‫ومن رَؤَاكَ إلى خْطَاكَ‬
‫‪Ue Tue Lig‬‬
‫‪ٌ‎‬ناكماللاف ‪SASH 5‬‬
‫والبعوض على السياج يَحْكُ طَهْرَكَ‬
‫قد تذكركٌ البعوضةٌ بالحياة!‬
‫فجرّبٍ الآن الحياةً لكي تُدَرْبكَ الحياةٌ‬
‫على الحياة‪,‬‬
‫‪‎ assy‬ىركذلا ‪BY! ys‬‬
‫‪Js‬‬
‫ها هنا‬
‫والآن‬

Set Down, Here, and Now
Set down, here, and now, from your shoulders your grave
and give your life another chance to renovate the story.
Not all love is death
land is not a chronic exile,
because an occasion might come, and you might forget
the old honey sting, and love
without knowing it a girl who loves you not
or loves you, without knowing why
she loves you or loves you not /
Or you might feel while leaning on the staircase
that you were another in the duality of things /
So get out of your “I” to your else
and from your vision to your steps
and extend your bridge high,
because nonplace is a ruse,
and the mosquitoes on the fence might scratch your back,
a mosquito might remind you of life!
So try life now for life to train you
to live,
and ease a woman’s memory
and set down
right here
and now
from your shoulders ... your grave!
Don’t Apolegize for What You've Done 193

‫إن عدت وَحَدَكَء قُلْ لنفسك‪:‬‬
‫غيّر المنفى ملامحه ‪...‬‬
‫‪ALS Us of gods‬‬
‫نيح ‪‎‬لباق ‪1s‬‬
‫‏»‪ Y‬أنتأنت‬
‫ولا الديارٌ هي الدياز»‪...‬‬
‫ستحمل الأشياء عنك شعوركٌ الوطنيّ‪:‬‬

‫‏‪ Cus‬زهرةٌ بريّةٌ في ركنك المهجور‪/‬‬
‫اجات‬ ‫‏‪jh‬طائر الدوري ‪oB‬‏‬
‫‪3‬‏ ‪haul‬‬
‫اسور‪/‬‬‫في لحاء الثيتة مك‬
‫تلسَع نَحْلَةُ يَدَكَ التي ‪eziS‬‏‬
‫إلى رَعَبٍ الإوزّة خلف هذا السور‪/‬‬
‫اأ‬
‫فامرآةُ قد حَذَّلتكَ»‬
‫«أين تركت وجهي ؟»‬
‫ثم تبحثٌ عن شعوركء خارج الأشياء‬

‫بين سعادة تبي وإحباط يِقَهِقَهُ ‪...‬‬
‫هل ‪eee‬‏ الآن نفسك؟‬
‫قل لنفسك‪ :‬عَدْتٌ وحدي ناقصاً‬
‫‪ 06‬الديار هي الديار!‬

IfYou Return Alone
If you return alone, tell yourself:

Exile has changed its features ...
Wasn't Abu Tammam before you harrowed
when he met himself:
“Neither you are you
nor home is home” ...
Things will carry for you your patriotic feeling:

A wildflower will sprout in your abandoned corner /
The house sparrow will pick at the letter “h”
in your name
in the fig tree’s broken husk /
A bee will sting your hand as you reach
for the goose fuzz behind this fence /
As for you,
the mirror has failed you,
and you are ... and aren't you:
Where did I leave my face? you say
then search for your feeling, outside the things,
between a crying happiness and a guffawing depression ...
Have you found yourself now?
Tell yourself: I returned alone missing
two moons,
but home is home!

‫لمأعتذرللبثر‬
‫م أعتذرٌ للبثر حين مَرَرْتُ ‪yuP‬‏‬

‫استَعَرتٌ من الصّتَوْبّرة العتيقة ‪tsed‬‏‬
‫وعَصَرتُها كالبرتقالةء وانتظرثُ غزالة‬
‫بيضاء أسطوريّةٌ‪ .‬وأَمَرتُ قلبي بالترييث‪:‬‬
‫كُنْ حيادياً كأنّكَ لَسْتَ مني! ها هنا‬
‫وقف الرّعاةٌ الطيُبون على الهواء وطوّروا‬
‫النايات» ثم استدرجوا حجَلَ الجبال إلى‬
‫الفخاخ‪ .‬وها هنا أُسْرَجَِتٌ للطيران نحو‬
‫كواكبي قرسا وطرثٌُ‪ .‬وها هنا قالت‬
‫لي العرافةٌ‪ :‬احذر شارع الإسفلت‬
‫والعربات وامش على زفيرك‪ .‬ها هنا‬
‫أرخيتٌ ظلي وانتظرتٌء ‪)FS‬‏ ‪leep‬‬
‫‏‪ Ogu‬كرت الخرافة وانكسرتٌ‪.‬‬ ‫صخرة‬
‫ودُّرْتُ حول البئر حتى طرتٌ من نفسي‬

‫إلى ما ليس منها‪ .‬صاح بي صوتٌ‬
‫عميق‪ :‬ليس هذا القبرٌ كَركَء فاعتذرت‪.‬‬
‫قرأت آيات من الذكر الحكيم‪sBE ,‬‏‬
‫للمجهول في البثر‪ :‬السلام عليك يوم‬
‫قُتلْتَ في أرض السلام‪iad 9356 ,‬‏‬
‫من ظلام البثر حيًا!‬

I Didn’t Apologize to the Well
I didn’t apologize to the well when I passed the well,

I borrowed from the ancient pine tree a cloud
and squeezed it like an orange, then waited for a gazelle
white and legendary. And I ordered my heart to be patient:
Be neutral as if you were not of me! Right here
the kind shepherds stood on air and evolved
their flutes, then persuaded the mountain quail toward
the snare. And right here I saddled a horse for flying toward
my planets, then flew. And right here the priestess
told me: Beware of the asphalt road and the cars
and walk upon your exhalation. Right here
I slackened my shadow and waited, I picked the tiniest
rock and stayed up late. I broke the myth and I broke.
And I circled the well until I flew from myself
to what isn’t of it. A deep voice shouted at me:
This grave isn’t your grave. So I apologized.
I read verses from the wise holy book, and said
to the unknown one in the well: Salaam upon you the day
you were killed in the land of peace, and the day you rise
from the darkness of the well alive!

‫ليةرفييح‬
‫لاارا‬
‫لا رايةٌ في الريح تخفق‪/‬‬

‫لا حصان سابحٌ في الريح‪/‬‬
‫‏‪ُ Lb y‬رّشَبُي عافتراب جوملا‬
‫أو بهبوطه‪,‬‬
‫لا شيءَ يحدثٌ في التراجيديّات هذا اليوم‪/‬‬

‫أُسَدلَت الستارة‪/‬‬
‫غادّرَ الشعراءً والمتفرجونٌ»‬
‫فلا أرز‪/‬‬
‫لا مظاهرةٌ‪/‬‬
‫ولا أغصانٌ زيتون تُحمّي الهابطين‬
‫من المراكب ‪saeS‬‏ ‪elS a‬‬
‫وخفَّة الفصل الأخير‪/‬‬
‫‏‪ pails‬يأتون من كَدَرٍإلى كَدَرِ‪/‬‬
‫مصائرهُم ‪gyle 0954‬‏ ‪lay‬‬
‫إغريقيّةٌ في شكل طُرواديّة‬
‫‘‬ ‫‪ uals‬أو سوداء‪‎/‬‬
‫لا انكسروا ولا انتصروا‬
‫وم يتساءلوا‪ :‬ماذا سيحدّتُ في صباح غد‬
‫وماذا بعد هذا الانتظار الهوميري؟‪/‬‬
‫كأنه حلم جميلٌ ‪;iaG‬‏ ‪lirG‬‬
‫سوتو على الليل المحليّ الطويله‬
‫كأنهم قالوا‪:‬‬
‫« تُداوي جرحنا بمالح‬
‫« نحيا قرب ذكرانا‬
‫« نجرّبٌ موتنا العاديّ‬
‫« ننتظر القيامة‪ .‬ههناء في دارها‬
‫في الفصل ما بعد الأخير‪»...‬‬

No Banner in the Wind
No banner in the wind fluttering /

No horse swimming in the wind /
No drums promising the rise of the waves
or their fall,
nothing happens in today’s tragedies /
The curtains are down /
The poets and the spectators have gone,
so there is no rice /
No demonstration /
And no olive branches greeting those coming down
off the boats worn out from their nosebleeds
and from the levity of the final act /
As if they were going from one fate to another /
Their destinies already prescribed behind the text,
Greek in a Trojan shape,
white, or black /
They were neither broken nor triumphant
and they didn’t ask: “What will happen tomorrow morning
and what now after this long Homeric waiting?” /
As if it were a beautiful dream that treated the captives justly
and aided them through the long local night,
as if they had said:
“We treat our wounds with salt”
“We live near our memories”
“We try out our ordinary death”
“We wait for judgment day, right here, in its house
in the act after the last ...”

‫سقط الحصان عن القصيدة‬
‫سَقَط الحصانُ عن القصيدة‬

‫والجليليَاتُ كُنْ مُبَلّلات‬
‫‪"+‬‬ ‫بالقراش وبالندى‬
‫يَرْكُضْنَ فوق الأقحوان‬
‫الغائبان‪ :‬أنا وأنت‬
‫أنا وأنت الغائبانْ‬
‫زوجا يمام أبيضانْ‬

‫يَتَسَامران على عُصون السنديانْ‬
‫‪Bled Lol Whey‬‬
‫الحبّ القدمة‪ .‬تحرس‪‎‬‬
‫‪َ‎‬رَمَقلا ‪LEI Gyo as bl‬‬
‫‏‪ 5S‬وف كالكمَنْجَةَ في الرباعيّات‬

‫‏‪gol ge GL) gs chi‬‬
‫من تضاريس ‪!SIJ‬‏ ‪4‬‬
‫يَمبْقَ في اللغة الحديثة هامش‬

‫‪dusos‬‬‫‏‪Le lato‬‬
‫‏‪Sark een sa‬‬
‫‪eps Qlacd! haw‬‬

‫‪Juans‬‬
‫‪1G:‬‬
‫‪‎‬انأو ‪pas Chi‬‬

The Horse Fell Off the Poem
The horse fell off the poem

and the Galilean women were wet
with butterflies and dew,
dancing above chrysanthemum
The two absent ones: you and I

you and J are the two absent ones
A pair of white doves

chatting on the branches of a holm oak
No love, but I love ancient

love poems that guard
the sick moon from smoke
I attack and retreat, like the violin in quatrains

I get far from my time when I am near
the topography of place ...
There is no margin in modern language left

to celebrate what we love,
because all that will be ... was
The horse fell bloodied

with my poem
and Ifell bloodied
with the horse’s blood ...

‫لبلادنا‬
‫لبلادناء‬
‫وَهي القريبةٌ من كلام الله‬
‫سقف من سحاب‬
‫وهي البعيدةٌ عن صفات الاسم‬
‫خارطةٌ الغياب‬
‫وهي الصغيرة مثل حبة سمسم‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ٌ ... Salou gi‬ةيواهو ةيفخ‬
‫وهي الفقيرةُ مثل أجنحة القَطاء‬
‫تب مَقَدّسَةٌ ‪ ...‬وجرخ في الهوية‬
‫وهي المطَوَقَةٌ الممزقةٌ التلاله‬
‫كمائنْ الماضي الجديد‬
‫لبلادنا وهي السَبيَةٌ‬
‫حريّةٌ الموت اشتياقاً واحتراقا‬
‫وبلاُناء في ليلها الدموي‬
‫جَوْهَرَةٌ تشعٌ على البعيد على البعيد‬
‫تُضيء خارجها ‪...‬‬
‫وأمًانحنء داخلهاء‬
‫فنزدادٌ اختناقا!‬

To Our Land
To our land,
and it is the one near the word of god,
a ceiling of clouds
To our land,
and it is the one far from the adjectives of nouns,
the map of absence
To our land,
and it is the one tiny as a sesame seed,
a heavenly horizon ... and a hidden chasm
To our land,
and it is the one poor as a grouse’s wings,
holy books ... and an identity wound
To our land,
and it is the one surrounded with torn hills,
the ambush of a new past
To our land, and it is a prize of war,
the freedom to die from longing and burning
and our land, in its bloodied night,
is a jewel that glimmers for the far upon the far
and illuminates what’s outside it ...
As for us, inside,
we suffocate more!

‫ولنا بلاد‬
‫‏‪َ Y db Wy‬دوُدَح ءاهل انتركفك نع‬

‫المجهولء ضِيَقَةٌ وواسعةٌ‪ .‬بلاد ‪...‬‬
‫حين نمشي في خريطتها تضيق بناء‬
‫رع‬ ‫وتأخذنا إلى تََقِ رمادي»‬
‫في متاهتها‪ :‬قارولا عم‬
‫‏‪ٌ She bye‬دالب ‪ ...‬نيح‬
‫تنبدّنا إل اللجهول ‪ ...‬تكبر‪ .‬يكبرٌ‬
‫الصفصافٌ والأوصاف‪S5 .‬‏عشبها‬
‫‪tua‬‏ البحيرةٌفي‬ ‫وجبالها ا‬
‫تفع السنابلٌفي جنوب‬ ‫شمالا‬
‫الروح‪ .‬تلمع حبّةُ الليمون قنديلاً‬
‫ار تسطعٌ الجغرافيا‬ ‫على ليل‬
‫كتباًمَقَدِّسَة‪ .‬وسلسلةٌ التلال‬
‫تصير معراجاً‪ .‬إلى الأعلى ‪ ...‬إلى الأعلى‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ٌ Gif gn‬رئاط ٌتقرحل »يتحنجأ لوقي‬
‫لنفسه المنفي‪ .‬رائحةٌ الخريف تصيرٌ‬
‫‪hte‬‬ ‫ل ‪se‬‏ ‪selamat‬‬
‫الخفيفٌ إلى جفاف القلبء فانفتح الخيالٌ‬
‫على مصادرهء وصار هو المكانء هو‬
‫الحقيقي الوحيد‪ .‬وكل شيء في‬
‫البعيد يعود ‪yaC‬‏ ‪I SIS salG‬‬
‫ما زالت تكوّن نفسها للقاء آ‪5‬م‪ ,‬نازلاً‬
‫للطابق الأرضيّ من فردوسه‪ .‬فأقول‪:‬‬
‫تلك بلادنا ‪SL‬‏ بنا ‪ ...‬فمتى وَلدْنا؟‬
‫هل تزوج آدمُأ مرأتين؟ أمأنَا‬
‫سَنُولَدُ مرةٌ أخرى‬
‫لي ننسى الخطيئة؟‬

And We Have a Land
And we have a land without borders, like our idea

of the unknown, narrow and wide. A land ...
when we walk in its map it becomes narrow with us,
and takes us to an ashen tunnel, so we shout
in its labyrinth: And we still love you, our love
is a hereditary illness. A land ... when
it banishes us to the unknown ... it grows. And
the willows and adjectives grow. And its grass grows
and its blue mountains. The lake widens
in the soul’s north. Wheat rises in the soul’s
south. The lemon fruit gleams like a lantern
in the emigrant’s night. Geography glistens
like a holy book. And the chain of hills
becomes an ascension place to higher ... to higher.
“If I were a bird I would have burned my wings,” someone says
to his exiled self. The scent of autumn becomes
the image of what I love ... The light rain leaks
into the heart’s drought, and the imagination opens up
to its sources, and becomes place, the only
real one. And everything from the faraway
returns as a primitive countryside, as if earth
were still creating itself to meet Adam, descending
to the ground floor from his paradise. Then Isay:
That’s our land over there pregnant with us ... When was it
that we were born? Did Adam get married twice? Or will we
be born a second time
to forget sin?

‫‪egal VJ cud Y‬‬
‫لا شيء إِلاّالضوء‪,‬‬
‫إلالأقطف ‪ 9938‬حمراء من‬

‫‏‪ْ Bes gly‬تَوْغَأ يناصح‬
‫وتحصَّنَتْ في الضوء‪:‬‬
‫«لا تدخْلٌ ولاتخرج» ‪eba‬‏‬
‫‪Gael bo deol ols‬‬
‫وقالت‪ :‬هل تراني؟‬
‫فهمستٌ‪ :‬ينقصني‪ ,‬لأعرفء فارقٌ‬
‫بين ماسافر والطريق» وفارقٌ‬
‫بين الممغني والأغاني ‪...‬‬
‫جَلَسَتْ أريحاء مثل حرف‬
‫من حروف الأبجدية» في إسمها‬
‫وَكبِوْتُ في إسمي‬
‫عند مَفترّقماعلاني ‪...‬‬
‫أنا ما أكون غداً‬
‫‪Glas aie! bs‬‬
‫إلالأقطفق وردة حمراء من‬
‫بستان كَنْعَانِيَُة أغوث حصاني‬
‫‏‪ Expires‬أبحث عن مكاني‬
‫أعلى ‪lixA‬‏‬
‫مث ‪‎‬ىلعأ ‪sl ed‬‬
‫من زمالي ‪...‬‬

Nothing but Light
Nothing but light,

I only stopped my horse
to pick a red rose from
the garden of a Canaanite who had seduced my horse
and fortified in the light:
Don’t come in and don’t get out ...
So I didn’t go in, and I didn’t get out
Then she said: Do you see me?
I whispered: I need, to be certain, a difference
between the traveler and the road, and a difference
between the singer and the song ...
Jericho sat, like a letter of the alphabet, within her name
and I tumbled in mine
at the crossroads of meaning ...
I am what I become tomorrow
and I only stopped my horse
to pick a red rose from
the garden of a Canaanite who had seduced my horse
then I went searching for my place
higher and farther,
then higher and farther,
than my time ...

‫نرّف الحبيبٌ شقائق النعمان‬
‫تَرَفَ الحبيبٌ شقائق التُعْمانِء‬

‫أرض الأرجوان تلألأث بجروحه‪.‬‬
‫أولى أغانيها‪ :‬دَمْالحَبٍّ الذي سفكته آلهة‪,‬‬
‫وآخرها دم ‪...‬‬
‫‪dato! Gla Gas b‬‬
‫بربيع أرضكء واشتعلٌ‬
‫كزهورهاء يا شعب ‪elS‬‏ ‪eO epS‬‬
‫سلاحكء واكتمل!‬
‫‪dige del 3 Gre f ASTABS lS yo‬‬
‫اد ةئا تيسر ‪!‎‬يماشلا ‪1‬‬
‫‪ vgs ge‬طع‬
‫القريبة من حدود الله‪‎.‬‬
‫حيث السيفٌ يكتب سيرةٌ الصَلصّال‪...‬‬
‫فلتكن السنابل ‪SEL‬‏ ‪HG‬‬
‫وليكن الخلودٌ كلاب صيد‬
‫في حقول القمح‪,‬‬
‫ولتكن الأيائلٌ خرةٌ‬
‫كقصيدة رعوية ‪...‬‬
‫تَرَفَ الحبيبٌ شقائق النعمان‪.,‬‬

‫فاصفرّت صخور السَفْحِ من‬
‫وَجِع المخاض الصعب»‬
‫‪yao‬‬
‫وسال الماء ‪looj‬‏‬
‫في عروق ربيعنا ‪...‬‬
‫أولى أغانينا دَمُالحبّ الذي‬
‫سفكته آلهةٌ‪,‬‬
‫وآخرها دَمْسَفَكْنْهُ آلهةٌ الحديد‪...‬‬

The Beloved Hemorrhaged Anemones
The beloved hemorrhaged anemones,

the purple land glittered with his wounds,
the first of its songs: the blood of love shed by gods,
and the last of it is blood ...
O people of Canaan celebrate
your land’s spring and set yourself aflame
like its flowers, O people of Canaan stripped
of your weapons, and become complete!
It’s your good luck that you chose agriculture as a profession.
It’s your bad luck that you chose the gardens
near god’s borders,
where the sword writes clay’s tale ...
So let the grain spikes be your eternal army,
and let immortality be hunting dogs
in wheat fields,
and let the stags be free
like a pastoral poem ...
The beloved hemorrhaged anemones,

and the rocks on the slope yellowed from
prolonged labor contractions,
then turned red,
then water flowed red
in our spring’s veins ...
The first of our songs is the blood of love
that gods shed,
and the last is the blood shed by iron gods ...
Don't Apolog:ze for What You've Done 209

‫في القدس‬
‫في القدسء أعني داخلّ السُور القديم»‬

‫أسيرٌ من زَمَنِإلى زَّمَنِبلا ذكرى‬
‫‏‪ dai‬فإن الأنبياء هناك يقتسمون‬
‫‏‪ٍ Goyb‬سّدقملا ‪ ...‬نودعصي ىلإ ءامسلا‬
‫ويرجعون أقلّ إحباطاً وحزناً مفحباَّةُ‬
‫والسلامٌُ مَقَدَّسَانَ وقادمان إلى المدينة‪.‬‬
‫يختلف الرَواةُ على كلام الضوء في حَجَرِ؟‬

‫‏‪ ye Sal‬حيحش ءوضلا ٌعلدنت ؟ٌبورحلا‬
‫أسير في نومي‪ .‬أحملق في منامي‪ .‬لا‬
‫أرى أحداً ‪yhS‬‏ ‪lla tsal YB‬‬
‫‏‪‘bl Gel gtal J spall hie ds‬‬
‫ثم أصير غيري في ‪teJ‬‏ ‪52C‬‬
‫الكلماتٌ كالأعشاب من فم أشعيا‬
‫النَبُويُ‪« :‬إنْ لمتُؤمنوا لن تَأْمَنُوا»‪.‬‬
‫أمشي كأني ‪yloJ‬‏ غيري‪ .‬وجرحي وَردَةٌ‬
‫بيضاءً إنجيليّةٌ‪ .‬ويداي مثل حمامتين‬
‫على الصليب تحلقان وتحملان الأرض‪.‬‬
‫لاأمشيء أطيرءأصيرٌغَيْري في‬
‫التجلّي‪ .‬لا مكانّ ولا زمانَ‪ .‬فمن أنا؟‬
‫أنا لا أنا في حضرة المعراج‪ .‬لكي‬
‫أفكر‪ :‬وخدة‪ :‬كان النبي‪anad‬‏‬
‫يتكلم‏‪. diyyl‬ىحصفلا اذامو« »؟دعب‬
‫ماذا بعد؟ صاحت فجأة جنديةٌ‪:‬‬
‫‏‪ Cal ga‬؟ةيناثملأ ؟َكلتقأ‬
‫ع وفيت ‪odE‬‏ أن أموت‪.‬‬ ‫قلت‪ :‬‏‪als‬‬

In Jerusalem
In Jerusalem, and I mean within the ancient walls,

I walk from one epoch to another without a memory
to guide me. The prophets over there are sharing
the history of the holy ... ascending to heaven
and returning less discouraged and melancholy, because love
and peace are holy and are coming to town.
I was walking downaslope and thinking to myself: How
do the narrators disagree over what light said about a stone?
Is it from a dimly lit stone that wars flare up?
I walk in my sleep. I stare in my sleep. I see
no one behind me. I see no one ahead of me.
All this light is for me. I walk. I become lighter. I fly
then I become another. Transfigured. Words
sprout like grass from Isaiah’s messenger
mouth: “If you don’t believe you won't be safe.”
I walk as if I were another. And my wound a white
biblical rose. And my hands like two doves
on the cross hovering and carrying the earth.
I don’t walk, I fly, I become another,
transfigured. No place and no time. So who am I?
I am no in ascension’s presence. But I
think to myself: Alone, the prophet Muhammad
spoke classical Arabic. “And then what?”
Then what? A woman soldier shouted:
Is that you again? Didn't I kill you?
I said: You killed me ... and I forgot, like you, to die.

‫بغيابها كنت صورتها‬
‫بغيابهاء كُوَنْتُ صُورتها‪ :‬من الأرضي‬

‫يبتدىء السماوي الخفي‪ .‬أنا هنا أزنُ‬
‫لذي لهات المافائي ‪7‬ت العادة نقد‬
‫الدليل هُوَ الدليلٌ‪ .‬لكل قافيّة أقيمث‬
‫‏‪ Us das‬ءيش يف بهم حيرلا‬
‫‪8134‬‏ ‪ ales‬الغيابٌ دروسه‪« :‬لولا‬
‫السرابٌ لَمَا صَمَدْتَ‪ »...‬وفي الفراغ‬
‫‏‪ Go Bio ESSE‬فورح تاّيدجبألا ‪,‬ةميدقلا‬
‫وانَّكأتٌ على الغياب‪ .‬فَمَنْ أنا بعد‬
‫الزيارة؟ طائرء أمعابر بين الرموز‬
‫وباعة الذكرى؟ كأني قَطْعَةٌ أثريّةٌ‪,‬‬
‫وكأنني شبح ‪shd‬‏ ‪ sBE ng eg‬لي‪:‬‬
‫‏‪. JSG J] Soils‬ةَعْبَس ٌتعضوف‬
‫أقنعتي على حَجَرِء وسرت كما يسير‬
‫الناممون يقودّني حلمي‪ .‬ومن كَمَرٍإلى‬
‫قمر قَقَرْتُ‪ .‬هناك ما يكفي من اللاوعي‬
‫كي تتحرّر الأشياء من تاريخها‪ .‬وهناك‬
‫ما يكفي من التاريخ ي يتحرّر اللاوعي‬
‫من معراجه‪« .‬خذني إلى سنواتنا‬
‫تقول صديقتي الأولى‪»sey .‬‏‬ ‫الأولى»‬
‫الشّبّاكَ مفتوحاً ليدخل طائرٌ الدوري‬
‫‏‪ ©. «ale‬أصحوء لا مدينة ‪3‬‬
‫المدينة‪ .‬لا«هنا» إل «هناك»‪ .‬ولا‬
‫هناك سوى هنا‪ .‬لولا السرابٌ‬
‫لما مَشْيْتُ إلى تلال سبعة‪...‬‬
‫لولا السراب!‬

In Her Absence I Created Her Image
In her absence I created her image: out of the earthly

the hidden heavenly commences. I am here weighing
the expanse with the Jahili odes ... and absence
is the guide, it is the guide. For each rhyme a tent
is pitched. And for each thing blowing in the wind
a rhyme. Absence teaches me its lesson: If it weren’t
for the mirage you wouldn’t have been steadfast ...
Then in the emptiness, I disassembled a letter from one
of the ancient alphabets, and I leaned on absence. So who am I
after the visitation? A bird, or a passerby amid the symbols
and the memory vendors? As if I were an antique piece,
as if I were a ghost sneaking in from Yabous, telling myself:
Let’s go to the seven hills. Then I placed
my mask on astone, and walked as the sleepless
walk, led by my dream. And from one moon
to another I leapt. There is enough of unconsciousness
to liberate things from their history. And there
is enough of history to liberate unconsciousness
from its ascension. Take me to our early
years—my first girlfriend says. Leave
the windows open for the house sparrow to enter
your dream—I say ... then I awaken, and no city is in
the city. No “here” except “there.” And no there
but here. If it weren't for the mirage
I wouldn’t have walked to the seven hills ...
if it weren't for the mirage!

‫)‪CoS! decd! cles‬‬
‫الأربعاء‬
‫الجمعَةٌ‪/‬‬
‫‪fear‬‬
‫الأساطيرٌء ألبلاد‪ .‬تشابهثٌ ‪...‬‬
‫لو كان لي قلبان لم‪liap‬‏ ‪ed‬‬
‫حَبَافإنْ أخطاتث قلتُ‪ :‬أسات‬
‫يا قلبي الجريح الاختيار!‪ ...‬وقادني‬
‫القلبٌ الصحيح إلى الينابيع‪/‬‬
‫الخميس‬
‫التؤسق‪/‬‬
‫الاثنين‪/‬‬
‫أسماء المكان تشابهث‪ .‬أَرهقْتٌ أغنيتي‬
‫‏‪JE icy,‬اوىنعم ىَرَي َبْلَك‬
‫الظلام ولا يُرَى‪ .‬قال الكلام كلامة‪,‬‬
‫‏‪ٌ Sly) ESS‬تاريثك ىلع ‪/‬نهراودأ‬
‫ألحكمةٌ ‪/‬‬
‫الاحد‪/‬‬
‫العَذ‪/‬‬
‫الطرقٌء الثلاثاء‪ .‬السماءء تشابهت ‪...‬‬
‫لو كان لي دربان لاخترثٌ البديل‬
‫الثالتَ‪ .‬انكشّفٌ الطريق الأول‬
‫‏)‪GSN! & bil GES5‬‬
‫انكمَّفَتْ دُروبٌ الهاوية‬

Wednesday, Friday, Saturday
Wednesday /
Friday /
Saturday /
The myths, the land look alike ...
If I had two hearts I wouldn't regret
a single love, so that when I erred I’d say: You chose
poorly my wounded heart! ... then the right
heart would lead me to the springs /
Thursday
The lily /
Monday /
The names of the place sound alike. I exhausted my song
describing shadow. And meaning sees the heart
of darkness and is not seen. Speech said its words,
then many gods wept over their roles /
Wisdom /
Sunday /
Tomorrow /
The roads, Tuesday, the heavens are alike ...
If I had two paths I would choose
the third. The first path has been exposed,
the other path has been exposed,
all the paths to the abyss have been exposed

‫زيتونتان‬
‫زيتونتان عتيقتان على شمال الشرق»‬

‫في الأولى اختبأتُ لأخدّع الراوي‬
‫وفي الأخرى حَبَأْتُ شقائق النعمانْ‬
‫إن فقث أن ‪1‬أنقق !!اتذكزث‬

‫يوم‬ ‫امتلأتٌبحاضري» ‪ysp‬‏‬
‫‏‪ ... Gog‬لأرثب النسيان‬
‫كش الذكرى خا قمر بعد‬

‫له‪a+ ‎‬‬
‫وليمةً لغيابه‪ .‬وهناك بئرٌفي‬

‫‏‪ gio‬الحديقة زفت امرأةً إلى شيطانْ‬
‫‏‪ JS‬الملائكة الذين أحبهُم‬

‫وه‬ ‫م‬
‫أخذوا الربيع من المكانء» صباح‬

‫أمس» وأورثوني ‪324‬اليركانْ‬
‫‪Bela) Coals Stu! gol ti‬‬

‫والكتابة من دروس خطيئتي»‪‎‬‬
‫وغدي سيبدأ من هناء والآنْ‬
‫نإ ‪‎‬تنشأ ‪S855 gail of‬‬

‫&‬
‫زيتونتان عتيقتان على شمال الشرق‬

‫في الأولى وَجَدْتٌ ‪hop‬‏ أغنيتي‬
‫وفي الأخرى وَجَدْتٌ ‪yal‬‏‬

‫من قائد الرومان‪:‬‬

Two Olive Trees
Two olive trees in the northeast,

in the first I hid to trick the narrator
and in the other I hid the anemones
If I want to forget ... I recall

I become filled with my presence, I choose the day
I was born ... to arrange forgetfulness
Memory branches out. Here a moon prepares

a feast for its absence. And there a well in the garden’s
south has processioned a woman toa devil
All the angels that I love

took spring away from the place, yesterday
morning, and bequeathed me the volcano summit
I am the second Adam. I learned to read

and write through my sins’ lessons,
and my tomorrow starts from here, and now
If I want to forget ... I recall

I select a beginning, I become born as I desire
not as a hero ... nor as an offering
Memory branches out and plays. Right here

are two ancient olive trees in the northeast
in the first I found my song's seeds
and in the other I foundaletter

from the commander of the Romans:

218 MAHMOUD DARWISH
O olive brothers
I ask for your forgiveness,
I ask for your forgiveness ...

‫لا ينظرون وراءهم‬
‫لا ينظرونَ وراءهم ليودُعوا منفى‪,‬‬

‫فإِنَّأمامهم منفىء لقد ألفُوا الطريق‬
‫الدائريء فلا أمامَ ولا وراءء» ولا‬
‫شمالٌ ولا جنوب‪« .‬يهاجرون» من‬
‫السياج إلى الحديقة‪ .‬يتركون وصيّةٌ‬
‫في كل مثّرمن فناء البيت‪:‬‬
‫«لا تتذكّروا من بعدنا‬
‫إلا الحياة» ‪...‬‬
‫«يسافرون» من الصباح السندسي إلى‬
‫غبار في الظهيرة‪ .‬حاملين تُعَوشَهُمْ ملأى‬
‫‏‪Wiss dade Bb Leet‬‬
‫‪1‬‬ ‫لحبيبة مجِهولّة العُنُوان‪: :‬‬
‫«لا تتذكري من بعدنا‬
‫‪«lou! YJ‬‬
‫و«يرحلون» من البيوت إلى الشوارع‪‎,‬‬
‫راسمينّ إشارةٌ النصر الجريحةء قائلين‪‎‬‬
‫لمن يراهم‪‎:‬‬
‫«مم نَرَلُ نحياء فلا تتذكرونا»!‬
‫يخرجون من الحكاية للتنفُس والتشمس‪.‬‬
‫يحلمون بفكرة الطيران أعلى‪ ...‬ثم أعلى‪.‬‬
‫يصعدون ويهبطون‪ .‬ويذهبون ويرجعون‪.‬‬
‫ويقفزون من السيراميك القديم إلى النجوم‪.‬‬
‫ويرجعون إلى الحكاية ‪ ...‬لا نهاية للبداية‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ Aad on ge‬كلَم ‪.‬مونلا‬
‫أبيض» أحْمَرٌ العينين من آئرالتأمل‬
‫في الدم المسفوك‪:‬‬
‫«لا تتذكروا من بعدنا‬
‫إلا الحياة» ‪...‬‬

They Don’t Look Behind Them
They don’t look behind them to bid exile farewell,

since ahead of them is exile, and they've intimated the circular
road, so there’s no ahead and no behind, and no
north and no south. “They emigrate”
from the fence to the garden. They leave a will
in every meter of the courtyard:
“Remember after us
only life” ...
“They travel” from the silken morning
to the dust at noon, carrying their caskets filled
with things of absence: an identity card, anda letter
to a lover with an unknown address:
only life” ...
And “they depart” from the houses to the streets,
sketching out the wounded victory sign, telling
whoever sees them:
“We're still alive, so don’t remember us!”
They get out of the story to breathe and to sunbathe.
They dream how to fly higher ... then higher.
They ascend and descend. Come and go.
And leap from ancient ceramics to the stars.
And they return to the story ... endless is the beginning.
They escape from sleepiness to the angel of sleep,
who is white, red-eyed from contemplating
the shed blood:
only life” ...

‫لميسألوا‪ :‬ماذا وراء اموت‬
‫م يسألوا‪ :‬ماذا وراء الموت؟ كانوا‬

‫يَحفظُون خريطة الفردوس أكثرٌ من‬
‫كتاب الأرضء يُشْعْلْهُمْ سؤال آخر‪:‬‬
‫ماذا سنفعل قبل هذا الموت؟ قرب‬
‫حياتنا نحياء ‪oV‬‏ ‪ SIG doL‬حياتنا‬
‫حصّص من الصحراء مُخْتَلفٌ عليها بين‬
‫آلهة العقارء ونحن جيرانٌ الغبار الغابرونَ‪.‬‬
‫حياتنا عبءٌ على ليل المُؤرّخ‪« :‬كُلما‬
‫أخفيتهم طلعوا علي من الغياب»‪...‬‬
‫حياتنا عبء على الرسام‪« :‬أرسمهم‪:‬‬
‫فأصبح واحداً منهم‪ .‬ويحجبني الضباب»‪.‬‬

‫حياتنا عبء على الجنرال‪« :‬كيف يسيل‬
‫من ‪tee‬‏دم؟» وحياتنا‬
‫هي أن نكون كما نريد‪ .‬نريد أن‬
‫القيامة بعد هذا الموت‪ .‬واقتبسواء‬

‫ملوت‬
‫بلا ‏‪Jai‬كلامالفيلسوف‪« :‬ا‬
‫الموت لا يعني لنا شيئاً‪ .‬يكونُ فلا‬

‫‪ile‬‬ ‫‪udGSS‬‬
‫ورتبوا أحلامهم‬
‫بطريقة أخرى‪ .‬وناموا واقفين!‬

They Didn’t Ask: What's After Death
They didn’t ask: What’s after death? They were

memorizing the map of paradise more than
the book of earth, consumed with another question:
What will we do before this death? Near
our lives we live, and don’t live. As if our lives
are desert lots disputed by the gods
of real estate, and we are dust’s bygone neighbors.
Our lives are a burden to the historian’s night: “Whenever
I hide them they come into my view out of absence ...”
Our lives are a burden to the artist: “I paint them,
then I become one of them, and fog veils me.”
Our lives are a burden to the general: “How does blood
flow from a ghost?” And our lives
should be as we wish. We want to
live a little, not for anything ... other than to respect
resurrection after this death. And they quoted,
unintentionally, the philosopher's words: “Death
means nothing to us. We are and it isn't.
Death means nothing to us. It is and
we aren't.”
Then they rearranged their dreams
in a different manner. And slept standing!

‫قتلى ومجهولون‬
‫‏‪ tS‬ومجهولون‪ .‬لا نسيانَ يجمعهم‬

‫ولا ذكرى تفرقهم ‪ ...‬ومنسيون ‪3‬‬
‫عَشْبٍ الشتاء على الطريق العام بين‬
‫حكايتين طويلتين عن البُطولة والعذاب‪.‬‬
‫‪١‬‏‬ ‫«أناالضحيَةٌ»‪« .‬لا‪ .‬أنا فد‬
‫الضحية»‪ .‬مميقولوا للمؤتف‪oY :‬‏‬
‫‏‪ Ls‬تقتل الأخرى‪ .‬هنالك في‬
‫الحكاية قاتلٌ وضحيّةٌ»‪ .‬كانوا صغاراً‬
‫يقطفون الثلج عن سَروٍ المسيح»‬
‫ويلعبون مع الملائكة الصغار‪EOC ,‬‏‬
‫ان‬ ‫أبناء جيل واحد‬
‫المدارس هاربِينَ من الرياضيّات ‪llirg‬‏‬
‫الحماسي القديم» ويلعبون ‪ee‬‏ ‪!dalg‬‬
‫على الحواجزء لَعَبَةَ الموت البريئة‪.‬‬
‫لميقولوا للجنود‪ :‬دعوا البنادقٌ‬
‫وافتحوا الطرقات كي تجدّ الفراشةٌ‬
‫أمّها قرب الصباح» وكي نطير مع‬
‫الفراشة خارج الأحلام» فالأحلام‬
‫‏‪. Jc dis‬انباوبأ اوناك ًاراغص‬
‫يلعبون‪ .‬ويصنعون حكايةٌ للوردة‬
‫الحمراء تحت الثلج‪ELA ,‬‏ حكايتين‬
‫طويكتين عن البطولة والعذاب» ويهربون‬
‫مَعَ الملائكة الصغار إلى سماء صافية‪.‬‬

Murdered and Unknown
Murdered, and unknown. No forgetfulness gathers them

and no remembrance scatters them ... they're forgotten in
winter's grass on the public highway between
two long stories about heroism and suffering.
“I am the victim.” “No. I alone am
the victim.” They didn’t tell the author: “No
victim kills another. There is in
the story a victim and a killer.” They were young
picking the snow off Christ’s cypress,
and playing with cherubs, since they were
of one generation ... they used to leak out
of schools to escape math and ancient
Hamassa poetry, then play with soldiers,
by the roadblocks, the innocent game of death.
They didn’t tell the soldiers: “Drop your rifles
and open up the roads for the butterfly to find
its mother by morning, and for us to fly with
the butterfly outside dreams, since dreams
are narrow at our doors.” They were young
playing, and makinga story for the red
rose beneath the snow, behind two long
stories about heroism and suffering, and they were
running away with cherubs toward a clear sky.

‫القتروة نكيت‬
‫«السروة شجن الشجرة وليس‬
‫الشجرة‪ ,‬ولا ظل لها‬
‫لأنها ظل الشجرة»‬
‫بسام حجار‬
‫ألسروةٌ أ نكسرث كمئذنة» ونامت في‬

‫الطريق عل تى‪lَa‬ق‪َs‬‏شْف‪ sig‬خضراةءداكنةً‬
‫بسوع‪eyO .‬‏‬ ‫كما هي‪ .‬م يصب‪3‬‬
‫العرَباتُ مُسْرِعَةٌ على أغصانها‪ .‬هب الغباز‬

‫على الزجاج ‪/...‬ألسروةٌ انكسرثٌ‪ ,‬ولكنْ‬
‫الحمامة م تتخغير‪sdy‬‏ العلني في دار‬
‫مجاورة‪ .‬وحلّق طائران مهاجران على‬
‫كَقَاف مكانهاء وتبادلا بعض الرموز‪.‬‬
‫وقالت امرأةٌ لجارتها‪ :‬تُرَى‪ .‬شاهذت عاصفة؟‬
‫فقالت‪ :‬لاء ولا جرّافةً‪ /...‬والسروةٌ‬
‫انكسرث‪ .‬وقال العابرون على الخطام‪:‬‬
‫‏‪ Cat‬من الإهمالء أو هَرِمَتْ‬
‫من ‏‪ٌ Ge pb‬ةليوط ‪,‬ةفارزك ُهليلقو‬
‫المعنى كمكنسة الغبار‪ ,‬ولا تُظَلْلُ عاشقّين‪.‬‬
‫وقال ‏‪ CaS sab‬اهمسرأ الب ءأطخ‬
‫‏‪ُ. gales Sis‬لُهَس تلاقو ‪ٌ:‬ةلفطنإ‬
‫‏!‪ loud‬اليوم ناقصةٌلأن السروةانكسرت‪.‬‬
‫وقال فتىّ‪ :‬ولكنٌ السماء اليوم كاملةٌ‬
‫انأ‬
‫‏‪ٌ. ae ov‬ترسكنا ‏‪cbs‬‬
‫لنفسي‪ :‬لا عُموضٌ ولا ‪823C‬‏‬
‫السردة انكسرث» وهذا كل ما في‬
‫الأمر‪:‬إِنَاّلسروة انكسرث!‬
‫‪226‬‬ ‫‪MAHMOUD‬‬ ‫‪11‬‬

The Cypress Broke
The cypress is the tree’s grief and not
the tree, and it has no shadow because it is
the tree’s shadow
BASSAM HAJJAR
The cypress broke like a minaret, and slept on

the road upon its chapped shadow, dark, green,
as it has always been. No one got hurt. The vehicles
sped over its branches. The dust blew
into the windshields ... / The cypress broke, but
the pigeon in a neighboring house didn’t change
its public nest. And two migrant birds hovered above
the hem of the place, and exchanged some symbols.
And a woman said to her neighbor: Say, did you see a storm?
She said: No, and no bulldozer either ... / And the cypress
broke. And those passing by the wreckage said:
Maybe it got bored with being neglected, or it grew old
with the days, it is long like a giraffe, and little
in meaning like a dust broom, and couldn't shade two lovers.
And a boy said: I used to draw it perfectly,
its figure was easy to draw. And a girl said: The sky today
is incomplete because the cypress broke.
And a young man said: But the sky today is complete
because the cypress broke. And I said
to myself: Neither mystery nor clarity,
the cypress broke, and that is all
there is to it: the cypress broke!

‫ييقة‬
‫دف‬‫حشف‬
‫اللوخ‬
‫رج‬
‫[إلى سليمان النجاب]‬
‫‪ }eJ‬وخشّفٌ في الحديقة يلعبان‪bee ‎‬‬

‫أقولُ لصاحبي‪ :‬منْأين‪ elt ‎‬ابْنْ الغزال؟‪‎‬‬
‫يقول‪ :‬جاء من السماء‪ .‬لعلّه‪«oun ‎‬‬
‫‪ )55E‬به لِيُؤْنس وحشتي‪ .‬لا أمّ‪‎‬‬
‫الشاة ممزوجاً بملعقّة من العَسَلٍ‬

‫هه شق‬ ‫ول اعمله‬
‫}‬ ‫غابة البلوط ‪...‬‬
‫‏‪ Els‬لصاحبي‪ :‬هل صر يألَفٌ بِيتَكَ‬
‫ماأهولَ بالأصوات والأدوات؟‬
‫قالَ‪ :‬وصار يرُدُ في سريري حين يمرض‪...‬‬
‫ثُمْقال‪ :‬وصرثُ أمرض حين يمرض‪.‬‬
‫صرت أهذي‪!bah 575 :‬‏ اليتيم!‬
‫‏‪ Lily dost ul‬ضهنا ي ينمّلعت‬
‫السكينةٌ»‪/‬‬
‫بعد شهر زُرِنهُ في بيته الريفي‪.‬‬

‫كان كلامُهُ يبي‪ .‬لأول مرة يبي سَلَيْمانٌ‬
‫‏‪ ods «soil‬يل ‏‪: ciate‬توصلاُنبا«‬
‫الغزال‪ :‬‏‪ Gol‬الغزالة مات بين يدي‪.‬‬
‫م يألف حياةً البيت‪ .‬لكن م يُتْ‬
‫مثلي ومثلك‪»...‬‬
‫أمقل شيئاً لصاحبيَ الحزين‪ .‬وم‬

‫يودّعنيء كعادته‪bulC ,‬‏ من الشعر‬
‫القديم‪ .‬مشى إلى قبر الغزال الأبيض‪.‬‬
‫احتّضَّنَّ التراتَ وأجهش‪« :‬انهض‬
‫كي ينام أبوكء يا ابني» في سريرك‪.‬‬
‫ها هنا ‪led‬‏السكينة»‪/‬‬

A Man and a Fawn Are in the Garden
for Sulieman el-Najjab
A man and a fawn are in the garden playing together ...

I say to my friend: Where did this fawn come from?
He says: It came from heaven. Maybe it will “live.”
It was sent to soothe my loneliness. No mother
to nurse it so I became the mother, I feed it sheep’s milk
mixed with a spoonful of scented honey,
then I carry it like a lover’s cloud
in the oak forest ...
I said: Is it domestic yet in your house
that is filled with sounds and instruments?
He said: And it now sleeps in my bed when it falls ill ...
Then he said: And I fall ill when it falls ill.
I even hallucinate: You orphan child!
Iam your father and mother, get up and teach me
serenity /
A month later I visited him at his home in the countryside.

His speech was weeping. For the first time Sulieman
the strong weeps, and tells me in a trembling voice: The gazelle’s
son, the fawn, died in my hands.
It didn’t like the domestic life. But it didn’t die
like you and 1...
I said nothing to my mournful friend. And he didn’t

say goodbye to me, as usual, with stanzas of ancient
poetry. He walked to the little gazelle’s white grave.
He embraced the dirt and sobbed: Get up, my son,
and let your father sleep in your bed.
Right here I'll find serenity /

‫نام في قبر الغزالء وصار لي‬
‫‏‪ yale‬صغير في الممكان‪:‬‬
‫‏;‪ § abss Je‬ةقيدحلا !نادقري‬

He slept in the gazelle’s grave, and a small past
in the place has now become mine:
a man and a fawn are in the garden sleeping!

‫تظذ [أهتو النشنعات‬
‫هذا هو النسيانٌ حولك‪ :‬يافطاتٌ‬

‫‪0‬تكبح‪‎‬‬
‫توقظ‪ aed.‬الماضلي»قت‪‎‬حث على التذكر‪.‬‬
‫الزّمَنَ السريع على إشارات المرورء‪‎‬‬
‫وتُغْلقُ الساحات‪‎/‬‬
‫تمثالٌ رُخَامِيٌ هو النسيانٌُ‪ .‬تمثالٌ‬
‫وَضَعْ ورداً على قدميّ‪/‬‬
‫‪ yb taaS‬هر النسيان‪Lal ‎‬‬

‫تطاردٌُ‪ y& ‎‬البيت احتفاءً بالمناسبة‪‎‬‬
‫السعيدة‪ .‬في السرير وغرفة الفيديو‪‎‬‬
‫وفي صالونها الخاويء ومطبخها‪‎/‬‬
‫وأنصابٌ هو النسيانُ‪ .‬أنصابٌ على‬
‫الطرقات تأخذ هيئة الشّجر البرُونزيٌ‬
‫‏!‪ wort‬بالمدائح والصقور‪/‬‬
‫ومتحفٌ خال ‪oG‬‏ «‪by !dA‬‬

‫يروي الفصول المنتقاةٌ من البداية‬
‫هذا هو النسيانُ‪ :‬أن تتذكرٌ الماضي‬
‫‏‪ 5433 Vo‬العَدَ في الحكاية‬

This Is Forgetfulness
This is forgetfulness around you: billboards

awakening the past, urging remembrance. Reining in
the speeding time at traffic lights,
and closing up the squares /
A marble statue is forgetfulness. A statue

staring at you: Stand up as I do to look like me.
And place roses on my feet /
A hackneyed song is forgetfulness. A song

chasing the housewife in celebration of the happy
occasion, in the bed and in the VCR room,
and in her vacant salon, and in her kitchen /
And a monument is forgetfulness. Monuments

on the roads shaped like bronze trees
adorned with eulogies and eagles /
And a museum empty of tomorrow, cold,

narrating the seasons already chosen from the start.
This is forgetfulness: that you remember the past
and not remember tomorrow in the story

‫ن‬
‫ككجل‬
‫‏‪gu‬تكان‬
‫ا‬
‫تُنسى‪ ,‬كأنّكَ م تَكْنْ‬

‫‏‪ quis‬كمصرع طائرٍ‬
‫ككنيسة مهجورة تُنْسَىء‬
‫كحب عابرٍ‬
‫وكوردة في الليل ‪ . .‬تُنْسَى‬
‫أنا للطريق ‪ ...‬هناك من سَبَقَثْخْطَاهُ ‪salG‬‏‬
‫‏‪ O85 El 52‬لع ‪ }8‬كات نم‬
‫َثراّلكلامعلىسجيّتهليدخلفيالحكاية‬
‫وأ ‪‎‬ءيضي ‪diss Glu ob‬‬
‫أثراًغنائياً ‪ ...‬وحدسا‬
‫أنك لمتكن‬ ‫‏‪gud‬‬

‫ك‬
‫شخصاً ولانصاً‪ ..‬و‪.‬تنسَى‬
‫أمشي على ‪dhG‬‏ البصيرة» ‪)eL‬‏‬

‫‏‪ bef‬الحكاية سيرةً شخصيّةً‪ .‬فالمفرداتٌ‬
‫تسوسني وأسوسها‪ .‬أنا شكلها‬
‫‪°‬‬ ‫‪as‬‬ ‫‪:‬‏‬
‫وهي التجلّي الخر‪ .‬لكنْ قيل ما سأقول‪.‬‬
‫‏‪«Stall EUs UI ole Se thas‬‬
‫لا عَرْشَ لي إلاالهوامش‪ .‬والطريق‬
‫هو الطريقة‪ .‬ريما نَسيّ الأوائلٌ ‪gniB‬‏‬
‫شيء ماء أحركٌ فيه ذاكرةٌ وحسًا‬
‫تُنسّىءكأنّكَم تكن‬
‫وه‬
‫خبراء ولا اثرا ‪ ...‬وتنسى‬
‫أنا للطريق ‪ ...‬هناك مَنْتمشي ‪SAO‬‏‬

‫‏‪ G29 «Gls Ue‬ينعبتيس ىلإ ‪.‬يايؤر‬
‫من سيقول شعراًفي مديح حدائقٍ امنلفى‪,‬‬
‫أمامَ ‪!uaC‬‏ حراً من عبادة أمسء‬

You'll Be Forgotten, As IfYou Never Were
You'll be forgotten, as if you never were.

Like a bird’s violent death
or an abandoned church you'll be forgotten,
like a passing love
and a rose in the night ... forgotten
I am for the road ... There are those whose footsteps preceded mine
and those whose vision dictated mine. There are those
who scattered speech on their accord to enter the story
or to illuminate to others who will follow them
a lyrical trace ... and a speculation
You'll be forgotten, as if you never were

a person, or a text ... forgotten
I walk guided by insight, I might

give the story a biographical narrative. Vocabulary
governs me and I govern it. I am its shape
and it is the free transfiguration. But what I'd say has already been said.
A passing tomorrow precedes me. I am the king of echo.
My only throne is the margin. And the road
is the way. Maybe the forefathers forgot to describe
something, I might nudge in it a memory and a sense
You'll be forgotten, as if you never were

news, or a trace ... forgotten
I am for the road ... There are those whose footsteps

walk upon mine, those who will follow me to my vision.
Those who will recite eulogies to the gardens of exile,
in front of the house, free of worshipping yesterday,

‫حرا من ‪SELS‬‏ ومن لغتي» فأشهد‬
‫‪3‬‬ ‫‏‪A‬‬
‫أننيحي‬
‫‪8‬‬ ‫و‬
‫وبر‬
‫حين أَنْسَى!‬

free of my metonymy and my language, and only then
will I testify that I’m alive
and free
when I'm forgotten!
Don’t Apotogize for What You've Done 237

‫‏‪ Ui Ll‬لوقأف يمسال‬
‫‏‪: gals LT LI‬يمسال ‏‪des‬ينم‬

‫وابتعد عنيء فإني ضقتٌ منذ نطقتٌ‬
‫وانَّسَعَتْ صفاتك! خذ صفاتكَ وامتحنْ‬
‫عبور النهر متحدين ‪»loC‬‏ «‪ lb‬وم‬

‫أخْتَركَ يا ظأي السلوقيّ ‪lloB‬‏ اختارك‬
‫الآباء كي يتفاءلوا بالبحث عن معنى‪.‬‬
‫وم يتساءلوا عمما سيحدثٌ للمُسَمَى عندما‬
‫يقسو عليه الاسمء أو يلي عليه‬
‫كلامهُ فيصير تابعة ‪ ...‬فأين ‪TUS‬‏‬
‫وأين حكايتي الصَغْرَى وأوجاعي الصغيرةٌ؟‬
‫مي دون أن‬
‫سعَ‬
‫تجلس امرأةٌ مَ‬
‫تصغي لصوت أَحُوَة الحيوان‬
‫والإنمان في جسديء وتروي لي‬
‫حكاية حبهاء فأقول‪ :‬إن أعطيتني ‪20S‬‏‬
‫الصغيرةً صرت مثلّ حديقة ‪.‬فت‪.‬قول‪:‬‬
‫لحت هو الذي أعنيه‪ ,‬لكنيأريد‬
‫نصيحةً شعريّةًٌ‪ .‬ويحملق الطلاب في‬
‫اسمي غير مكترثين بيء وأنا أمر‬
‫كأنني شخص فضولي‪ .‬وينظر قارىء‬
‫في اسميء فيبدي رأيه فيه‪ :‬أحبٌ‬
‫مسيحَةُ الحافيء وأما شعرهُ الذاتي في‬
‫‏‪! lea. kos‬الف ‪: ...‬ينلأسيو‬
‫ماذا كنت ترمقني بطرف ساخر‪ .‬فأقول‪:‬‬
‫كنت احور اسمن خل ‪fU‬‏ ‪dhg‬‬
‫فيسألني‪ :‬وما شأني أنا؟‪/‬‬
‫أمّا أناه فأقول لاسمي‪ :‬أغطني‬

‫ما ضاع من حريّتي!‬

As for Me, I Say to My Name
As for me, I say to my name: Let me be

and get away from me, I’ve been fed up since I spoke
and since your adjectives grew! Take your adjectives and test
another ... I carried you when we were able to
cross the river united, “you me,” although I didn’t
choose you my saluki loyal shadow, the fathers
chose you as a good omen to search for meaning.
But they didn’t question what might happen to the one named
when the name becomes cruel, or when it dictates to him
his speech and makes him its subject ... so where am I?
And where are my little aches and my little tales?
A woman sits with my name without
listening to the fraternity between animal
and man in my body, and tells me
her love story, so I say: If you give me your little
hand I’ll become like a garden. Then she says:
That’s not what I mean, I wanted
a poetic advice. And the students stare
at my name, disinterested in me when I pass
as if I were the one prying. And a reader
looks into my name, then gives his opinion: I love
its barefooted Christ, but as for his personal poetry
of describing fog, I don’t! ... Then he asks me:
Why were you glancing at me in mockery? I say:
I was in dialogue with my name: whether I’m an adjective?
So he says: How is that my concern?
As for me, I say to my name: Give me

back what’s been lost of my freedom!

‫الحلم؛ ما هو؟‬
‫الحلم‪ ,‬ما ‪05$‬‬

‫ما هو اللاثيء هذا‬
‫عابر الزمن»‬
‫‏‪ Gaul‬كنجمة في أوّل الحبّء‬
‫‏‪ eal‬كطلورة ‏‪all‬‬
‫‪[5 ue JL loss dus‬‬
‫ما هو لا أكاد أراه حتى‬
‫يختفي في الأمس‪/‬‬
‫‏‪ ea y‬عقاو شيعأل هتأطو ُهتّفحو‬
‫ولا هُوَ ‪esiL‬‏ لأطير خراً‬
‫في فضاء الحدّس‪/‬‬
‫ما هُوَّءاما اهو اللائي‪ :‬أهذا الْهَنش‬
‫هذا اللانهائ‪ ,‬الضعيفء الباطنيٌ‬
‫الزائرء المتطايرء المتناثره‬
‫‏!‪ Sou‬المتعدّدٌ اللا شكل؟‬
‫تكو لالس توبس‬
‫‏‪ً LG Yo‬ادي ىلإ نيفُهلَتُملا َنيرئاحلا‬
‫فما هُوّ السريّ هذاء‬
‫‏!‪ lou‬الحَذْرٌء المحيرٌ‬
‫حين أنتظرٌ الزيارة مطمئن النفس‪/‬‬
‫يكسرني ويخرج مثل لؤلؤة‬
‫تُدَحْرج ضوءهاء‬
‫ويقول‪.‬لي‪ :‬لا تنتظرني‬
‫إن ‏‪ Gayl‬زيارق‬
‫لناتظرني!‬
‫ت‬

Dream, What Is It?
Dream, what is it?

What is it this nothing this
time’s passerby,
this splendid as a star in the beginning of love,
delicious as a woman’s image
massaging her breast in the sun? /
What is it? I can barely see it before
it disappears in yesterday /
It is neither a reality that I might live its gravity and its levity
nor the opposite that I might fly free
in the space of speculation /
What is it, what is it this nothing, this frail
this endless, the feeble, the internal
visitor, the volatile, the scattered,
the renewing and numerously shapeless?
What is it? Neither palpable nor touchable /
Nor does it extend a hand to the confused and yearning
so what is it this secretive,
this perplexed, cautious, and perplexing? /
When I await its visit self-assured
it breaks me and exits as a pearl
rolling its light,
and says to me: Don’t wait for me
if you want me to visit
don’t wait for me!
Don’t Apoiogize for What You’ve Done 241

‫الآنء إذ تصحوء تَذَكْر رَقْصَةٌ البجع‬
‫الأخيرةً‪ .‬هل رَقَصتّ معَ الملائكة الصغار‬
‫‏‪ L510 etssbal ue soles cals‬امدنع‬
‫احتركّتٌ بضوء الوردة الأبدي؟ هل‬
‫‏‪ً clits! EU Csgb‬ةحضاو ‪ ...‬لهو كتدان‬
‫باسمك؟ هل رأيتَ الفجر يطلع من‬
‫أصابع مَنْ تُحبٌ؟ وهل لَمَسْتَ الخلم‬
‫باليد‪ ,‬أمترك الحلميحلم ‪god‬‏‬
‫حين انتبهتٌ إلى ‪ELLE‬‏ ‪44$‬‬

‫ما هكذا يُخْلي المنامَ الحالمونَ»‬
‫فإنهم يتوهجون‪,‬‬
‫ويكملون حياتهم في الحَلْم ‪. .‬‬
‫قل لي‪ :‬كيف كنت تعيش ‪elad‬‏‬
‫في مكان ماء ‪laJ‬‏ لك مَنْ تكون‬
‫والآن» إذ تصحوء تذكر‪:‬‬

‫هل أَسَأتَ إلى منامك؟‬
‫إن أسأت‪ .‬إذاًتذكر‬
‫رقصة البجع الأخيرة!‬

Now, When You Awaken, Remember
Now, when you awaken, remember the swan’s last

dance. Did you dance with cherubs
while you were dreaming? Did the butterfly illuminate you
when it burned with the eternal light of the rose? Did
the phoenix appear to you clearly ... and did it call you
by name? Did you see the dawn rise
out of your beloved’s fingers? And did you touch the dream
by hand, or did you let the dream dream alone,
when you became aware of your absence suddenly?
This isn’t how the dreamers vacate their sleep,
they become incandescent,
and complete their lives in the dream ...
Tell me how you lived your dream
in some place, and I'll tell you who you are
And now, when you awaken, remember:

did you mistreat your sleep?
If you did, then remember
the swan’s last dance!
Don't Apolugize for What You've Done 5

‫لا‪ 385‬ولا‪cpl ‎‬‬ ‫‪ball‬‬
‫‪... JU ad Ee gly «soley‬‬
‫مشنا دراك ةن إصدة‪‎‬‬
‫كنت أمشي‪ .‬كان يمشي‬
‫‪gules OW .Gulel cus‬‬
‫كنت أركض‪ .‬كان يركش‬
‫قلت‪ :‬أخدغة وأخلّع معطفي الكخلي‬
‫قَلّدنِء وألقي عنه معطفّة الرمادي ‪...‬‬
‫استدّرثُ إلى الطريق الجانبيّة‬
‫فاستدار إلى الطريق الجانبية‪.‬‬
‫قُلْتٌ‪ :‬أخدعة وأخرج من غروب مدينتي‬
‫فرأيتهُ يمشي أمامي‬
‫في غروب مدينة أخرى ‪...‬‬
‫فقلت‪ :‬أعود ‪zis‬‏عانق عكازتين‬
‫فعاد متكثاً على عكازتين‬
‫فقلت‪ :‬أحمله على كتفي‬
‫فاستعصى‪von ‎‬‬
‫‏‪ُ hb) suas‬هُحبتأس ُهَعَدخأل‬
‫سأتبعٌ ببّغْاءَ الشكل سُخْرِيَة‬
‫أقلّد ما ‪liG‬‏‬
‫لييَقَعَالشبيه على الشبيه‬
‫فلا أراة» ولا يراني‪.‬‬

The Shadow
The shadow, neither male nor female,

ashen, even if I set it on fire ...
It follows me, it grows then shrinks.
I was walking. It was walking.
I sat. It sat.
I ran. It ran.
I said: Let me trick it and take off my koh] coat
it copied me, and took off its ashen coat ...
I turned onto the side road
it turned onto the side road.
I said: Let me trick it and walk out of my city’s sunset
then I saw it walking ahead of me
into the sunset of another city ...
I said: I’ll come back leaning on two crutches
then it returned leaning on two crutches.
So I said: I’ll carry it on my shoulders,
but it resisted ...
I said: Then, I’ll follow it to deceive it.
I'll follow this parrot of shapes and mock it
copying what copies me
for the like to stumble on the like
and I would not see it, nor it see me.

‫لاشىء يعجبني‬
‫و‬ ‫فرهة‬
‫«لا شيء يعع<جبني»‬
‫يقول مسافرٌ في الباص ‏ لا الراديو‬

‫ولا صَحَفٌ الصباح‪ ,‬ولا القلاعغ على التلال‪.‬‬
‫يقول السائق‪ :‬انتظر الوصول إلى المحطّة‪,‬‬

‫‏‪ cbf‬وحدك ما استطعت‪/‬‬
‫تقول سيدةٌ‪ :‬أنا أيضاً‪ .‬أنا لا‬
‫شيء يُعْجِبْني‪ .‬دَلَلْتُ ابني على قبري»‬
‫‏‪ pigdio sls‬مو ‪/‬ينْعُدَوُي‬
‫يقول الجامعي‪ :‬ولا أناء لا شيء‬
‫يعجبني‪ .‬دَرَسْتٌ الأركيولوجيا دون أن‬
‫‏‪ dei‬المُوِيَةٌفي الحجارة‪ .‬هل أنا‬
‫‪i‬‏‬ ‫حقاً أنا؟‪/‬‬
‫ويقول جندي‪ :‬أنا أيضاً‪ .‬أنا لا‬
‫شيء يُعْجِبّني‪ .‬أحاصرٌ داماً شَبَحاً‬
‫يُحاصرنيٍ‪/‬‬
‫يقولٌ السائقٌ العصبيٌ‪ :‬ها نحن‬
‫اقتربنا من محطتنا الأخيرة» فاستعدوا‬
‫للنزول ‪/...‬‬
‫فيصرخون‪ :‬نريدٌ ما بَعْدَ المحطّة‪,‬‬
‫(‬ ‫فانطلق!‬
‫أمَا أنا فأقولٌ‪ :‬أ نُزِلْني هنا‪ .‬أنا‬
‫من السفّر‪.‬‬
Nothing Pleases Me
Nothing pleases me
the traveler on the bus says— Not the radio
or the morning newspaper, nor the citadels on the hills.
I want to cry /
The driver says: Wait until you get to the station,
then cry alone all you want /
A woman says: Me too. Nothing
pleases me. I guided my son to my grave,
he liked it and slept there, without saying goodbye /
A college student says: Nor does anything
please me. I studied archaeology but didn’t
find identity in stone. Am I
really me? /
And asoldier says: Me too. Nothing
pleases me. I always besiege a ghost
besieging me /
The edgy driver says: Here we are
almost near our last stop, get ready
to get off ... /
Then they scream: We want what’s beyond the station,
keep going!
As for myself I say: Let me off here. 1 am
like them, nothing pleases me, but I’m worn out
from travel.

‫هو هادىء‪ :‬وأنا كذلك‬
‫‪WIS tly ole 5-0‬‬

‫يَحَتّسي شاياً بليمون»‬
‫‪05‬‬ ‫‪oly‬‬
‫هذا هو الشيءالمغاير بِيتَناء‬
‫هو يرتديء‪ .‬مثلي‪ .‬قميصاو‪f‬ا‏سعاً ومَخَطّطاً‬
‫وأنا أطالع» ‪etid‬‏ ‪)!bul duoG‬‬
‫‏‪ALIS jbl ye Gly Y 58‬‬
‫أنا لا أراه حين ‪seb‬‏ (‪eiB‬‬
‫وه ‪‎‬ئداه ‪«LIS Lig‬‬
‫‏‪ Slug‬الجرسونّ شيئاً‬
‫‪ Z‬ء‪ h‬تعبرٌ‪13‎‬‬ ‫‪sba‬‬

‫فأجس فروةٌليلها‬
‫ويجس قَرْوَةٌ ليلها ‪. .‬‬
‫أنا لا أقول لَّهُ‪ :‬السماء اليوم صافيةٌ‬
‫وأكثر زرقة‪.‬‬
‫هو لا يقول لي‪ :‬السماء اليومَ صافيةٌ‪.‬‬
‫هو المرق والرائي‬
‫أنا المري والرائي‪.‬‬
‫‪pull dey Sol‬‬
‫يحرك رجله اليمتى‪.‬‬
‫أدندنٌ لحن أغنية‪.‬‬
‫يدندن لحنّ أغنية مُشَابهة‪.‬‬
‫أفكر‪ :‬‏‪ pad liberi‬ةيف؟يسفن‬
‫ثم أنظر نحو عينيه‪.‬‬

‫ولكن لا أراة ‪...‬‬
‫فأتركٌ المقهى على عجَلٍ‪.‬‬
‫أفكر‪ :‬رما هو قاتلء أو رما‬
‫هو عابرٌ قد ظنّ أني قاتلٌ‬
‫هو خائفٌء وأنا كذلك!‬
He’s Calm, and I Am Too
He’s calm, and I am too

he’s drinking tea with lemon,
and I’m drinking coffee,
this is the difference between us.
He’s wearing, as I am, a baggy striped shirt
and I’m reading, as he is, the evening newspaper.
He doesn’t see me when Isteal a glance,
I don’t see him when he steals a glance,
he’s calm, and I am too.
He asks the waiter something,
I ask the waiter something ...
A black cat passes between us,
I pet its night’s fur
and he pets its night’s fur ...
I don’t say to him: The sky was clear today
and more blue.
He doesn’t say to me: The sky was clear today.
He’s the seen and the seer
I’m the seen and the seer.
I move my left leg
he moves his right leg.
I hum a song’s melody
he hums a song with a similar melody.
I think: Is he the mirror I see myself in?
Then I look toward his eyes,

but I don’t see him ...
I leave the café in a hurry.
I think: Maybe he’s a killer, or maybe
he’s a passerby who thinks I'ma killer
He’s frightened, and I am too!

‫وصف الغيوم‬
‫«لوصف الغيوم‪: ,‬‬

‫علي أن أسرع كثيرا‬
‫فبعد هنيهة لن تكون ما هي‬
‫عليه‪ .‬ستصير أخرى»‬
‫شيمبورسكا‬
‫‏‪ٌ he Ye gil‬رظنأو نمٍلَع‬

‫نحو الغيوم‪ ,‬وقد تدلتٌ من مَدَار اللازورد‬
‫كالقطن تحلجه الرياح»‬

‫كفكرة بيضاء عن معنى الوجود‪.‬‬
‫لعل آلهةٌ تنقّحُْ قصّهٌ التكوينٍ‬
‫«لا شكلٌ نهاق لهذا الكون‪...‬‬
‫لاتاريخ للأشكال‪»..‬‬
‫أنظر من عَلٍِءوأرى انبثاق الشكلٍ‬
‫من ‪ssa‬‏اللأشكل‪:‬‬
‫ريش الطير يَنْبْتُ في رون الأيل البيضاء‬
‫وَجَهُ الكائن البشري يطلع من‬
‫جناح الطائر المائي ‪...‬‬
‫ترسمنا الغيومُ على وتيرتها‬
‫وتختلط الوجوه مع الرؤى‬
‫لميكتمل شيء ‪gV‬‏ ‪ lot‬فبعد هنيهة‬
‫ستصيرٌ صوربكَ الجديدة صُوَ الم‬
‫الجريح بصولجان الريح ‪...‬‬
‫رسَّامون مجهولون ما زالوا أمامك‬
‫يلعبون‪ .‬ويرسمون ‪IRS‬‏ «‪!SAS‬‬
‫أبيضء كالغيوم على جدار الكون ‪...‬‬
‫والشعراءً يبنون المنازلَ بالغيوم‬
‫ويذهبون‪...‬‬

Describing Clouds
I'd have to be really quick
to describe clouds,
because in a second
they become another
WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA
Describing clouds is a talent I wasn’t given ...

Iam walking on a mountain and looking from a height
toward the clouds, as they hang from the lapis orbit
light and diaphanous,
like cotton ginned by wind,
like a white idea about the meaning of existence.
Perhaps some gods would refine the story of creation
“No final shape for this universe ...
no history of shapes ...”
I am looking from a height, and I see the bursting of shape
out of the frivolity of no-shape:
the bird feathers sprout in the white stag horns,
the human face appears
out of a marine bird’s wing ...
The clouds sketch us in their manner
and the faces get mixed up with the vision,
nothing is complete nor anyone, because in a moment
your new image will become the image of the tiger
wounded by the wind’s scepter ...
Unknown painters are still in front of you
playing, and drawing the absolute eternal,
white, like clouds on the wall of the universe ...
And the poets build homes with clouds
then move on ...

‫لكل ‏‪ gua‬صورةٌ‪,‬‬
‫‏‪ Js‬وقت غيمةٌ‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ jloel gS‬مويغلا ٌةريصق يف »حيرلا‬
‫كالأبد المؤقت في القصائد‪.‬‬
‫لا يزول ولا يدوم ‪...‬‬
‫وأنظر منعل‬

For each sense there is an image,
and for each time there is a cloud,
but clouds have short lives in the wind,
like the temporary eternal in poems,
which neither vanishes nor lasts ...
It’s my good fortune that I am walking on a mountain

looking from a height
toward the clouds ...

‫هي جَمَلَةٌ إسميّةٌ لا فعل‬
‫و سدع‬
‫فيها أو لها‪ :‬للبحررائحةٌ الأسرّة‬

‫بعدفعْلٍالحَبّ‪...‬عطر مالحأو‬
‫‏‪ Go hele‬ةلمج ‪:‬ةّيمسإ يحرف‬
‫جريح كالغروب على شبابيك الغريبة‪.‬‬
‫زهرتي خضراءً كالعنقاء‪ .‬قلبي فائضش‬
‫عن حاجتيء مترددٌ ما بين بابين‪:‬‬
‫الدخولٌ هو الفُكَاهَةُ والخروج هو‬
‫مرشدي وسط‬ ‫المَتاهَةُ‪ .‬أين ‪bJ‬‏‬
‫الزحام على الطريق إلى القيامة؟ ليتني‬
‫حجر قديم داكن اللونين في سور المدينة‪,‬‬
‫كستناق ‪ylugS‬‏ طاعنٌ في اللاشعور‬
‫تجاه زواري وتأويل الظلال‪ .‬وليت‬
‫للفعل المَضَارِع موطئاً للسير خلفي‬
‫أو أمامي» ‪el‬‏ القدمين‪ .‬أين‬
‫طريقي الثاني إلى دَرَج المدى؟ أين‬
‫السَدَى؟ أين الطريقٌ إلى الطريق؟‬
‫وأين نَحَنُء السائرين على خُطَى الفعل‬
‫المضارع‪ :‬أين نحن؟ كلامنا خَيْرٌ‬
‫ومُبْتداً أمام البحر‪ ,‬والزْبَدُ المراوعٌ‬
‫في الكلام هو النقاط ‪ed‬‏ ‪)oS‬‬
‫فليت للفعل المضارع موطئاً فوق‬
‫الرصيف ‪...‬‬

A Noun Sentence
A noun sentence, no verb

to it or in it: to the sea the scent of the bed
after making love ... a salty perfume
or a sour one. A noun sentence: my wounded joy
like the sunset at your strange windows.
My flower green like the phoenix. My heart exceeding
my need, hesitant between two doors:
entry a joke, and exit
a labyrinth. Where is my shadow—my guide amid
the crowdedness on the road to judgment day? And I
as an ancient stone of two dark colors in the city wall,
chestnut and black, a protruding insensitivity
toward my visitors and the interpretation of shadows. Wishing
for the present tense a foothold for walking behind me
or ahead of me, barefoot. Where
is my second road to the staircase of expanse? Where
is futility? Where is the road to the road?
And where are we, the marching on the footpath of the present
tense, where are we? Our talk a predicate
and a subject before the sea, and the elusive foam
of speech the dots on the letters,
wishing for the present tense a foothold
on the pavement ...

‫قل ماتشاء‬
‫‏‪ ds‬ما تشاء‪ .‬ضَعَ النقاط على الحروف‪.‬‬

‫ضَع الحروف مع الحروف لتُولَدَ الكلماتٌ‪,‬‬
‫غامضةٌ وواضحةً‪ .‬ويبتدىء الكلام‪.‬‬
‫ضع الكلام على المجاز‪ .‬ضَع المجاز على‬
‫الخيال‪ .‬ضَع الخيالَ على تَلُته البعيد‪.‬‬
‫ضع البعيدَ على البعيد ‪ ...‬سَيُولَدُ الإيقاع‬
‫تعَنَدائِك الصُوَرِالغريبةمنلقاء‬
‫الواقعيّ مع الخيالي [‪LES‬‏‬
‫نفل عبتا قصيلة ‪:‬جه ‪+‬‬
‫كلا!‬
‫لعلَّ هناك ملحاًزائداًأ نواقصاً‬
‫في المفردات‪ .‬لعل ‪eloB‬‏ ‪ydO ELE‬‬
‫في مُعَادَلَة الظلال‪ .‬لعل نسراً‬
‫مات في أعلى ‪!delS‬‏ ‪la daJ‬‬
‫الرمز خفْتْ في الكناية فاستباحتها‬
‫الرياخ‪ .‬لعلّها تَقُلَتْ على ريش الخيال‪.‬‬
‫لعل قلبَكَ لميفكز جيداً ‪yaJ‬‏‬
‫فكرَكَ لميُحسٌ بما يرجك‪ .‬فالقصيدة‪,‬‬
‫‏}‪ dog‬الغد وابنةُ الماضيء تخيّم في‬
‫مكان غامض بين الكتابة والكلام ‪/‬‬
‫‪‎‬لهف ‪Sued CoS‬‬
‫كلا!‬
‫إذنْ» ماذا كتبتَ؟‬
‫‏‪ Cus‬درساً جامعياً‬
‫‏‪ٌ die ett! Cel,‬تفرع‬
‫كيمياء القصيدة ‪ ...‬واعتزلث!‬

Say What You Want
Say what you want. Put the dots on the letters.

Put the letters with the letters for words to be born,
mysterious and clear, and for speech to begin.
Put speech on metaphor. Metaphor on
imagination. And imagination on its looking around the far.
Put the far on the far ... cadence will be born
when strange images interlace through the meeting
of the real with the peevish imaginary /
Have you written a poem?
No!
Perhaps there is too much or too little salt
in the vocabulary. Perhaps an incident created an imbalance
in the equation of shadows. Perhaps an eagle
died in mountainous heights. Or the land
of symbols weighed less in metonymy so it got pillaged
by the wind. Perhaps it became too heavy for imagination’s feathers.
Perhaps your heart could have thought better, and perhaps
your thought didn’t sense what shakes you. Because the poem,
tomorrow’s wife and daughter of the past, camps out
in a mysterious place between writing and speech /
So have you written a poem?
No!
What have you written?
I have written a paper,
then I retired from poetry when I knew
the chemistry of the poem ... I withdrew!

‫لاتكتب التاريخ شعراً‬
‫لا تكتب التاريخَ شعراً فالسلاخ هو‬

‫المؤرُحٌ‪ .‬والمؤرخ لا يَُصَابُ برعشة‬
‫‏!‪ acu‬إذا سَمَى ضحاياه ولا يُضْعْي‬
‫إلى سرديّة الجيتار‪ .‬والتاريخ يوميّاتُ‬
‫‪gid‬‏على أجسادنا‪»pS .‬‏‬ ‫أسلحة‬
‫الذي العبقريّ هو القويٌ»‪ .‬وليس‬
‫للتاريخ عاطفةٌ لنَشْعرٌ بالحنين إلى‬
‫‪-3‬‬ ‫‪OF‬‬
‫بدايتناء ولا كَصَدٌ لنعرف ما الأمام‬

‫‪de Slel jul Vo ... elygll Log‬‬
‫‪‎‬ككس ‪Dig «Goll G84 Ato‬‬
‫‪log lio Ly Glo! dad bb Gyo‬‬
‫‪ bolg ssiL‬كأنّنا منة وخارجة‪‎.‬‬
‫فلا هو منطقيّ أو بديهي لنكسرٌ‬
‫ما تَبَقَى من خرافتنا عن الزمن السعيد‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ GIS Vo‬ىضرنل ةماقإلاب دنع باوبأ‬
‫القيامة‪ .‬إِنّهُفينا وخارجنا‪ ..‬وتكراز‬
‫‏‪ go Gee‬عالقملا ىتح قعاصلا ‪.‬يووُنلا‬
‫يصنعنا ونصنعه بلا هَدّف ‪ ...‬هل‬
‫ايلتُارويخللَمدْ كماشئناء لأن‬
‫الكائنّ البشري م ‪seH‬‏‬
‫فلاسفَةٌوفتانونَ روامن هناك ‪...‬‬
‫ودون الشعراء يوميّات أزهار البنفسج‬

‫ثم مروا من هناك‪ ...‬وصدّق الفقراء‬
‫أخباراً عن الفردوس وانتظروا هناك ‪...‬‬
‫وجاء آلهدٌ لإنقاذ الطبيعة من ألوهيتنا‬
‫ومَرُوامن هناك‪ .‬وليس للتاريخ‬
‫‪52‬‏ ‪ ob‬ليس للتاريخ مرآةٌ‬
‫وَوَجَةُ سافرٌ‪ .‬هو واقعٌ لا واقعي‬
‫أو خيالٌ لا خيالي‪ ,‬فلا تكتبه‪.‬‬
‫لا تكتبه‪ ,‬لا تكتبه شعراً!‬

Don’t Write History as Poetry
Don’t write history as poetry, because the weapon is

the historian. And the historian doesn’t get fever
chills when he names his victims, and doesn’t listen
to the guitar’s rendition. And history is the dailiness
of weapons prescribed upon our bodies. “The
intelligent genius is the mighty one.” And history
has no compassion that we can long for our
beginning, and no intention that we can know what’s ahead
and what’s behind ... and it has no rest stops
by the railroad tracks for us to bury the dead, for us to look
toward what time has done to us over there, and what
we've done to time. As if we were of it and outside it.
History is not logical or intuitive that we can break
what is left of our myth about happy times,
nor is it a myth that we can accept our dwelling at the doors
of judgment day. It is in us and outside us ... and a mad
repetition, from the catapult to the nuclear thunder.
Aimlessly we make it and it makes us ... Perhaps
history wasn’t born as we desired, because
the Human Being never existed?
Philosophers and artists passed through there ...
and the poets wrote down the dailiness of their purple flowers
then passed through there ... and the poor believed
in sayings about paradise and waited there ...
and gods came to rescue nature from our divinity
and passed through there. And history has no
time for contemplation, history has no mirror
and no bare face. It is unreal reality
or unfanciful fancy, so don’t write it.
Don't write it, don’t write it as poetry!

‫ماذا سَيَبْقَى من هبات الغيمة البيضاء؟‬
‫رَهْرَةُ بيلَسَانْ‬
‫ماذا سيبقى من ردّاذ الموجة الزرقاء؟‬
‫إيقاحٌ الزمان‬
‫ماذا سيبقى من نزيف الفكرة الخضراء؟‬
‫ماءً في روق السنديان‬
‫ماذااسبقئ ‪eG‬‏ ‪ 309£‬الحبٌ؟‬
‫وشم ناعم في الأرجوانْ‬
‫ماذاسيبقىمن عُبارالبحثعنمعنى؟‬
‫طريق العنفوان‬
‫ماذا سيبقى من طريقٍ الرحلة الكبرى‬
‫إلى المجهول؟‬
‫إكلااضية تافو سان‬
‫ماذا سيبقى من سراب الحلم؟‬
‫‏‪GUS fe cloud! 587‬‬
‫ماذا سيبقى من لقاء الشيء باللاشيء؟‬
‫إحساس الألوهة بالأمان‬
‫ماذا سيبقى من كلام الشاعر العربي؟‬
‫‏‪ Liss 53 dsgla‬نم ناخد‬
‫ماذا سيبقى من كلامكَ أَنْتَ؟‬
‫نسيانٌ ضروري لذاكرة المكان!‬

What Will Remain?
What will remain of the white cloud’s offering?

—An elderberry blossom
What will remain of the blue wave’s drizzle?
—The cadence of time
What will remain of the hemorrhage of a green idea?
— Water in holm oak veins
What will remain of the tears of love?
—A soft tattoo in violet
What will remain of the dust of searching for a meaning?
—The path of ardor
What will remain of the road of the great journey to the unknown?
—The traveler's song to the horse
What will remain of dream’s mirage?
—The sky’s trace on the violin
What will remain of thing meeting with nothing?
—Divinity’s sense of security
What will remain of the Arabic poet’s speech?
—A chasm ... and a thread of smoke
What will remain of your own speech?
—A necessary forgetfulness of the memory of place!

‫لا أعرفٌ اسمك‬
‫‪Ets‬‬
‫‏‪le new O‬‬
‫لست غزالةٌ‬
‫‪ 0‬كلا‪ .‬ولا ‪335L‬‏‬
‫‏‪(Ath) dole‬‬ ‫ولست‬
‫‪ 0‬وخلواريةٌ‬
‫ا؟‬
‫ممك‬
‫منت؟‬
‫سنْأ‬
‫امَ‬
‫ل] سَمُنيء لأسكومنّيمتاني‬
‫أسلتاطيع‪ .‬لأنّني ريح‬
‫وأنت غريبةٌ مثلي وللأسماء أرض ما‬
‫‏‪ Heol daio‬نارستما‬
‫‪ 6‬لا أعرفٌ ‪!wol‬‏ ما اسمَكَ؟‬

‫اختاري من الأسماء أَقَرَبَها‬
‫إلى النسيان‪ .‬سَمُيني أَكنْ في‬
‫أهل هذا الليل ما سَمَيْتني!‬
‫‪ 6‬لا أستطيع لأنني امرأةٌ مسافرةٌ‬
‫على ريح‪ .‬وأنت مسافر «‪eij‬‏‬
‫وللأسماء ‪elbA‬‏وبَيْتٌ واضح‬
‫فإذنء أنا «لا شيء» ‪...‬‬
‫قالت «لا أحذ»‪:‬‬
‫‪ og bad‬جهاتك كُلها‪gine ‎.‬‬

‫‏‪ Go Hed‬قاهج ‪.‬اهّلُك نوكتل ًائيش ام‬
‫ونمضي باحثين عن الحياة‪...‬‬
‫فقال «لا شيء»‪ :‬الحياةٌ ‪eld‬‏‬

‫مَعَكَ ‪ ...‬الحياة جميلةٌ!‬

I Don’t Know Your Name
—I don’t know your name

—Call me whatever you want
— You're not a gazelle
—No. And not a mare either
—And you're not an exile dove
—Nor a mermaid
—Who are you? What’s your name?
—Give me a name, and I’ll become what you name me
—I cannot, because I am a wind
and you're a stranger like me, and names have lands
—Then, I am “No one”
—I don’t know your name, what’s your name?

—Choose among the names the closest
to forgetfulness. Give me a name and I'll become
in this night’s lot what you name me!
—I cannot, because I am a woman traveling
on a wind. And you're a traveler like me,
and names have families and distinct homes
—Then, I am “Nothing”...
“No one” said:

I'll fill your name up with desire. My body
gathers you from all of your directions. My body
embraces you from all of my directions, for you to become something,
and we can go on searching for life ...
Then “Nothing” said: Life is beautiful

with you ... life is beautiful!
Don’t Apolegize for What You’ve Done 263

‫هي في المساء‬
‫هي في المساء ‪goL‬‏‬

‫وأنا وحيدٌ مثلها‪...‬‬
‫بيني وبين شموعها في المطعم الشتوي‬
‫طاولتان فارغتان [لا شيء ‪yaS‬‏ [‪aiL‬‬
‫هي لا ترانيء إذ أراها‬
‫‏‪ no‬تقطفٌ وردةً من صدرها‬
‫وأنا كذلك لا أراهاء إذ تراني‬
‫حين أرشفٌ من نبيذي قُبِلَةٌ ‪...‬‬
‫هي ‪y‬‏ ‪ 83‬خبزها‬
‫وأنا كذلك لا أريق اماء‬
‫‪{so ELI Bes‬‬
‫آلا شيء يكدّر صَفْوَنا]‬
‫هي وخدهاء وأنا أمام حَمَالها‬
‫وحدي‪ .‬اذا لا تُوَحَدْنا الهَسَاسَةُ؟‬
‫قلت في نفسي ‏‬
‫ماذا لا أذوقٌ نبيدّها؟‬
‫هي لا تراني إذ أراها‬
‫حين ترقع ساقّها عن ساقها ‪...‬‬
‫وأنا كذلك لا أراهاء إذ تراني‬
‫لا شيء يزعجها معي‬

‫لا شيء يزعجني» فنحن الآن‬
‫منسجمان في النسيان ‪...‬‬
‫كان عشاؤناء ‪SJ‬‏ ‪ edB ed‬شهياً‬
‫كان صَوْتٌ الليل أَزْرَقَ‬
‫‪ ¢‬أكن وحديء ولا هي وحدها‬
‫كنا معاً نصغي إلى البِلّورٍ‬
‫ال[ ‪‎‬ءيش ‪[LLY aS‬‬
‫هي لاتقول‪:‬‬

She's Alone in the Evening
She’s alone in the evening,

and I am alone as she is ...
Between her candles and me in the winter restaurant
are two vacant tables (nothing disturbs our silence).
She doesn’t see me, when I see her
picking a rose from her chest
and I also don’t see her, when she sees me
sipping from my wine a kiss ...
She doesn’t crumble her bread
and I also don’t spill the water
on the paper tablecloth
(nothing disturbs our clarity).
She’s alone, and I am in front of her beauty
alone. Why doesn’t delicacy unite us?
I say to myself—
Why don’t I taste her wine?
She doesn’t see me, when I see her
uncrossing her legs ...
And I also don’t see her, when she sees me
taking off my coat ...
Nothing bothers her when she’s with me
nothing bothers me, because we are now
harmonious in forgetfulness ...
Our dinner was, separately, delicious
the night sound was blue
I wasn’t alone, and neither was she alone
we were together listening to the crystal
(nothing fractures our night).
She doesn’t say: |

‫عن‬ ‫ا‬
‫‪3‬‬ ‫‪8‬‬ ‫‪5‬‬ ‫‏‪gus‬‬
‫وأنا كذلك لا أقول‪:‬‬
‫الحب (‪leuq‬‏ ‪35,6‬‬
‫لكنه يبدو كذلك ‪...‬‬

Love is born a living creature
before it becomes an idea.
And I also don't say:
Love has become an idea
But it seems like it ...

‫‪ 3‬الانتظار‬
‫في الانتظارء يُصيبني هوس برصد‬

‫الاحتمالات الكثيرة‪ :‬رَبمانَسِيَثْ حقيبتها‬
‫الصغيرة في القطار‪ .‬فضاع عنواني‬
‫وضاع الهاتفٌ المحمول‪ .‬فانقطعت شهيتها‬
‫وقالت‪ :‬لا نصيبٌ له من المطر الخفيف‪/‬‬
‫‏‪ yh ERE Les‬ءىراط وأةلحر‬
‫نحو الجنوب لي تزور الشمس‪ .‬وانّصَلَتْ‬
‫ولكن م تَجِدْنيِ في الصباح» فقد‬
‫خَرَجِتٌ لأشتري غاردينيا لمسائنا وزجاجتين‬
‫‪١‬‏‬ ‫من النبيذ‪/‬‬
‫وربما ‪!silaC‬‏ ‪ sg‬الزوؤج القديم على‬
‫شُؤون ‪IUS‬‏ ‪ ldna bo‬ألا ترى‬
‫‏‪ِ ledigs Sey‬عْنُصِب ‪/‬تايركذلا‬
‫وربما اصطَدَّمَتٌ بتاكسي في الطريق‬
‫إل فانطفأت كواكب في مَجَرتها‪.‬‬
‫وما زالت تُعَالَجَ بالمهدّىء والنعاس‪/‬‬
‫‏‪ Leys‬نظرث إلى المرآة قبل خروجها‬
‫من نفسهاء وتحسست أجاصتين كبيرتين‬
‫تُمَوْجان حريرهاء فتنْهدَتْ وترددث‪:‬‬
‫هل يستحقٌ أنوثتي أحدّ سواي‪/‬‬
‫‪wre ASSlas ne Leys‬‬
‫سابق & ‪EB‬‏ منه‪ .‬فراقْقَتَهُ إلى‬
‫العشاء‪/‬‬
‫‪ile Les‬‬
‫فإِنَّ الموت يعشق فجأة‪ ,‬مثلي»‬
‫وإِنَّ الموتّ مثليء لا يحب الانتظار‬

While Waiting
While waiting, I become obsessed with observing

the many possibilities: maybe she forgot her small
suitcase on the train, and my address got lost
and her mobile phone got lost, so she lost her appetite
and said: No share of the light drizzle for him /
Or maybe she got busy with an urgent matter or a journey
to the south to visit the sun, and called
but didn’t find me in the morning, because
I had gone to buy some gardenia for our evening
and two bottles of wine /
Or maybe she was in dispute with her ex-husband
over matters of memory, and she swore not to see
another man who might threaten her with making memories /
Or maybe she crashed into a taxi on the way
to see me, which extinguished some planets in her galaxy.
And she is still being treated with tranquilizers and sleep /
Or maybe she looked in the mirror before going out
of herself, felt two large pears
making waves on her silk, then sighed and hesitated:
Does anyone else other than myself deserve my womanhood /
Or maybe she ran, by coincidence, into an old
love she hadn’t healed from, and joined him for dinner /
Or maybe she died,
because death loves suddenly, like me,
and death, like me, doesn’t love waiting

‫لوكنت غيري‬
‫ل كوُنْتُغيريف ايلطريق» ب االتفث‬

‫إلى الوراءء لَقُلتُ ما قال المسافر‬
‫للمسافرة الغريبة‪ :‬يا غريبةٌ! أيقظي‬
‫الجيتار أكْرَ!ٍ أرجئي ‪ESU‬‏ ‪ daed‬الطريق‬
‫بناء ويتّسعٌ الفضاءً لناء فننجو من‬
‫حكايتنا معاً‪ :‬كم أنت أنت‪ ..‬وكم أنا‬
‫غيري أمامك ها هنا!‬
‫لو كُنْتُ غيري لانتميثٌ إلى الطريق»‬

‫فلن أعود ولن تعودي‪ .‬أيقظي الجيتار‬
‫كي نتحسّس المجهول والجهة التي تُغُوِي‬
‫المسافر باختبار الجاذبية‪ .‬ما أنا إلا‬
‫خُطَايٌء وأنت بوصلتي وهاويتي معاً‪.‬‬
‫‏)‪ ont ES 5‬يف ءقيرطلا ُتْنُكل‬
‫أخفيتٌ العواطفٌ في الحقيبة» ي‬
‫‪Alay ALS Sale gales lags‬‬
‫ٌةّيديرجت ‪ً...‬ةفيفخو ىوقأ ‪‎‬نم ‪«SSH‬‬
‫‏‪ Ole yo Gable‬ءىدنلا ‪ٌ:‬تْلُقَلَو‬
‫‪2‬‬ ‫‪72-‬‬ ‫عا لس‬ ‫هه‬
‫إِنَّهُويّتي هذا المدى!‬
‫لو كُنْتُ غيري في الطريق» لَقُلتُ‬

‫للجيتار‪ :‬دَرَبْني على وَثَرٍإضافي!‬
‫إن البيتَ أبعدُء والطريق إليه أجملّ ‏‬
‫هكذا ستقول أغنيتي الجديدةٌ ‏ كلما‬
‫طال الطريق تجدّد المعنى» وصرثٌ أ ثنين‬
‫في هذا الطريق‪ :‬أنا ‪ ...‬وغيري!‬

IfI Were Another
If I were another on the road, I would not have looked

back, I would have said what one traveler said
to another: Stranger! awaken
the guitar more! Delay our tomorrow so our road
may extend and space may widen for us, and we may get rescued
from our story together: you are so much yourself ... and I am
so much other than myself right here before you!
If I were another I would have belonged to the road,

neither you nor I would return. Awaken the guitar
and we might sense the unknown and the route that tempts
the traveler to test gravity. I am only
my steps, and you are both my compass and my chasm.
If I were another on the road, I would have
hidden my emotions in the suitcase, so my poem
would be of water, diaphanous, white,
abstract, and lightweight ... stronger than memory,
and weaker than dewdrops, and I would have said:
My identity is this expanse!
If I were another on the road, I would have said

to the guitar: Teach me an extra string!
Because the house is farther, and the road to it prettier—
that’s what my new song would say. Whenever
the road lengthens the meaning renews, and I become two
on this road: I ... and another!
Don’t Apoiogize for What You’ve Done 1

‫شكراً لتونس‪ .‬أَرْجَعَتْني سالاً من‬
‫‏‪ yee‬فبكيتٌ بين نسائها في المسرح‬
‫‏‪gal go Gall‬اىنعم نم ‪.‬تاملكلا‬
‫‏‪ٌ eds] bs‬فيصلا ريخألا امكعدوي‬
‫شاعر أغنيةٌ ‪elI 8504‬‏ سأكتبٌ‬
‫بعدها لحبيبة أخرى ‪ ...‬إذا أحببتٌ؟‬
‫في لَعَتي ذُوَارٌ البحر‪ .‬في لغتي ‪seid‬‏‬
‫غامض ‪eY‬‏ ‪ gj‬لا قرطاج تكبحة‪ ,‬ولا‬
‫‏‪de Lie gages! yl! bos‬‬
‫وتيرة نَوْرَسِء ونَصَبْثُ خيمتي الجديدةً‬
‫فوق مُنْحَدَرِ سماوي‪ .‬سأكتبٌ ههنا فصلاً‬
‫جديداً في مديح البحر‪ :‬أسطوريةٌ‬
‫لغتيء وقلبي مَوْجَةٌ زرقاء تخدش‬
‫صخرةٌ‪« :‬لا تُغطنيء يا بحرء ما‬
‫لا أستحق من النشيد‪ .‬ولا تكن‬
‫ياء ‏‪ sl i058‬وأ ‏‪ Jai‬نم »!ديشنلا ‪...‬‬
‫تطيرٌ بيلْتَتي إلى مجهولنا الأبديٌ»‬

‫خلف الحاضر المكسور من جهتين‪ :‬إنْ‬
‫تنظر وراءك توقظ سَدُومْ ‪HSI‬‏ ‪eH‬‬
‫خطيئته‪ ...‬وإن تنظر ‪lalaH‬‏ توقظ‬
‫‏!‪ festu‬زذحاف َةَعْذَل ‪...‬نيتهجلا ‪.‬ينعبتاو‬
‫أقول لها‪ :‬سأمكثٌ عند تونس بين‬
‫‏‪pte tin eV‬‬
‫منفايّ كالمنفى‪ .‬وها أنذا أُودغهاء‬
‫فيجرحني هواء البحر ‪ ...‬مسكُ الليل يجرحني»‬
‫‏‪ Lie‬الياسمين على كلام الناس يجرحني»‬
‫ويجرحني التأمُلُ في الطريق اللولبي إلى ضواحي الأندلس ‪...‬‬

Thanks to Tunis
Thanks to Tunis. She brought me back safely

from her love, so I cried amid her women in the public
auditorium when meaning slipped out of the words.
I was bidding the last summer farewell as a poet bids
a love eulogy farewell: What will I write
after her to another lover ... if I love another?
In my language, there is seasickness. In my language there is
a mysterious departure from Tyre. Neither Carthage reins it in, nor
the wind of the southern barbarians. I came
in a seagull’s fashion, and pitched my new tent
on a heavenly slope. Right here I'll write
a new chapter in the eulogies to the sea: mythic
is my language, and my heart a blue wave grazing
a rock: “Don’t give me, O sea, what I don’t deserve
of song. And don't be, O sea, more or less than song!” ...
My language takes me in flight to our eternal unknown,
behind a present broken on two sides: If
you look behind you Sodom will awaken the place
to its sin ... and if you look ahead you will awaken
history, so beware of the sting on either side ... and follow me.
I tell it: My stay in Tunis is between
two ranks: my home here is not my home, nor
is my exile like exile. So here I am bidding her farewell,
and the sea air wounds me ... the night’s musk wounds me,
and the jasmine necklace in the words people say wounds me,
and also the contemplation in the spiral path to the suburbs of the Andalus
wounds me ...
Don't Apolegize for What You've Done 273

‫المهجور‬ ‫ح‬
‫ريا‬
‫سد ف‬
‫ممقع‬
‫لي‬
‫بيمعد في المسرح المهجور في‬

‫‏‪ a gaal 33 Sow‬دقوٌركذتأ‬
‫الفصلّ الأخيرَ بلا حنينٍ ‪ ...‬لا لشيء‬
‫بل لأنَّ مسارحيّة لمتكن مكتوبة‬
‫بمهارة ‪...‬‬
‫فوضى‬
‫كيوميّات حرب اليائسينء وسيرةٌ ذاتيةٌ‬
‫لغرائز المتفرجين‪ .‬مُمَثُلُون يمَزْقون تُصَوصَهُم‬
‫ويفتّشون عن المؤلف بينناء نحن الشهودٌ‬
‫الجالسين على مقاعدنا‪.‬‬
‫أقول لجاري الفنان‪ :‬لا تُشهر سلاحك‪.‬‬
‫وانتظرُء إلاإذا كنتَ ‪bW‬‏‬
‫دل‬
‫ويسألني‪ :‬وهل أنت الْؤْلّفُ؟‬
‫‪Sites‬‬
‫ونجلس خائقين‪ .‬أقول‪ :‬كن بطلاً‬
‫حيادياً لتنجو من مصير واضح‬
‫فيقول‪ :‬لا بَطلٌ يموت مبَجَلاً في المشهد‬
‫الثاني‪ .‬سأنتظر البقيّة‪ .‬ربما أجريتٌ‬
‫تعديلاً على أحد الفصول‪ .‬وربما أصلحتٌ‬
‫‏‪ٌ aio le‬ديدحلا يقوخإب‬
‫فأقول‪ :‬أنتَ )‪31$‬‬
‫‪ 7‬أنا وأنتَ مؤلّفان معان وشاهدان‬
‫أقول‪ :‬ما شأني؟ أنا متفرج‬

‫فيقول‪ :‬لا متفرّجٌ في باب هاوية ‪ ...‬ولا‬
‫‏‪ Jol‬حياديٌ هنا‪ .‬وعليك أن تختار‬
‫دوركَ في النهاية‬
‫فأقول‪ :‬تنقصنى البداية» ما البداية؟‬

I Have a Seat in the Abandoned Theater
I have a seat in the abandoned theater

in Beirut. I might forget, and I might recall
the final act without longing ... not because of anything
other than that the play was not written
skillfully ...
Chaos
as in the war days of those in despair, and an autobiography
of the spectators’ impulse. The actors were tearing up their scripts
and searching for the author among us, we the witnesses
sitting in our seats
I tell my neighbor the artist: Don’t draw your weapon,
and wait, unless you're the author!
—No
Then he asks me: And you are you the author?
—No
So we sit scared. I say: Be a neutral
hero to escape from an obvious fate
He says: No hero dies revered in the second
scene. I will wait for the rest. Maybe I would
revise one of the acts. And maybe I would mend
what the iron has done to my brothers
So I say: It is you then?
He responds: You and I are two masked authors and two masked
witnesses
I say: How is this my concern? I’ma spectator
He says: No spectators at chasm’s door ... and no
one is neutral here. And you must choose
your part in the end
So I say: I’m missing the beginning, what’s the beginning?

‫‪phe‬‬
‫في الشام‪ :‬أعرفٌ مَنْ أنا وسط الزحام‪.‬‬

‫‪ ..‬علي‪.‬‬ ‫‪.‬دأ‬‫ةيي‬ ‫ألاف‬
‫رتلأ‬
‫مَرٌ‬
‫يَدُلْني قَم‬
‫بكو ‪oap‬‏ ‪ sbL‬قمع الباشقيية‬
‫ثم نام‪ybb .‬‏‪ poG‬اناكو‬
‫مكسورة‪sii .‬‏ شعرٌ‪ed 89‬‏‬
‫هناك عند نهاية= الطويل ‪seloS‬‏‬
‫مثلي سَيُوقدُ شمعةٌ» من ‪epod‬‏ ‪lO‬‬
‫‏‪ Gain‬عن عباءته الظلام‪ .‬تَدُلُني رَيْحَانةٌ‬
‫أرخت جدائلها على الموق وكات الرخام‪.‬‬
‫«هنا يكون ‪hteS‬‏ ‪seo ttL eT‬‬
‫الشعراء‪ ,‬عُذْريِين كانوا أم‪]leG‬‏‬
‫صَوَفْيينَكانوا ‪le‬‏‪5198‬‬
‫علي‪:‬إذا‬
‫أتَلَفْتَ عرفت نفسَكَء فاختلف تجد‬
‫خْ‬
‫‏‪ AISI‬على زهور اللوز شقَافاً ويُقْرِئْكَ‬
‫السماوي السلام‪ .‬أنا أنا في الشام‪,‬‬
‫لا شَبهِي ولاشَبحي‪ .‬أناوغدي يدا‬
‫بيد ُرَكْرفُ في جناحي طائر‪ .‬في الشام‬
‫‏‪ ably Le gal‬يف نْضحةلازغلا‬
‫ماشياً‪ .‬لا فرق بين نهارها والليل‬
‫‏‪ ass‬أشغال الحمام‪ .‬هناك أرض‬
‫‏‪ٌ 389 dle gl‬ريست'ءامسلا ٌةيراغ‬
‫وتَسكن بين ‪laJ‬‏ الشام ‪9‬‬

In Syria
In Syria, I know who | am in the crowd.

A moon glittering in a woman’s hand guides me ... to me.
A stone after ablution in the jasmine’s tears guides me
then sleeps. The impoverished Barada guides me like a broken
cloud. And a heroic poetry guides me to me:
there at the end of the long tunnel besieged
like me he will light a candle, from his wound, so you can see him
shake the darkness off his aba. A basil plant that loosened
its braids over the dead guides me and warms up the marble.
“Here death is a sleeping love” and the poets
chaste be they or licentious,
Sufi or atheist,
guide me to me: If
you differ you know yourself, so differ to find
speech diaphanous on almond blossoms, and for the heavenly
to bestow on you salaam. I am me in Syria,
none is my like or my ghost. My tomorrow and I are hand
in hand fluttering in a bird’s wings. In Syria
I walk in my sleep, I sleep in the gazelle’s lap
walking. No difference between its night and day
except for some pigeons running their errands. There
the land of dream is high, but the sky walks naked
and resides among the people of Syria ...

‫‪tGp-‬‬
‫‪‎‬يف ‪ GLY pac‬الساعاتٌ‪... ‎‬‬

‫‏‪ JS‬دقيقة ذكرى تجدّدُها طيورٌ النيل‪.‬‬
‫‏‪Sau Grill SIU GS tin LHS‬‬
‫الإله‪ /‬الشمس‪LY .‬‏‪ TO‬يُسَمَي ‪sdnih‬‏‬
‫أحداً‪« .‬أنا أبنُ النيل ‏ هذا الاسم‬
‫يكفيني»‪ .‬ومنذ اللحظة الأولى تُسَمُي‬
‫نفسك «ابن النيل» ‪ 3‬تَتجنّب ‪lia‬‏‬
‫الثقيل‪ .‬هناك أحياءً وموق يقطفون‬

‫معاً غيومَ القُطْنِ من أرض الصعيد‪.‬‬
‫ويزرعون القمحّ في الدلتا‪ .‬وبين الحيٍّ‬
‫والمَيْتَ الذي فيه تناوبٌ حارسين على‬
‫الدفاع عن النخيل‪ .‬وكُلُ ‪ge‬‏ ‪elbaG‬‬
‫‏‪ hs‬إذ مشي على أطراف روحكَ في‬
‫دهاليز الزمان» كأنّ أُمُكَ ‪eaj‬‏‬
‫قد وَلَدَنْكَ زَهْرَة وتسء قبل الولادة‪,‬‬
‫هل عرفت الآن نفسَكَ؟ ‪oap‬‏ ‪seluc‬‬
‫خلسةً معنفسها‪« :‬لا شيء يشبهني»‪.‬‬
‫وترفو معطف الأبديّة المثقوب من‬
‫إحدى جهات الريح‪SE .‬‏ هناك‪ .‬كان‬
‫الكائنُ البشريٌ يكتب حكمة اموت ‪ /‬الحياة‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ us‬شيء ‏‪ «gible‬مَقُمرٌ‪ ...‬إلا القصيدة‬
‫في التفاتتها إلى غدها تُفَكّر بالخلود‪.‬‬
‫ولا تقول سوى هشاشتها أمام النيل‪...‬‬

In Egypt
In Egypt, the hours are never alike ...

Each minute is a memory the Nile birds renew.
I was there. The Human Being was inventing
the God / the Sun. No one has a name
for himself. “I am the son of the Nile—this name
is enough for me.” And from the first instance you call
yourself “Son of the Nile” to avoid the heavy void.
Over there the living and the dead
pick cotton clouds together in Upper Egypt,
and plant the wheat in the Delta. And between the living
and the dead there is the handover between two guards
defending the palm trees. And everything is sentimental
within you, when you walk on your soul’s tiptoes
in time’s corridors, as if your mother Egypt
had given birth to you as a lotus flower first, before birth,
so do you know now who you are? Egypt sits
with herself in secret: “Nothing resembles me.”
And darns eternity’s perforated cloak while facing
one of the paths of the wind. I was there. Mankind
was writing the wisdom of Death / Life.
And everything is sentimental, moonstruck ... except the poem
attending to its tomorrow and thinking of immortality—
it speaks only of its frailty before the Nile ...

‫أتذكر السّيّاب‬
‫‪w‬‬
‫‏‪ٌ OLAS! Sasi‬حرصي يف جيلخلا ‪:‬ىَدس‬

‫«عراق» عراق» ليس سوى العراق‪»...‬‬
‫ولا يرد سوى الصدى‪.‬‬
‫أتذكر السَيّابَء في هذا الفضاء السومريّ‬
‫تغلبث أنثى على عْقُم السديم‬
‫وأوْرَكتّنا الأرض والمنفى معاً‬
‫‏‪ Sash‬السيّاب‪ ...‬إن الشّعر يُولَدُ في العراق‬
‫‪383‬عراقياًلتصبحشاعراًياصاحبي! ‏ '‬
‫أتذكر ‪dal‬‏ لميَجد الحياةً كما‬
‫تخيّلَ بين دجلةً والفرات» فلم يفكر‬
‫مثلّ جلجامش بأعشاب الخلود‪,‬‬
‫‪lass dolH 58 bg‬‬
‫‏‪ doh Glau Sasi‬نع يبارومح‬
‫الشرائع § ‪Sb‬‏ سَوءَةٌ‬
‫ويسير نحو ضريحه متصوفاً‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ Stead! Sash‬نيح ٌباصأ ىممحلاب‬
‫وأهذي‪ :‬إخوق كانوا يُعدُون العَشَاءَ‬
‫لجيش هولاكو‪ .‬ولا خَدَمْ سواهم ‪ ...‬إخوق!‬
‫‏‪Glut Sash‬مل مّلَحَت امب ال‬
‫يستحق النْحلُ من قُوت‪ .‬وم نحلم‬
‫بأكثرٌ من يدين صغيرتين تصافحان غيابنا‪.‬‬
‫أتذكر السيّاب‪ .‬حدذادون موق ينهضون‬
‫من القبور ويصنعون قيودنا‪.‬‬
‫أتذكر السيّابٌ‪ .‬إِنَّالشعر تجربَةٌ ومنفى‬
‫توأمان‪ .‬ونحن م نحلم بأكثر من‬
‫حياة كالحياة» وأن موت على طريقتنا‬
‫‏»‪She‬‬
‫»‪Sls‬‬
‫« ليس سوى العراقٌ ‪»...‬‬

I Recall al-Sayyab
I recall al-Sayyab, screaming at the Gulf in vain:

“Iraq, Iraq, nothing but Iraq ...”
and only echo replies.
I recall al-Sayyab: In this Sumerian space
a female overcame nebula’s sterility
and bequeathed us land and exile together.
I recall al-Sayyab ... Poetry is born in Iraq,
be an Iraqi to become a poet, my friend!
I recall al-Sayyab, he didn’t find life
as he imagined between the Tigris and the Euphrates,
but didn’t think like Gilgamesh of immortality herbs,
and didn’t think of the judgment day that follows ...
I recall al-Sayyab, taking from Hammurabi
the tablets to cover his loins,
then walking toward his tomb, a Sufi.
I recall al-Sayyab, when I am stricken with fever
and I hallucinate: My brothers were preparing dinner
for Hulagu’s army, they were the only servants ... my brothers!
I recall al-Sayyab, we didn’t dream of what
bees don’t deserve of sustenance. And we didn’t dream
of more than two handshakes that greet our absence.
I recall al-Sayyab. Dead blacksmiths rise
from the graves and forge our chains.
I recall al-Sayyab. Poetry is the twins, experience
and exile. And we didn’t dream of more than
a life like life, and that we die in our own style
“Iraq,
Iraq,
nothing but Iraq ...”
Don't Apolegize for What You’ve Done 1

‫‏‪ II‬طريق الساحل‬
II. THE COASTAL ROAD
‫طريق يودي إلى مصرّ والشا‬
‫[قلبي يرن من الجهَتَين]‬
‫طريق المسافر مِنْ‪ . .‬وإلى نفسه‬
‫‏]‪dts, Ane‬اوىدم ]ًرئاط‬
‫طريقٌ الصواب ‪ ...‬طريق الخطأ‬
‫‏]‪ thst Jel‬اهنكل ]ةبرجتلا‬
‫طريق الصعود إلى شُرفات السماء _‬
‫[وأعلى وأعلى‪ .‬وأبعدذ]‬
‫طريقٌ النزول إلىأاوللأضٍ ‪, 0‬‬
‫[إن السماء رماديّة]‬
‫طررى التامل في ‪doC‬‏‬
‫[فالحت قد يجعل الذتت نادل مقهى]‬
‫طريق السنونو ورائحةٌ البرتقال على البحرٍ‬
‫‏]‪] 58 So I‬ةحئارلا‬
‫طريق الثَوابلٍ مولاح والقمح ‏ _‬
‫[والحرب أيضا]‬
‫طريق السلام المُمَوْج بِالقّدْسٍ‬
‫[بعد انتهاء الحروب صليبيّة الأقنعة]‬
‫طريقٌ التجارة والأبجديّة‪ ,‬والحالمينَ‬
‫[بتأليف سيرة ترْعَلّة]‬
‫طريق ‪eba‬‏يريدون ترميم تاريخهم‬
‫[بغد مُودّع في البنوك]‬
‫طريق التّحَرْشٍ بالميثولوجها "‬
‫[فقد تَسْتَجِيبٌ إلى التكنولوجيا]‬
‫طريقٌ التخليء قليلاً عن الإيديولوجيا‬
‫المصلحة العَوْلَمَةُ]‬
‫طريقٌ الصراع على أي شيء‬
‫[ولو كان حِنْسٌ الملاك]‬
‫طريقٌ الوفاق على كُلَّ شيء ‪,‬‬
‫[ولو كان أنثى الحجر]‬
‫طريق الإخاء المُخَاتل‬
‫[بين الغزال وصيّاده]‬
‫طريقٌ يدل على الشيء أو عكسه‬
‫‏]‪ LED ba‬نيب ةّياتكلا ]ةراعتسالاو‬
‫طريق الخيول التي ‪esiW‬‏ ‪!buL‬‬
‫[والطائرات ‪]...‬‬

A road that leads to Egypt and Syria
(my heart rings on either side)
The traveler's road from ... and to himself
(my body is a feather and the expanse is a bird)
The right road ... the wrong road
(I might have been wrong, but it’s the experience)
The road of ascension to heaven's balconies
(and higher and higher, and farther)
The road of descent to the first of the earth
(the sky is ashen)
The road of contemplating love
(because love might turn a wolf into a waiter)
The road of the swallow and the orange scent by the sea
(longing is the scent)
The road of spices and salt and wheat
(and war too)
The road of peace crowned with Jerusalem
(after the end of Crusader-masked wars)
The road of trade and alphabet, and of the dreamers
(who dream of writing the biography of a turtledove)
The road of invaders who want to renovate their history
(with a tomorrow deposited in the banks)
The road of provoking mythology
(for it might respond to technology)
The road of slightly giving up ideology
(for the sake of globalization)
The road of conflict over anything
(even if it resembled an angel)
The road of agreement over everything
(even if it were a female stone)
The road of wily brotherhood
(between the gazelle and its hunter)
A road that guides to the thing or its opposite
(dueto hypersimile between metaphor and metonymy)
The road of horses perished by the distances
(and by the planes ...)

‫طريق البريد القديم المُسَجَل‬
‫‪ ]SJ‬الرسائل مُودَعَة في خزائن‪[pa ‎‬‬
‫طريق يطول ويقصر‪‎‬‬
‫[وَفْقَ مزاج أبي الطيّب المُتَتبّي]‬
‫طريق الإلهات مُنْحَنيات الظّهُور‬
‫[كرايات جيش تَفَهْفَرْ]‬
‫طريقٌ ‪sta‬‏ ‪ SEIG‬عائتها بالفراشة‬
‫[فاللازَوَرْدْ يُجَردُها من ملابسها]‬
‫طريق الذين يحيرهم ‪sea‬‏ زهرةلوز‬
‫[لأنْ الكثافة شَفافة]‬
‫طريق طويلٌ بلا أتبياء ‪| , 1‬‬
‫[فقد آثّروا الطَرّقَ الوَعرّة]‬
‫طريق يؤدّي إلى ‪BIJ‬‏ ‪!uC‬‬
‫تحت حديقة مُسْتَؤْطئَّة]‬
‫‏‪ Leg Sy5b‬يلع قيرطلا‬‫و‬
‫الطَرْقَ الواضحةً!‬

The road of ancient certified mail
(all letters are deposited in Caesar’s safe)
A road that lengthens and shortens
(according to al-Mutanabbi’s whims)
The road of goddesses with bent backs
(like a retreating army’s banners)
A road for a young girl who covers her pubes with a butterfly
(because the lapis lazuli takes off her dress)
The road of those puzzled by describing an almond blossom
(since density is transparent)
A long road without prophets
(for they chose the rugged road)
A road that leads to the house rubble
(below a settlement’s garden)
A road that blocks the road for me
so my ghost screams at me:
If
you want
to get
to
your indomitable self
don’t
follow
the obvious roads!

‫‪ .1‬لا كما يفعل السائح الأجنبي‬
III. NOT AS A FOREIGN TOURIST DOES
‫‪ٌ‎‬تْيَشَم ‪cll! yo GAS be de‬‬
‫َبوَص ‪‎‬لامشلا ‪...‬‬
‫ثلاث كنائس مهجورةٌ‬
‫سنديانٌ على ‪eleH‬‏‬
‫قُرىٌ كنقاط على ‪ieS‬‏ ‪esaC‬‬
‫وفتاةٌ على العشب تقرأ ما‬
‫‏‪ jad duds‬ول ‏‪ot cas‬‬
‫كلُونْتٌ أكبرَ لاستسلم الذئبٌ لي!‬
‫‏‪ ¢ se‬أكن عاطفياً ولا «دون جوان»‬

‫فلم أتمدّد على العشبء لكنني‬
‫‏‪ 3 A‬السرّ‪ :‬لو‪SE‬‏أصغر‬
‫‪‎‬ول ‪Lale gapte rol CaS‬‬
‫لشاركتها الماء والسندويشات»‪‎‬‬
‫‪£58cashJaa AStylales‬‬
‫‪ sb‬كما يفعل الساتخ الأجنبي‪sn ‎‬‬
‫معي كاميراء ودليلي كتابٌ صغيرٌ‪‎‬‬
‫يضم قصائدٌ في وَضْف هذا المكان‪‎‬‬
‫لأكثر من‪ slp ‎‬أي‪‎‬‬
‫أحس بأني أنا المتكلّم فيها‬
‫ولولا الفوارقٌ بين القوافي لقُلْتٌ‪:‬‬
‫أنا آخري‬
‫‪ ...‬كنت أتبع وصف ‪ILS‬‏ ‪mil‬‬

‫شَجَرٌ زائدٌء وهنا قمر ناقص‬
‫وكما في القصائد‪ :‬ينبتٌ عشبٌ‬
‫على حَجَرٍ يتوجع‪ .‬لا هو حلم‬
‫‪2‬‬ ‫‪5‬‬ ‫‪2‬‬ ‫فو‬ ‫وم‬
‫ولا هو رمز يدل على طائرٍ وطني»‬
‫ولكنه‪tod‬‏أينعثٌ‪...‬‬
‫خطوة‪ .‬خطوتان‪ .‬ثلانٌ ‪ ...‬وَحَدْتٌ الربيع‬
‫قصيراً علىالمشمشيّات‪ .‬ما كذتٌ أرنو‬
‫إلى زّهْرة اللوز حتى تنائرتٌ ‪eb‬‏ ‪yG‬‬
‫غْمَازَتَين‪ .‬مَشَيْتُ لأتبع ما تَركته الطيور‬
‫الصغيرةُ من نَمَش في القصائد‪/‬‬

I walked on what remains of the heart,
toward the north ...
three abandoned churches,
holm oak on either side,
villages like dots erased from their letters,
and a young girl on the grass reading what
looks like poetry: If I were older,
if I were older, the wolf would have surrendered to me!
... |wasn’t sentimental, or a Don Juan

I didn’t lie down on the grass beside her, but I did
say to myself: If I were younger
if | were twenty years younger
I would have shared the sandwiches and the water with her,
and taught her how to touch the rainbow
I walked, as a foreign tourist does ...

a camera with me, and my guidea little book
containing poems that describe this place
by a few foreign poets,
I feel as if 1 were the speaker in them
and had it not been for the difference in rhyme
I would have said: I am another
... Lused to follow the description of the place. Here

are excess trees, and here is a missing moon
and as in poems, grass sprouts
over an aching stone. It is not a dream
nor is it a symbol that leads to a national bird,
it is a cloud that has ripened ...
I took one step, two steps, three ... I found spring
too short for the apricots. As soon as I gazed
into the almond blossom Iscattered between
two dimples. I walked to follow what the little
birds had left of freckles in the poem /

‫انعكاساً لصورته في الأساطير»‬
‫‏‪ dio of‬نم تافص ؟مالكلا‬
‫وهل صورةٌ الشيء أقوى‬
‫ل‬
‫لولا مخيّلتي قال ليآخري‪:‬‬
‫‏‪ Sai‬لست هنا!‬
‫لمأكن واقعياً‪ .‬ولكنني لا‬

‫أُصدّقٌ تاريحّ «إلياذة» العسكريء‬
‫هو الشعن أسطورةٌ خَلَقَتْ واقعاً‪...‬‬
‫وتساءَلْتٌ‪ :‬لو كانت الكاميرا والصحافة‬
‫شاهدةً فوق أسوار طروادةً الآسيوية‪,‬‬
‫هل كان «هوميز» ‪isa‬‏ غيرالأوديسة؟‪/‬‬
‫‪ ...‬أْمْسكُ هذا الهواء الشهيّ»‬

‫‏‪ lg‬الجليل‪ .‬بكلتا يدي‬
‫وأْمْضَعُهُ مثلما يمضَّحُ الماعزُ الجبلي‬
‫أعالي ‪!elO‬‏‬
‫أمشيء أعرّف نفسي إلى نفسها‪:‬‬
‫أنت» يا نفسء إحدى صفات المكان‬
‫ثلاث كنائس مهجورةٌ‬

‫مآذن مكسورةٌ‪.‬‬
‫سنديانٌ على الجانبين»‬
‫قُرىٌ كنقاط على ‪loB‬‏ ‪epaC‬‬
‫وفتادٌ على العشب تسأل طيفاً‪:‬‬
‫لماذا ‪SyS‬‏ وم تنتظرني‬
‫يقول لها‪ :‬م أكنْ حاضراً‬
‫عندما ضاق ثوبٌ الحرير بتفاحتين‪.‬‬
‫فغنّيء كما كنت قبل قليل» تُحَنْين‪:‬‬
‫ك‪1‬‬ ‫ىكل ‪1‬‬

Then I wondered: How does a place become
a reflection of its image in myth,
or an adjective of speech?
And is a thing’s image stronger
than the thing itself?
If it weren’t for my imagination
my other self would have told me:
You are not here!
I wasn’t realistic. But I don’t believe

the Iliad’s military history,
it is a poem, a myth creating reality ...
And I wondered: Had the camera and the media
been witnesses above the walls of Asian Troy,
would Homer have written other than the Odyssey?
... Lhold this delicious air,

the Galilee air, with both of my hands
and I chew it as mountain goats chew
the tops of bushes,
I walk, I introduce myself to itself:
You, O self, are one of the adjectives of the place
Three abandoned churches,

broken minarets,
holm oak on either side,
villages like dots erased from their letters,
and a young girl on the grass asking a specter:
Why did you grow up and not wait for me?
He tells her: I wasn’t present
when the silk robe got too tight for two apples,
so sing, as you were singing a while ago:
If I were older, if I were older ... /
As for me, I will enter the mulberry trees

where the silkworm makes me into a silk thread,
Don’t Apoloyize for What You’ve Done 293

‫أة من‬
‫فأدخلُ في إمبررةأ‬
‫الأساطيرء‬ ‫كما‬
‫ثم أطير كشال مع الريح‪...‬‬

then I’ll enter a woman’s needle in
one of the myths
and fly like a shawl with the wind ...

‫نر‪/‬‬
‫ع‬ ‫شم‬
‫ليت‬
‫ا‪ .‬ب‬
‫‪1‬‬
‫[في ذكرى أمل دنقل]‬

IV. A POETRY STANZA /
THE SOUTHERNER’S HOUSE
in memory of Amal Donqul

‫واقفاً مَعَهُ تحت نافذة‪.‬‬
‫‪de JI! obs dati‬‬
‫‪,‎ aks‬ةّيدبألا ‪a EJs‬‬
‫قد تغيْرتَ يا صاحبي ‪ ....‬وَانْمَطَرْتَ‬
‫‏‪gi Gohl dels Go i‬‬
‫ولكنها لا تحرّكٌ صرختك الخاطفةٌ‬
‫قال لي‪:‬عشت قرب حياتي‬

‫‪3‬‬ ‫‪-te‬‬ ‫‪3‬‬ ‫‪eo‬‬
‫‪oe‬‬ ‫‪5 3‬‬ ‫‪ae‬‬
‫ألغيابُ يرفٌ كزوجي حمام على النيل‪...‬‬

‫‏‪ BSI! Brash LEE‬لوح لعف ‪...‬عراضملا‬
‫‏‪ Leo US‬ىلعو‏‪jus bods bie‬‬
‫داٌ من الشيء إلا‬ ‫نمضراًي‪ .‬ل‬
‫غا‬
‫شفافيّة الشيء‪ :‬حدَّق ثَرَالورد‬
‫أسود في الضوء‪ .‬واحلّم ‪lage 53‬‏‬
‫في العتمة الوارفةٌ ‪...‬‬
‫ألجنوي يحفظ درب الصعاليك عن‬

‫ظهر قلب‪ .‬ويُشبههم في سليقتهم‬
‫وارتجال المدى‪ .‬لا «هناك» له‪.‬‬
‫لا «هنا»‪ .‬لا عناوين للفوضوي‬
‫ولا مشْجَبٌ للكلام‪ .‬يقول‪ :‬النظام‬
‫احتكامٌ الصدى للصدى‪ .‬وأنا صوتٌ‬
‫نفسي المشاع‪ :‬أنا هو ‪tsE‬‏ ‪ ydoB‬أنا‪.‬‬
‫وينامُ على دَرَج الفجر‪ :‬هذا هو‬
‫الست بيت من الشعرء بيت الجنوي‪.‬‬
‫لكنّهُ صارمُ في نظام قصيدته‪ .‬صانع‬
‫بارع ‪siad‬‏الوزن من صخب العاصفة‬

Standing together beneath a window,
contemplating the tattoos of shadows
on eternity’s bank, I said to him:
You have changed, my friend ... and you have been cleft
because here is death’s bicycle approaching
yet it doesn’t move your rapid scream
He said to me: I lived near my life

as it is,
nothing proves me living
and nothing proves me dead
and I didn’t interfere with what the birds do to me
and with what the night carries
of passion’s ailment
Absence flutters like a pair of pigeons over the Nile ...

informing us of a disagreement among the footsteps
around the present tense ...
He and I were, together, and separately, prompting a mysterious
tomorrow. We wanted from the thing only
the transparency of the thing: stare and you will see the rose
black in the light. Dream and you will see the light
in the lush darkness ...
The southerner knows the path of vagabonds

like the back of his heart. And mimics their instinct
and their improvisation of space. No “there” for him,
no “here,” no address for the chaotic
and no clothes rack for speech. He says: Discipline
is echo’s appeal to echo, and I am my self’s
radiant sound: J am he you and we are I.
And he sleeps on dawn’s doorsteps: this is
the house, a house of poetry, the southerner’s stanza.
Yet he is stern with his poem’s form. A brilliant
craftsman who saves meter from the roar of the storm

‫ألغيابٌ على حاله‪ .‬قَمَرٌ عابر فوق‬
‫خُوقُو يُذْهُبٌ سَفْفَ النخيل‪ .‬وسائحةٌ‬
‫تملأ الكاميرا بالغياب‪ .‬وتسألٌ‪ :‬ما‬
‫الساعةٌ الآن؟ قال لها‪ :‬الساعةٌ‬
‫الآنّ عَشْرَ دقائق ما بعد سبعة‬
‫آلاف عام من الأبجدية‪ .‬ثم تنهّد‪:‬‬
‫‏‪ digit! pao‬رضم ‏!‪ٌ dig‬ةلوغشم‬
‫بالخلود‪ .‬وأمًا أنا ‪ ...‬فمريض بهاء لا‬
‫‏‪ sal‬إلا بصحتهاء وبكسرة خبز‬
‫غدي الناشفة‬
‫شاعرء شاعر من سلآلّة أهل‬

‫الخسارة‪ ,‬و ابن وفيّلريف المساكين‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ UTS‬عريء ومزمورة عربي ‪٠‬‏ وقُربَانُهُ‬
‫عري‪ .‬وفي قلبه زَّمَنانِ غريبان‪,‬‬
‫يبتعدان ويقتربان‪ :‬غدٌ لا يكف‬
‫عن الاعتذار‪« :‬نسيتك» لا تنتظرني»‪.‬‬
‫وأمس يجرٌ مراكبٌ فرعونَ نحو الشمال‪:‬‬
‫«انتظرتكَ» ‪boS« 83‬‏ قُلْتٌ ‪J‬‏‬
‫أين ‪SE‬‏ ‪SRE fs BJ yy‬‬
‫‪GD‬‬ ‫‪EPS‬‬ ‫‪‎‬د ‪798‬‬
‫أبحث عن حاضري في جناحي سنونوة‬

‫خائفة ‪...‬‬
‫ألجنوي يحملُ تاريحَة بِيَدَيُْهه كحفنة ‪deg‬‏‬

‫ويمشي على نفسه واثقاً من يسوع‬
‫السنابل‪ .‬إِنَّالحياةٌ بديهيّةٌ‪ ...‬فلماذا‬
‫نفسّرها بالأماطير؟ إِنَّالحياة حقيقيّةٌ‬
‫والصفات هي الزائفة‬
‫قال لي في الطريق إلى ليله‪:‬‬
‫حريّةٌ ‪ ...‬وبلغتٌ الرضا الباطنيّ عن‬

‫النفس‪ .‬قلتٌ‪ :‬وهل يُصْلح الشعر‬
‫ما أفسد ‪!of‬‏ فينا وجنكيزخان‬
‫وأحفادةُ العائدون إلى النهر؟‬
‫قال‪ :‬على كَدْرٍحَلّمكَ تتّسع الأرض‪.‬‬
‫والأرضٌ أمٌّالمخيّلة النازفة‬

And absence is as it has been. A moon passing over
Khufu and gilding the roofs of palm trees. And a tourist
woman filling her camera with absence, and asking: What
time is it now? He said to her: It is now
ten minutes past seven
thousand years of the alphabet. Then he sighed:
Delicious Egypt, beautiful Egypt is preoccupied
with immortality. And I ... am sick with her, I
think of nothing but her health, and my tomorrow’s
piece of dried bread
A poet, and a descendant

of the kin of loss, a loyal son to the pacified in the countryside.
His Quran is Arabic, and his Psalms are Arabic, and his Eucharist
is Arabic. And in his heart are two strange times,
drawing near and going far: a tomorrow that doesn’t cease
apologizing: “I forgot about you, don’t wait for me.”
And a yesterday dragging the pharaoh’s boats toward the north:
“I waited for you, but you were late.” I said to him:
Where were you then? He said: I was
looking for my present in a frightened swallow’s wings ...
The southerner carries his history with his hands, like a fistful of wheat,
and walks upon himself, confident of the Christ
in the grains: Life is intuitive ... why then
do we explain it with myth? Life is real
and the adjectives are false
He told me on his way to his night:

Whenever I said: No! God transfigured before me
as freedom ... and I attained the visceral contentment
with the self. I said: And can poetry fix
what the ages broke in us and in Genghis Khan
and in his grandchildren who are coming back to the river?
He said: The land expands as much as your dream’s measure.
And the land is the mother of the bleeding imagination

‫قال في آخر الليل‪ :‬خذني إلى البيت»‬
‫بيت المجاز الأخير ‪...‬‬
‫فإني غريبٌ هنا يا غريبٌ‪,‬‬
‫ولا شيء يُفْرحُني قرب بيت الحبيبٍ‬
‫ولا شيء يجرحني ‪« 3‬طريق الحليب» البعيدة‬
‫‪1‬‬ ‫قلت‪ :‬وماذا عن الروح؟‬
‫قال‪ :‬سَتَجلسقُرْبَ‪elg‬‏‬
‫‪oo TEx gt vs‬‬

‫حساتئحريةاء آكسمفاة ‪.‬ح‪..‬ي‬

At the end of the night he said: Take me to the house,
the house of the last metaphor ...
for I am O stranger a stranger here
and nothing pleases me near my lover’s house
and nothing wounds me in the distant Milky Way
I said: And what about the soul?
He said: It will sit near my life
for nothing proves me living
and nothing proves me dead
it will live, as it is
mystified and blue ...

‫‪ .7‬كحادثة غامضة‬
V. LIKE A MYSTERIOUS INCIDENT
‫في دار بابلو نيرودا‪ .‬على شاطىء‬
‫الباسفيكء تذكُرتٌ يائيس ريتسوس‪.‬‬
‫كانت أثينا ترحبٌ بالقادمين من البحرء‬
‫في مسرح دائري مضاء بصرخة ريتسوس‪:‬‬
‫«آه فلسطيق)»‬
‫‏‪ eb‬التراب»‬
‫‏‪cloud! aul by‬‬
‫ستنتصرين ‪»...‬‬
‫وعائّنيء ثُمّكَدّمني شاهراً شارةً النصر‪:‬‬
‫«هذا اخي»‪.‬‬
‫فَشَعَرْتُ بأني انتصرثٌء وأني انكسرتثٌ‬
‫كقطعة ماس‪ .‬فلم ‪yeG‬‏ ‪ eis‬سوى الضوء‪/‬‬
‫في مطعم دافء‪ ,‬نتبادلٌ بَعَضَ الحنين‬

‫إلى بَكَدَيْنا القديمينء والذكريات عن‬
‫الغد‪ :‬كانت أثينا القديمةٌ أجمل‪.‬‬
‫أما يَبُوسُء فلن تتحمّل أكثر‪ .‬فالجنرال‬
‫استعار قناع النبي ليبكي ويسرق‬
‫دمع الضحايا‪« :‬عزيزي العَذُوً!‬
‫‏‪ had 99 yo ELS‬يودع ٌنيزعلا‬
‫قال ريتسوس‪ :‬لكنْ اسبارطةً انكسرّتٌ‬

‫في مهبّ الخيال الأثيني‪ .‬إِنَّالحقيقة‬
‫والحقّ صنوان ينتصران معاً‪ .‬يا أخي‬
‫في القصيدة! للشعر جسر على‬
‫‏‪ ual‬والغد‪ .‬قد يلتقي ‪lod‬‏ ‪!dda‬‬
‫المُتَعبون مع الخارجين من الميثولوجيا‪.‬‬
‫وقد يشربون النبيذ ‪seL‬‏‬
‫قلتٌ‪ :‬ماالشغر؟ ‪ ...‬ماالشعر في‬
‫‪1‬‬ ‫آخر الأمر؟‬
‫قال‪ :‬هو الحَدَتُ الغامضء الشعرٌ‬
‫يا صاحبي هو ذاك الحنينْ الذي لا‬
‫‏‪ ands‬إذ يجعلُ الشيء طيفاً وإِدْ‬
‫يجعلٌ الظّيْفَ شيئاً‪ .‬ولكنه ‪luj 81‬‏‬
‫حاجَّنا لاقتسام الجمال العمومي‪/...‬‬

In Pablo Neruda’s home, on the Pacific
coast, I remembered Yannis Ritsos.
Athens was welcoming those who had come from the sea,
in an amphitheater illuminated with Ritsos’s scream:
“O Palestine,
name of the soil,
and name of the sky,
you will be victorious ...”
And he embraced me, then introduced me with a victory sign:
“This is my brother.”
So I felt that I had won, and that I had been broken
like a diamond, that nothing but light remained of me /
In a cozy restaurant, we exchanged some affection

about our two old countries, and some memories about
tomorrow: Ancient Athens was more beautiful.
As for Yabous, it cannot take more. The general
has borrowed a prophet’s mask to cry and steal
the victims’ tears: “My dear enemy!
I killed you unintentionally, my dear enemy,
because you bothered my tank” /
Ritsos said: But Sparta broke

in the rise of the Athenian imagination. Truth
and justice are twin brothers that win together. My brother
in poem! poetry has a bridge over
yesterday and tomorrow. The tired fishermen might get together
with those who are exiting mythology.
And together they might have some wine.
I said: What is poetry ... what is poetry in a nutshell?
He said: It is the mysterious incident, poetry,
my friend, is that inexplicable longing
that makes a thing into a specter, and
makes a specter into a thing. Yet it also might explain
our need to share public beauty ... /

‫لا بحر في بيته في أثينا القديمة‪,‬‬
‫حيث الإلهاتُ كن يُدرْنَ شؤون الحياة‬
‫مع البشّر الطيّبين» وحيث إلكترا الفتاةٌ‬
‫تناجي إلكترا العجورٌ وتسألها‪:‬‬
‫‪Slo cal Ui Je‬‬
‫‪ihB‬‏‬ ‫ولالس في بيته الضيّق‬

‫فوق ‪hag‬‏‪ sh‬على الغابة المعدنية‪.‬‬
‫‏)‪ ailog‬كالقصائد ‏‪ Sle‬وعلى أرض‬
‫صالونه ‪SO‬‏ رُصفَّتْ كالحص المنتقى‪.‬‬
‫قال لي‪ :‬عندما يحرنٌ الشعر أرسم‬
‫فوق الحجارة ‪sea‬‏ الفخاخ لصَيّد القَطَاء‬
‫ُلْتُ‪ :‬من أين يأتي إلى صوتك‬
‫البحرء والبحر منشغلٌ عنك يا صاحبي؟‬
‫قال‪ :‬من جهة الذكريات» وإن‬
‫‏‪ Vas‬أتذكر‏‪ di‬كت صغيراً»‪.‬‬
‫ولدت ولي أَخَوانٍ عَدُوَان‪:‬‬
‫سجني وداني‪.‬‬
‫ازعزات الظفولة؟‬ ‫كاز‬
‫في داخلي العاطفيٌ‪ .‬أنا الطفل‬
‫والشيحٌ‪ .‬طفلي ‪dalg‬‏شيخي ‪!delS‬‏‬
‫وشيخييُعلّمطفليالتأملف خيارجي‬
‫خارجي داخلي‬
‫كُلّما ضاق سجني تَوزّعْتُ في الكل‬
‫وانَّسَعَتْ لغتي مثل لُؤُلْوْةِ كلما عسعس‬
‫‪i‬‏‬ ‫الليل ضاءتٌ‪/‬‬
‫وقلت‪ :‬تعلمك امنك الكدر‪ .‬تعلمت‬

‫‏‪Coy SRL de guid Chol as‬‬
‫الحياة» وكيف ‪foiG‬‏ في الأبيض‬
‫المتوسّط بحثاً عن الدرب والبيت أو‬
‫عن تُنَائيّة الدرب والبيت‪/‬‬
‫‏‪ً. J eld dowd KS 6‬ةوهق‬
‫ثم قال‪ :‬سيرجع أوديسكم سالا‬
‫‏‪Ion BE, Bq‬‬

No sea in his house in ancient Athens,
where the goddesses were managing life’s matters
alongside the kind humans, and where Electra the youthful
summons Electra the old and asks her: Are you
really me?
And no night in his narrow ascetic home

above roofs that overlook the metal forest.
His paintings like the poems are watercolor, and on the floor
of his guest room books were paved like chosen pebbles.
He said to me: When poetry is obstinate I sketch
a few traps on the rocks to hunt the grouse.
I said: From where does the sea come
to your voice, when the sea is already preoccupied, my friend?
He said: From the direction of memories, even though
“I don’t remember that I was once young.”
I was born to two enemy brothers:
my prison and my ailment.
And where did you find childhood then, I asked?
In my sentimental interior. I am the child
and the elderly. My child teaches my elderly metaphor.
And my elderly teaches my child contemplation in my exterior.
My exterior is my interior.
Whenever my prison becomes narrow I spread into everything,
and my language widens asa pearl that lights up
each time night is on patrol /
And Isaid: I learned a lot from you. I learned

how to train myself to love
life and how to row in the white
Mediterranean looking for the way and for home or
for the duality of way and home /
He didn’t care for the compliment. He offered me coffee.
Then said: Your Odysseus will come back safe,
he’ll come back ... /

‫في دار يابلو نيرودا‪ .‬على شاطىء‬
‫الياسفيك‪5583C ,‬‏ يا نيس ريتسوس‬
‫في بيته‪ .‬كان في ذلك الوقت يدحُلُ‬
‫إحدى أساطيره‪ .‬ويقول لإحدى الإلهات‪:‬‬
‫‏‪ْ ley go LY IS 5‬نكَتلف‬
‫‏‪lus) ale,‬‬

In Pablo Neruda’s home, on the Pacific
coast, I remembered Yannis Ritsos
at his house. He was entering at that time
one of his myths, saying to one of the goddesses:
If there must be a journey, then let it be
an eternal one!

‫‪ .]7‬ليس للكردي إلا الريح‬
‫[إلى‪ :‬سليم بركات]‬

VI. THE KURD HAS ONLY THE WIND
for Saleem Barakat

‫تدك الكردي» حين أزورة؛ غده‪...‬‬
‫فيبعدهُ بمكنسة الغبار‪ :‬إليكَ عني!‬
‫فالجبالٌ هي الجبالٌ‪ .‬ويشربٌ الفودكا‬
‫لكي ‏‪: le dled! Vin‬دايحلا انأ‬
‫المسافرٌ في مجازي‪ ,‬والكراي ‪BAL‬‏‬
‫إخوتٍ الحَمْقَّى‪ .‬وينفُضُ عن هويّته‬
‫الظلال‪ :‬هويّتي لَعَتي‪ .‬أنا‪ ...‬وأنا‪.‬‬
‫أنا لغتي‪ .‬أنا المنفي في لغتي‪.‬‬
‫وقلبي جمرةٌ الكردي فوق جباله الزرقاء‪/...‬‬
‫نيفُوسيا هوامش في قصيدته‪,‬‬

‫‏‪ JSS‬مدينة أخرى‪ .‬على دراجة‬
‫حمل الجهاتء وقال‪TSG :‬‏ أينما‬
‫وَكَعَثْ بي الجهةٌ الأخيرة‪ .‬هكذا‬
‫اختار الفراعٌ ونام‪ .‬مم‪sele‬‏‬
‫بشيء مُنْذ ‪oJ‬‏ الجن في كلماته‪,‬‬
‫[كلماثة عضلاثة‪ .‬عضلاثة كلماثة]‬
‫فالحالمون يُقَدّسون الأمسء أو‬
‫يَرشُون بَابَ الغد الذهبي ‪...‬‬
‫لاعَدَ لي ولا أمس‪ .‬الهنيهةٌ‬
‫ساحتي البيضاء ‪/...‬‬
‫‏‪ (guia‬كخيمة سيّد القوم الذين‬

‫تبعثروا كالريش‪ .‬سَجَادٌ من الصوف‬
‫المجعد‪ .‬معجم متآكل‪EC .‬‏ ‪seliB‬‬
‫على عَجَل‪ .‬مخدّاتٌ مطرًرّةٌ بإبرة‬
‫دادم للقي سكاكيق مجلخة لذبع‬
‫الطير والخنزير‪ .‬فيديو للإباحيات‪.‬‬
‫باقاتٌ من الشوك المُعادل للبلاغة‪.‬‬
‫صُرَْفَةَ مفتوحةٌ للاستعارة‪ :‬ها هنا‬
‫يَتَبادَلُ الأتراكٌ والإغريق أدوار‬
‫الشتائم‪ .‬تلك تَسلِيتي وتَسليَة‬
‫الجنود الساهرين على حدود‬
‫فكاهةسوداء ‪/...‬‬

The Kurd remembers, when I visit him, his tomorrow ...
so he sweeps it away with a broom: Take it away from me!
because the mountains are the mountains. Then he drinks
vodka for the imagination to remain neutral and says: I am
the traveler in my metaphor, and the mischievous cranes
are my foolish brothers. And he shakes the shadows
off his identity: My identity is my language. 1... and I.
I am my language. I’m the exile in my language.
And my heart is the Kurd’s ember over his blue mountains ... /
Nicosia is in the margin of his poem,

like any other city. On a bicycle
he carried the directions, and said: I stay
wherever the last direction drops me. This
is how I choose space and sleep. He hasn’t dreamt
of anything since the jinn materialized in his words
(his words are his muscles, his muscles are his words)
because the dreamers sanctify yesterday, or
bribe tomorrow’s golden door ...
No tomorrow for him and no yesterday.
The little while is his white plaza ... /
His house is as clean as a rooster’s eye ...

as forgotten as the chieftain’s tent pitched for those
who were scattered like feathers. A carpet of wrinkled
wool. A decaying encyclopedia. Books leather-bound
in a hurry. Flying cushions embroidered by a café waiter’s
needle. Sharpened knives for the slaughter
of pigs and poultry. A licentious videotape.
Bouquets of thorn the equivalent of eloquence.
And an open balcony for metaphor: Right here
the Turks and the Greeks take turns
in cursing. This is my hobby and the hobby
of soldiers who guard at night the borders
of a black comedy ... /

‫ليس مسافراً هذا المسافرء كيفما انَّقَقَ ‪...‬‬
‫الشمالٌ هو الجنوبٌء ‪lsE‬‏ ‪EC‬‬
‫‪ 3‬السراب‪ .‬ولا حقائبٌ للرياح»‬
‫ولا وظيفة للغبار‪ .‬كأنه يُخفي‬
‫الحنينّ إلى سواه فلا يغني ‪...‬‬
‫لا يُكَنِ ‪oy‬‏ ‪ yoJ‬ظله شَجَرَ الأكاسياء‬
‫‏‪... Gude Shi dyad Shy ol‬‬
‫‏‪ CSU! Lely db‬هلأسي ‪:‬لازنلا‬
‫تعال يا ابن الكلب تَفْرَعْ طَبْلَ‬
‫هذا الليل حتى نوقظ الموق‪ .‬فَإِنَّ‬
‫‏‪ SS‬يقتربون من نار الحقيقة‪,‬‬
‫ثم يحترقون مثل فراشة الشكراء‪/‬‬
‫اعاني‪ .‬كلها‬
‫يعرفٌ ما يريد من م‬
‫‏‪ eck‬وللكلمات حيلتهالصيد نقيضهاء‬
‫عبثاً‪ .‬يفض بكارةً الكلمات ثم يعيدها‬
‫بكراًإل قىاموسه‪ .‬ويَسوس خَيْلَ‬
‫الأبجدية كالخراف إلى مكيدته‪ .‬ويحلق‬
‫عانّة أ لّغة‪ :‬انتقمثٌ من الغياب‪.‬‬
‫فَعَلْتُ ما فعل الضبابٌ بإخوتي‪.‬‬
‫‏‪ 8 C3555‬كالطريدة‪ .‬لن أكون‬
‫كما أريد‪ .‬ولن أحبّ الأرض أكثر‬
‫أو أقلّ من القصيدة‪ .‬ليس‬
‫للكردي إلا الريح تسكثة ويسكثها‪.‬‬
‫وتُدْمِئْهُ ويُدْمنهاء لينجو من‬
‫صفات الأرض والأشياء ‪/...‬‬
‫كان يخاطب المجهول‪ :‬يا ابني الحرً!‬

‫يا كبش المتاه السرمدي‪ .‬إذا رأيتَ‬
‫أباك مشنوقاً فلا تُنزِلَهُعن حبل‬
‫السماءء ولا ‪S58‬‏ بقطن نشيدك‬
‫الرَعَوِيّ‪ .‬لا تدفنه يا ابني» فالرياخ‬
‫وصيَّةُ الكرديّ للكردي في منفاة‪,‬‬
‫يا ابني‪ ...‬والنسور كثيرةٌ حولي‬
‫وحولك في الأناضول الفسيح‪.‬‬
‫جنازق سريّةٌ رمزيةٌ‪SAI ,‬‏ الهباه‬

This traveler isn’t a traveler to wherever ...
The north is the south, the east is the west
in the mirage. And the winds have no suitcases,
and no job for dust. As if he were hiding
his longing for another, he doesn’t sing ... doesn’t
sing when the acacia enters his shadow
or when alight rain wets his hair ...
Instead he summons the wolf to a duel:
Come here you son of a bitch and let’s beat this night’s
drum until we awaken the dead. Because
the Kurd approaches truth’s fire,
then burns like a poet’s butterfly /
He knows what he wants of meaning. All of it

in vain. And the words have their tricks in hunting their antitheses,
in vain. He tears the hymens of words then returns them
as virgins to his dictionary. And he leads the horses
of the alphabet to his ruse like sheep, and shaves
the pubes of language: I have taken my revenge on absence.
I did what fog did to my brothers.
And I grilled my heart like a captured prey. I won't be
as I want. And I won't love the land more
or less than the poem. The Kurd
has only the wind to dwell in him and he in it.
To become addicted to him and he to it, to be saved
from the adjectives of the land and of the things ... /
He was addressing the unknown: My free son!

ram of the eternal labyrinth, if you see
your father hanging, don’t cut him down from the sky’s
rope, and don’t shroud him in your pastoral song’s
cotton. Don’t bury him, my son, because the wind
is bequeathed from one Kurd to another Kurd in exile,
son ... and the eagles around you and me
are many in spacious Anatolia.
My funeral is secretive and symbolic, so take the dust

‫إلى مصائره؛ وَجرٌ سماءك الأولى‬
‫إلى قاموسك السحري‪ .‬واحذر‬
‫لَدْعََ ‪aJ‬‏ الجريح فإنه حش‬
‫خرافي‪ .‬وأنت الآن‪ ...‬أنت الآن‬
‫حر يا ابن نفسكَء أنت حر‬
‫من أبيك ولعنة الأسماء‪/..‬‬
‫باللغة انتصرتَ على الهُويّة‬

‫‏‪ «9S Eds‬ةغللاب ٌتمقتنا‬
‫من الغياب‬
‫فقال‪ :‬لن أمضي إلى الصحراء‬
‫‪:‬‬ ‫قُلْتٌ‪ :‬ولا أنا ‪...‬‬
‫ونظرت نحو الريح‪/‬‬
‫عمتٌ مساء‬
‫مد عمناامشاء!‬

to its destiny, and drag your first sky
to your magical dictionary. And beware
of the sting of wounded hope, that mythical
monster. And you are now ... you are now
free, son of yourself, you are free
of your father and of the curse of the names ... /
With language you overcame identity,

I told the Kurd, with language you took revenge
on absence
He said: I won't go to the desert
I said: Neither will 1...
Then I looked toward the wind /
—Good evening
—Good evening!

_
ian
‫لوا ير‬ ‫ا‬

‫ا‬
i
aT a aA
5 ke ee
7 7 oi a
|
aaa
dare eee ‘0
ee
Nis ee
my e
> saa 1
ee ‫و‬‎ 0
. ‫لالا‬‎ ‫وا‬
Notes
WE WERE MISSING A PRESENT
The lines “so I am not of the east / and I am not of the west, / nor am I an olive tree
shading two verses in the Quran” borrow from a famous verse in the twenty-fourth sira
in the Quran that describes the light of God: “... as a niche inaglass, the glass as if it
were a brilliant star lit from a blessed tree, an olive, not of the east or of the west, whose
oil is near lighting, although a fire never touched it ...”
SONNET I
Darwish’s actual “pronoun revealed to double the ‘I’” is “to be the revelation of the Ana’s
nin in its dual form.” The Ana is the “I.” The dual form is a unique construct in Arabic:
the letter niin (equivalent to the letter N), when preceded by a vowel, forms a suffix that
indicates whether the nominative case is dual or plural.
The niin is also one of the constituents of the taf’eelah, the basic unit of Arabic pros-
ody. And its phonic ring is frequently used as an affirmative accent, or inflection, added
to the ends of words.
YOUR NIGHT IS OF LILAC
The word for night in Arabic is lail: Your Lail Is of Lilac.

“Jahili poetry,” also known as Al-Mu’allagat (“the suspended ones”), refers to the seven
poems that were suspended from the walls of the Kaaba in Mecca, before the message
of Islam. Jahili means “of-the-ignorant,” and denotes the pre-Islamic tribal era. Imru’
el-Qyss (500-540) is one of those seven poets, and arguably the best among them. He
was a prince of Kinda who ledalife of sensual pleasure, but when he failed to avenge
the murder of his father, the king, he traveled to Constantinople to ask the Byzantine
emperor for help. He was placated with the nominal governance of Palestine, but died
shortly thereafter, wretchedly, of an ulcerative skin disease rumored to be the result
of poison placed inside his aba/cloak. A famous section in Imru’ el-Qyss's mu'allaqah
begins: “And a night, like the sea waves, has slowly let down its veil over me,” and ends
four stanzas later with: “as if its stars were anchored with linen ropes to solid stone.”
TAKE MY HORSE AND SLAUGHTER IT ...
Andalus is Arabic for Andalusia, the region of southern Spain where Muslim Arabs
created a pluralistic civilization throughout the Middle Ages which was pivotal for the
Renaissance. The brutal expulsion and cleansing of the Muslims and Jews from the An-
dalus began in the thirteenth century, and was effectively completed by 1492. Darwish
has frequently visited the Andalus in his poetry: “I was not a passerby in the words of
singers ... I was / the words of singers, the peace of Athens and Persia, an east embrac-
ing a west / in the departure to one essence” (from “Eleven Planets at the End of the
Andalusian Scene,” 1992).
Notes 321
INANNA’S MILK
Inanna is the foremost deity of ancient Mesopotamia, and perhaps the first goddess of
recorded human civilization. In Sumerian she is the “Lady of Heaven.” In Akkadian, she
is Ishtar.
Nebuchadnezzar 11 is the king under whose reign Babylon’s Hanging Gardens be-
came one of the marvels of the world. He conquered Palestine and Syria and, in biblical
narrative, was responsible for the Exodus.
NO MORE AND NO LESS

Qyss Ibn el-Mulawah and Laila were lovers in the seventh century. When Laila’s fam-
ily turned down Qyss’s proposal for marriage, and she was married off to another man,
Qyss became progressively mad (majnoon). His incessant, forthright, and sometimes ex-
plicit verse forced the tribe to ostracize him in order to protect Laila’s honor. He died
a wanderer in the desert. He is known primarily by his beloved’s name: Qyss Laila or
Majnoon Laila. The name Laila is a derivative of lail (night), and became a symbol of the
beloved in Arabic and Islamic poetry and culture.
WEDDING SONG
The actual title is “Zafaf Song.” Zafaf is the processional celebration of the bride and
groom, the commencement ritual in a wedding.
TWO STRANGER BIRDS IN OUR FEATHERS
“Youssef” refers to the biblical character Joseph, son of Jacob.
THE SUBSISTENCE OF BIRDS

Muwashah is a form of postclassical Arabic poetry sung in stanzas. Its composition was a
prominent art form in the Andalusian era. It is still popular today.
Samarkand is a city in Uzbekistan that dates back to before Alexander the Great, who
conquered it. In the eighth century, the Muslim Arabs established it as a cultural center,
before it was destroyed by the Mongol invasion in the thirteenth century.
MAYBE, BECAUSE WINTER IS LATE
Nahawand is one of the musical scales in Arabic, borrowed from the Persian; it is also the
name of a region in Iran.
JAMEEL BOUTHAINA AND I

Jameel and Bouthaina lived in the seventh century. Their bloomless romance agitated
Jameel into love verse. He persisted in composing chaste, tender poetry for Bouthaina
until his death. Their story is known as “the virginal love.” The narrative has its share of
variations, although marriage is not one of them. And like his contemporary Qyss Laila
(see “No More and No Less”), Jameel became known by his beloved’s name.
The nin: see notes on “Sonnet 1.”
A MASK ... FOR MAJNOON LAILA
Najd is a region in central Saudi Arabia and is, historically, the land of the renowned
ancient Arabic tribes from which many of the pre-Islamic poets came.
322 MAHMOUD DARWISH

“The prince of Damascus” represents the seat of power that the Muslim caliph of
the Umayyad dynasty held, and under whose rule the traditional nomadic life of the
Arabs became rapidly urban. Qyss Laila’s verse (as well as Jameel Bouthaina’s) reflected
neither social milieu, and represented in Arabic poetry an early autonomy (from tribe
or nation) of the self.
Early Islamic love poetry, especially of Jameel and Qyss, in its devotional configura-
tion of the self, was a source of influence on mystic and Sufi verse, Andalusian, Turkish,
and Persian literature, and, arguably, the troubadours.
THE DAMASCENE COLLAR OF THE DOVE
“The Collar of the Dove” is a famous manuscript on beauty and the art of love, written in
the eleventh century by Ibn Hazm, a renowned Andalusian Muslim scholar. The Muslim
reign in Andalusia began as an emirate of the Umayyad dynasty, whose central caliphate
was in Damascus, but persisted independently for centuries after that dynasty’s end.
Jahili: see notes on “Your Night Is of Lilac.”
An oud is a stringed instrument resembling the lute.
The Lotus Tree of Heaven, Sidrat al-Muntaha (“the highest degree of attainment”), is a
fantastic tree that rises from the Seventh Heaven and reaches God’s throne.
Youssef: the biblical son of Jacob.
Barada is a small river that runs through Damascus.
Qasyoon Valley is one of the city’s suburbs.
The “butterfly’s burden” is an expression Darwish originally used in the title of his
1977 poem “And You'll Carry the Butterfly’s Burden.”
A STATE OF SIEGE
Khilafah: Arabic for caliphate.
Khosrau is the title of ancient Persian kings, often suggesting the king whose defeat
at the hands of early Arab Muslims in the seventh century opened Persia to Islam.
Zaghareed: ululations of joy.
Om Kalthoum: Egyptian diva of Arabic song in the twentieth century.
Nay: wooden (often reed) flute.
Red, black, white, green: the colors of the Palestinian flag.
Nahawand and hejaz are two scales of Arabic music. The former is named after a re-
gion in western Iran, the latter after the western coastal region in Saudi Arabia, where
Mecca is located.
Muwashah: see notes on “The Subsistence of Birds.”
CADENCE CHOOSES ME
Zanzalakht: the China tree (Melia azedarach) is an abundant and shady tree in the Galilee,
often a place for social gatherings.
DON’T APOLOGIZE FOR WHAT YOU'VE DONE

Hamassa Diwan is an anthology of classical Arabic poetry collected according to theme,
by Abu Tammam (788-845; see notes for “If You Return Alone”). The Diwan (collection of
poems) became known for its most popular chapter, the Hamassa (valor) chapter, which
dealt with heroic poetry.
Notes 323
The Encyclopedia of Countries alludes to Mu’jam Al-Buldan, a geographical diction-
ary of the Middle East written in the eleventh century by Yaqut al-Hamawi.
IF YOU RETURN ALONE
Abu Tammam (Habib ibn Aus) lived in the ninth century and was an early master of
post-Jahili (Islamic) Arabic poetry and letters. He studied Greek philosophy, and his
poetry is known for its innovative language and complex metaphors.
I DIDN’T APOLOGIZE TO THE WELL
Darwish clearly revisits one of his earlier poems, “The Well’ (1996). It begins with: “I
choose an overcast day to pass by the old well. / Maybe it has filled up with sky. Maybe
it has overflown meaning / and the shepherd's parable.” Then the poem ends with Dar-
wish speaking to his ghost: “And we will say to the dead around it: Salaam / upon you
who are alive in the butterfly’s water, / and upon you who are dead: Salaam!”
AND WE HAVE A LAND

The word Darwish uses for “ascension” is Me’raj. It suggests the prophet Muhammad's
miraculous rise to the heavens from Jerusalem, which culminated in his meeting with
God: accompanied by the archangel Gabriel, the prophet traveled from Mecca to Jeru-
salem overnight (Issra’) on the back of a hybrid steed called al-Borag. When he reached
the city, Muhammad led all previous prophets in prayer at the site of al-Aqsa mosque,
before his ascension to heaven. The Rock (beneath the Dome of the Rock) is the ac-
cepted site of ascension. The narrative of the ascension in Arabic and Muslim literature
is equally rich on either side of literalism and mysticism.
IN HER ABSENCE I CREATED HER IMAGE
Yabous is the original name for Jerusalem, when the Jebusites (Yabousians), a Canaanite
tribe, first inhabited the region around 2500 B.c. “The seven hills” indicate the topogra-
phy of the Jerusalem area. The name for Jerusalem in Arabic is al-Quds, “the Holy Place.”
MURDERED AND UNKNOWN
Hamassa: see notes on “Don’t Apologize for What You’ve Done.”
THE CYPRESS BROKE
Bassam Hajjar is a contemporary Lebanese poet and atranslator of French literature

into Arabic.
A MAN AND A FAWN ARE IN THE GARDEN

Sulieman el-Najjab is a political activist, artist, and friend of the poet. In Arabic, the
third-person address of the verb to live is also a masculine name, Yahya, which corre-
sponds to John (mentioned in the Quran as John the Baptist). Sulieman is Arabic for
Solomon.
324 MAHMOUD DARWISH

AS FOR ME, I SAY TO MY NAME
Mahmoud, the poet’s name, like Muhammad, is a derivative of the word-root hamd
(“praise” or “laudation”). Mahmoud means praised.
A NOUN SENTENCE
Arabic has no copulative verbs, which allows for the construct of “A Noun Sentence.”
THANKS TO TUNIS
In the aftermath of the 1982 Israeli invasion of Lebanon, the Palestinian Liberation
Organization was forced to roam the Mediterranean, before settling on Tunisian shores
and taking residence there.
The lines: “Don’t give me, O sea, what I don’t deserve / of song. And don't be, O sea,
more or less than song!” echo, in the singular, a famous refrain in a 1986 Darwish poem
from his collection It’s a Song, It’s a Song: “Do not give us, O sea, what we do not deserve
of song!”
IN SYRIA
Barada is a small river that runs through Damascus.

“Chaste” love (courtly love) refers primarily to Jameel Bouthaina’s poetry and the
devotional verse of Qyss Laila (see notes for “No More and No Less,” “Jameel Bouthaina
and I,” and “A Mask ... for Majnoon Laila.”).
I RECALL AL-SAYYAB
Badr Shakir al-Sayyab (1924-1964), an Iraqi poet, is considered by most to be the father
of modern Arabic verse. The refrain “Iraq, Iraq, nothing but Iraq” is borrowed from the
opening poem, “Stranger to the Gulf,” of his very influential 1960 book, The Rain Song.
Gilgamesh: Sumerian hero of the Gilgamesh epic, probably the first recorded myth of
man that tells a story of creation.
Hammurabi (1792-1750 B.c.), a Babylonian king who unified Mesopotamia and who
codified and tabulated the first human laws.
Hulagu (1217-1265) is the grandson of Genghis Khan. He was responsible for the
brutal destruction of Baghdad and of the Abbasid dynasty in 1258. He ordered the de-
struction of the libraries, until the Euphrates and the Tigris ran ink. He lost a crucial
battle in Palestine at Goliath Spring (Ain Jaloot) at the hands of the Mamluks in 1260,
which halted the westward invasion of the Mongols.
THE COASTAL ROAD

Al-Mutanabbi (Ahmad bin Hussein, 915-965) was abrilliant Arab poet. His poetry re-
mained influential as recently as the nineteenth century. Al-Mutanabbi, meaning the one
claiming prophecy, is a pseudonym he acquired when, it is said, he made such a declaration
in one of his youthful poems. Adventurous and politically ambitious, he frequented the
Syrian and Egyptian courts of the time. His brilliance won him many patrons and many
enemies. He was killed as a consequence of his political whims.
Notes 325
A POETRY STANZA / THE SOUTHERNER’S HOUSE
A poetry stanza in Arabic is a house (Bayt) of poetry (or a home). Amal Donqul (1940-
1983) was an Egyptian poet from southern (Upper) Egypt. He died young of cancer,
but not before leaving his mark on Arabic poetry. Darwish’s poem commemorates the
twentieth anniversary of Donqul’s death.
Khufu: Arabic for Cheops.
LIKE A MYSTERIOUS INCIDENT
Darwish’s encounter with Yannis Ritsos occurred after the Israeli invasion of Lebanon
in 1982. Athens, Greece, was the first port of arrival for the PLO and its members before
Tunisia became a new headquarters in exile.
Yabous: see notes on “In Her Absence I Created Her Image.”
THE KURD HAS ONLY THE WIND
Saleem Barakat, Darwish’s contemporary, is an acclaimed Syrian-Kurd poet, translator,

and novelist, writing in Arabic. His work has been translated into several languages.
326 MAHMOUD DARWISH

About the Author
MAHMOUD DARWISH (1941-2008) was born in al-Birwa village in

Galilee, Palestine. After the creation of Israel in 1948, he ledalife
of exile. He returned to Palestine in 1996, dividing his residence be-
tween Ramallah and Amman. Perhaps the most distinguished Arab
poet of his generation, he published more than twenty books of po-
etry and ten of prose, and was the editor of the international literary
journal al-Karmel, based in Ramallah. Among his many awards are the
Lenin Peace Prize, the French medal for Knight of Arts and Letters,
the Lannan Prize for Cultural Freedom, the Prince Claus Award from
the Netherlands, and the Golden Wreath Award from Struga Poetry
Evenings. Among his works that have appeared in English are Memory
for Forgetfulness (prose); The Adam of Two Edens; Unfortunately, It Was
Paradise; and Why Did You Leave the Horse Alone?
About the Translator
FADY JOUDAH was born in Austin, Texas, in a Palestinian refugee

home. His poetry collection, The Earth in the Attic, was the winner of
the Yale Series for Younger Poets in 2007, and he is the recipient of the
2008 Saif Ghobash—Banipal Prize for Arabic Literary Translation from
the United Kingdom’s Society of Authors. Joudah is a physician of in-
ternal medicine and a field member of Doctors Without Borders.
About the Author and Translator 327

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“word” and “temple.” It also serves as pressmark for Copper
Canyon Press. Founded in 1972, Copper Canyon Press remains
dedicated to publishing poetry exclusively, from Nobel laureates to new
and emerging authors. The Press thrives with the generous patronage
of readers, writers, booksellers, librarians, teachers, students, and
funders—everyone who shares the conviction that poetry invigorates
the language and sharpens our appreciation of the world.
Major funding has been provided by:

THE PAUL G. ALLEN
FAMILY foundation
Anonymous (2)
The Paul G. Allen Family Foundation Lannan
Lannan Foundation ea‫و‬‎
NATIONAL
National Endowment for the Arts ENDOWMENT
FOR THE ARTS
Washington State Arts Commission

WASHINGTON
STATE ARTS
COMMISSION
For information and catalogs:
COPPER CANYON PRESS
Post Office Box 271
Port Townsend, Washington 98368
360-385-4925
www.coppercanyonpress.org
‫ظ‬02-
English text in this book is set in the digital version of Figural, designed by Oldtich
Menhart in 1940, and redrawn for Letraset in 1992 by Michael Gills. The Arabic text
is set in al-Bayan. Book design and English composition by Valerie Brewster, Scribe
Typography. Arabic composition by Aissa Deebi. Printed on archival-quality Glatfelter
Author's Text by McNaughton & Gunn, Inc.
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Mahmoud Darwish
The Butterfly’s Burden Translated by Fady Joudah
Three recent Darwish books translated and presented in their
entirety in one bilingual volume.
“Mahmoud Darwish is one of the two or three most admired, and widely
read, poets from the Arab world... While unequivocally anchored in the
present, his poems draw on the traditions of Al-Andalus, the near-mythical
site of flowering Arab, European, and Sephardic Jewish art and science—as
much in Darwish’s re-creation and renewal of Arabic prosody and inweaving
of legend as in his fraternal openness to and exchange with poets like Ritsos
and Neruda. In the brilliant, bilingual poet Fady Joudah, Darwish has found
a translator capable of rendering in English his unflinching, questing, and
above all loving poems.”— Marilyn Hacker
“Poetry in translation offers a passport to places we might never visit, bor-
ders we might never cross. Ancient empires, such as Rome’s and China’s,
invited foreign poetries and prophets to their capitals because they valued
poetry as expression of ‘what is on the mind intently.’ In eighth-century
China there were Hindu temples, Nestorian Christian churches, synagogues,
and mosques. With this collection, Mahmoud Darwish, the internationally
celebrated Palestinian poet, stamps our American passports in ‘paradigms
of... Jahili poetry,’ the border gate goes up, and another world is opened
to us.”—John Balaban
“Fady Joudah, a Palestinian-American doctor, has produced an admirable
translation of Darwish’s evocative, highly metaphorical lyricism and has sup-
plied an extremely useful introduction and notes... Everywhere in Darwish’s
verse one finds the elegiacs of dispossession and exile, the unappeasable
longing for the lost homeland and a continual meditation on the nature of
the bifurcated self and the Other.” —Steve Kowit, The San Diego Union Tribune
“Darwish is to be read with urgency, in the night, when nothing else moves
but his lines.”
— The Village Voice
a yee = NESE age

ez4| COPPER CANYON Say ee
PRESS ISBN-13:
Lee 978-1-55659-241-6
ISBN-10: 1-55659-241-8
4 q) Cover art: Identity, Mohammed J. Abusall | 52000
0 0 out sees
POETRY / $20.00 9 "781556!'5

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Mahmoud Darwish

The Butterfly’s Burden

Translated by Fady Joudah

THE BUTTERFLY’S BURDEN

Memory for Forgetfulness

Copper Canyon Press

COPPER CANYON PRESS

AROAE OM coon ya rate shew aclad we > ‫ل‬‎‫ هيلا‬7

‫ لمم عونمم‬11“ ‫م‬

nen rte deny a‫‏‬ ‫دل‬ tet

1‫د‬ Translator’s Preface‫‏‬

The Stranger’s Bed 1998

A State of Siege 2002

Don’t Apologize for What You’ve Done 2003

viii MAHMOUD DARWISH

243 Now, When You Awaken, Remember

245 The Shadow

257 Say What You Want

II. THE COASTAL ROAD

285 “Aroad that leads to Egypt and Syria”

III. NOT AS A FOREIGN TOURIST DOES

291 “I walked on what remains of the heart”

IV. A POETRY STANZA / THE SOUTHERNER’S HOUSE

299 = “Standing together beneath a window”

V. LIKE A MYSTERIOUS INCIDENT

307 ~=“In Pablo Neruda’s home, on the Pacific”

VI. THE KURD HAS ONLY THE WIND

315 “The Kurd remembers, when Ivisit him, his tomorrow”

It is tempting to describe Mahmoud Darwish’s writing life through

My friends, do not die the way you used to die

xii MAHMOUD DARWISH

Translator’s Preface xiii

xiv MAHMOUD DARWISH

xvi MAHMOUD DARWISH

Translator’'s Preface xvii

0 Ht ‫ا‬‎ ‫ مدان و يح فز هودشو‬erat; ‫السالب‬‎ ‫ل‬

rn 1 tend hh oR37 beer th 1 5 ‫ديا‬‎ teeniysi : ‫يجلسون‬‎ ‫ أ‬ae

dag? Mei "1 ots 4 gis “ab 9‫ك‬‎ ‫ ع‬srt = 00 ete

59 ct ibe Chuan The ome) a feted t onnyt ‫ماعم‬‎ tenga

» I i Hew A: 1 ‫هان‬‎‫تح ع‬ +« ‫ ذل‬eH;a! <r

ei ae ae = a alg me chingsh carter ats

‎‫ميخ‬ ‫ن‬9 ‫هيج‬ ‫ اوسا‬0 ‫ والسلهم‬٠ ‎‫و اإسشحم‬

‫لتَذْهَبْ كما نَحْنُ‪:‬‬

‫ولا شيءَ يُوجِعنا‬

‫وعمّا قليلٍ يكونُ لنا حاضر آخَرٌ‬

‫لتَذْهَبْ كما نَحْنُ‪:‬‬

‫‪4‬‬ ‫‪MAHMOUD‬‬ ‫‪DARWISH‬‬

And soon there will be a new present for us.

The Stranger's Bed 5

‫ونان ‏)‪ cl cl‬نشل دمَقلاو نيقباسلا‬

‫طار القَرَاش منّ النَؤم‬

‫ويقتلّنا في الصراع على الاسم‬

‫لتَذْهَبْء كما‪G55 ‎‬‬

‫‪6‬‬ ‫‪MAHMOUD‬‬ ‫‪DARWISH‬‬

Let’s go, as we are:

Let’s go, as we are:

The Stranger's Bed 7