The City of Translation by ArteEast

Winter 2013

Edited by Barrak Alzaid

Contemporary Literature in Translation Series ArteEast is a leading international arts organization presenting work by contemporary artists from the Middle East, North Africa, and the diaspora. Founded in 2003 as a New York based not-for-profit organization, ArteEast supports and promotes artists by raising awareness of their most significant and groundbreaking work and by bringing this work to the widest possible audience. We do this through public events, art exhibitions, film screenings, international touring programs, a dynamic virtual gallery, and a resource-rich website. Partnering with some of the most prestigious cultural institutions around the world â&#x20AC;&#x201D; such as The Museum of Modern Art, Tate Modern, and the Sharjah Art Foundation â&#x20AC;&#x201D; ArteEastâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s film, visual arts, and literary programs reach thousands of new audiences each year. 2

The organization is committed to bringing the highest quality and form of artistic content on multiple platforms. Our innovative use of technology and partnerships to present programs that are highly mobile, rather than bound to a particular physical space, make us one of the most nimble, cutting-edge art organizations today. ArteEast is also consistently providing relevant context so that audiences can fully appreciate the work that is being presented.

The City of Translation Guest Editor Sousan Hammad

www.arteeast.org Jan, 2013. New York.

Table of Contents Introduction: The City of Translation 6

Table of Contents Season for Flinching 46 The Flower from Haifa 48

Ahmad Yamani Abstraction 8

VĂŠnus Khoury-Ghata

Pasha mama 10

Eight Poems 52

Alaa Khaled

Suzanne Alaywan

9 Qirdahi Street 12

Montmartre 64

A Map to the World 14

Draft of a City 74 Degree Zero of the Desert 78

Najwan Darwish Sayed Darwish 20

Nouri al-Jarrah

For Haifa 22

Damascus 90

In Paradise 26

The Fugitive 92

Tantura 28

On Reflection 94

Fabrications 30 Hala Alyan 22 Houses (Diaspora) 38 One Conversation in April 42

Introduction: The City of Translation

When I began selecting poets for this

In translating the cities of the Levant

collection my instinct was to gather Arab

(and I consider Egypt, here, as Levantine)

writers who have had little contact with

I was struck by the tenacious challenge

an Anglophone readership. I happened to

be traveling through the Mediterranean at

and feelings in a particular space – be it

the time: from Paris I visited southern Italy

Damascus, Cairo, or Haifa - that are totally

and Greece then continued eastward. This

unknown or ‘unreal’ to some readers, or

constant hopscotch through geographies

actual and ideal to others. However, it is

and histories inspired me to bring together

not a question of what is real and what is

poets whose work is, in so many different

ideal. Longing – whether for a person or a

ways, pursued by the city. Cavafy would say

country that does not exist, or which has

that the city will always pursue you, that

been stolen, is much more than a problem

no matter how hard you try to find another

to be solved; as the novelist Neil Gordon

country, another city, it will always turn

says, it is, in itself, a full, complete and entire

out wrong. Perhaps some of the poets will

identity. There is nothing else.

disagree with me when I say that the poems

in this collection are an attempt to become,

of the more obvious, and sometimes

in their poetic imaginary, places that exist in

inescapable, frustrations of translation,

their displacement.

such as the question of contextualization.

mapping

multiplicities:

experiences

Other questions contained some

For example, when a place is inherently

fantastic variations.

underpinned by questions of geopolitics,

should the poem not also be placed into

of Najwan Darwish, which are set in an

a political context? (But I really don’t like

imaginary Haifa, or a city that exists in

footnotes). Or when a poem is written

its reveries, like Alaa Khaled’s Alexandria,

through the perspective of memories or

the city of translation helps to create, or

longings, it is most often left in its ambiguity

recreate, the places that are constantly

– for truth and memory are never constant.

pursuing us; which is also true for the non-

(But at what point does a poem become

city as well: like the work of Venus Khoury-

too abstract?) Finally, there’s the question

Ghata, whose surreal tales, translated

of space and the conceptual approaches

beautifully from French by Marilyn Hacker,

to space, like the things we think about

take us through a dreamscape of northern

when

Lebanon.

negotiating

contradictions

and

So whether they are the poems

uncertainties in particular social roles or

Following David Harvey’s insistence

imaginations.

that "the freedom to make and remake

It is a tedious task, one that trains

our cities and ourselves is one of the most

the translator to step out of one’s self and

precious yet most neglected of our human

imagination. Perhaps this is also why I chose

rights", I turn to this beautiful collection of

to work in close collaboration with the poets

poets from Syria, Egypt, Palestine, and

themselves. The notion of translation as

Lebanon, whose streets and neighborhoods

collective engagement is something that

- those vacant spaces and anonymous

resonates deeply with me, as a person

reaches included – are extracted into

committed to the ideals of community;

meaning, a shared experience that I hope

and the results are almost always more

will move people the way it has me.

interesting and true in essence, for translation is the ultimate form of reading.

-Sousan Hammad

Like cities, it lets itself be represented in

By Ahmad Yamani Translated by Sousan Hammad

‫تجريد‬ ‫ بالدي كبسوالت أبلعها قبل النوم وبالد اآلخرين‬،‫ مدينة بكاملها تصري غرفة‬،‫كل يشء‬ ّ ‫أردت أن أص ّغر‬ ُ ‫ كان هذا قبل أن تداهمني الذكريات وترتكني‬.‫ والطائرة ستصري دراجة‬.‫حبة طامطم آكلها عىل مرتني‬ ‫هب فيه أبناء حيّنا لطحن الغريب الذي تج ّرأ‬ ّ ‫ متاماً كذلك اليوم الذي‬.‫مبالبس ممزقة ملقى عىل الرصيف‬ .‫وألقى كلمة ط ّيبة يف أذن جارتنا‬

Abstraction I wanted to make everything smaller, to transform the entire city into a room. My country is a capsule swallowed before bedtime, and the countries of others are tomatoes eaten in halves. The airplane will become a bicycle. This was before being struck with overwhelming memories that left me in tattered clothes on the pavement. It was on the same day when the sons and daughters of the neighborhood sprung to crush the stranger who dared deliver a pleasant word in our neighbor’s ear.

By Ahmad Yamani Translated by Sousan Hammad

‫پاتشا ماما‬ ‫كنت أفرد أمامي خريطة العامل وأرسم بإصبعي خطّاً ميت ّد من بيتي إىل بيتك البعيد‬ ُ ‫منذ سنوات بعيدة‬ ‫ عابرا ً بحريات وجزرا ً وثورا ً بقرنني مذ ّهبني قابعاً يف انتظار‬،‫عابرا ً بحورا ً وجباالً وأنهارا ً ومزارع وصحراوات‬ ‫ كنت فقط أو ّد الوصول إىل بيتك ألطرق الباب‬.‫ مل أتوقف أبدا ً يف منتصف املسافة أللقي نظرة‬،‫العابرين‬ ‫فتحت النافذة‬ ‫لكنت‬ ‫وأجدك وراءه ويف يدك الخريطة نفسها مؤكدة أنني لو كنت قد‬ ُ ُ ُ ً‫تأخرت قليال‬ ‫وضعت الخريطة يف الدرج وبقيت نامئاً يف‬ ،‫نزعت إصبعي من بيتك البعيد‬...ً ‫وعربت بحورا ً وجباالً وأنهارا‬ ُ ُ ُ .‫هواء الغرفة املقفلة‬

Pasha mama Many years ago, I spread a map of the world in front of me and drew, with my finger, a line from my house to your distant house, passing the seas and mountains, rivers and farms. I crossed deserts and lakes, islands and golden-horned bulls asleep and waiting in transit. I never once stopped to look. I just wanted to reach your house and knock on the door to find you in the back with the same map in your hands, saying that if I had showed up any later you would open the window to cross the seas, the mountains, the rivers... I lifted my finger from your distant house, placed the map in a drawer, and remained asleep in the stale breeze of the locked room.

By Alaa Khaled Translated from the Arabic by Sousan Hammad

9 ‫شارع قرداحى‬ ،‫كل عدة أعوام‬ ‫عندما تخفت يف خزانتها ملعة الذكرى‬ ‫تحزم حقائبها و تتكئ عىل العصا املعدنية‬ ، ‫و تأىت لإلسكندرية‬ .‫ شارع قرداحى‬9 ‫للبيت الذى عاشت فيه مع والديها ؛‬ ‫مازالت الفيال قامئة حتى اآلن‬ .‫رمبا لىك ال يخذلها شئ واحد يف الحياة‬ ‫متسح مبشيتها البطيئة‬ ‫كل التفاصيل التى غابت عن عينيها‬ .‫تجذب كل معادن الذكرى‬ ‫تقف أسفل البيت‬ ‫تشاهد النافذة االتى أطلَّت منها و هى طفلة‬ ‫لرتى خيوط املؤامرة تتجمع يف الحديقة‬ .‫كان الشارى الجديد يقيس أرض طفولتها باألمتار‬ ،‫بكت حينئذ‬ ،‫بكا َء األبنة الوحيدة‬ 12

9 Qirdahi Street Every few years when the brightness of memories dims from her closet she packs her bags, limps on her metal cane, and staggers to Alexandria to see her childhood home on 9, Qirdahi Street. The house still stands perhaps so one thing in life wouldn’t fail. Her slow walk smears all the details she lost sight of magnetizing every bit of memory She stands downstairs and looks at the window she towered over as a child to see clues gathered in the garden plot: the new buyer measures her childhood land in meters. She cried tears of an only child

‫كانت أصغر من أن تغلق النافذة عىل دموعها‬ .‫أو تهيم فوق الذكرى و تكرب معها كأ ٍخ حميم‬ ً‫يعرفها أهل الشارع جميعا‬ .‫و يفسحون مكاناً لبكائها‬ ،‫كنت الغريب عن ذكراها‬ ‫عن نافذة الدموع التى مل تغلق أبدا ً يف خيالها‬ .‫منذ غادرت اإلسكندرية إىل نافذة أخرى مرصعة بالثلج يف سويرسا‬

she was too small then to shut the window on her tears or to drift over a memory and grow with it like you grow with a cherished brother. All the neighbors knew her and gave her space to cry. I was the only stranger to her memory and to the window of her endless tears a window that never disappeared from her memory

‫مل يكن بيننا ما يسمح بكل هذه األرسار‬ .‫سوى أىن أصبحت جارا ً لنافذة الطفولة‬

since she departed from Alexandria to another window

‫ أن تعو َد‬،‫كان عالجها الناجع‬ .‫و تنظر إىل بيتها القديم‬

There were no ties between us to allow all these secrets

‫تركتنى و صوت العصا املعدنية‬ ‫يرسم حدود الذكرى‬ ُ .‫صوت رتا ٍج يغلق لباب كبري‬

in Switzerland inlaid with pieces of ice.

only that I became a neighbor of the window of her childhood The only working treatment for her was to return and look at her old house. She left me and the sound of the metal cane drawing the borders of the memory a bolt of a massive door clatters and is shut.

By Alaa Khaled Translated from the Arabic by Sousan

‫خريطة للعامل‬ ‫أثناء بنائه لحياته‬ .‫نىس وبنى متاهة‬ ،‫يقف أمام الخرائط ولهانا‬ .‫أمام تلك الباقة اليانعة من املسارات املتشابكة‬ ‫يريد أن يرى جسده وأفكاره‬ ،‫كبلد مستقل‬ ،‫له حدود يتوقف عندها األمل‬ ‫أن يضع سبابته عند نقطة مضيئة‬ :‫عىل خريطة حياته ويقول‬ ."‫" هنا نهاية رحلتى‬ ،‫بدون أن يركب طائرة‬ ،‫أو يقتفى أثرا ضائعا ىف الصحراء‬ ،‫صادفته ىف رحلته حدود شائكة‬ .‫ونبتت عىل جسده قطعان من الصبارات‬ ‫مسارات تتوالد من الفكر الشقى‬ ‫وتتمدد ىف صحراء أخوية‬ 16

A Map to the World While building for his life absentmindedly he created a labyrinth. He stands passionately in front of the maps and the ripe bouquets of interlocking paths. He wants to see his thoughts and body as an independent country that has borders which halts pain, to place his index finger on a bright spot upon the map of his life, and say: This is the end of my journey. Without boarding a plane or tracking down a lost trail in the desert, on his journey he encountered barbed-wire borders where bits of cactus grew on his body.

‫ للمقهى‬،‫ للشارع‬،‫تتنقل معه من البيت‬ ،‫لحانوت الصور والخرائط القدمية‬ ‫حيث يقىض جل ليله يلمس بأنامل رصاف‬ ‫هذا الضوء الخافت املنبعث من تلك الوجوه الناحلة‬ .‫واملسارات املتعرجة‬ ،‫ للشارع‬،‫من البيت‬ ،‫لحانوت الصور والخرائط القدمية‬ ‫لكرىس املقهى ىف الزاوية املعتمة؛‬ ‫املسار الحزين لسنوات تطايرت بدون جلبة‬ .‫ككومة من هشيم‬

Paths are birthed by melancholy thoughts and sprawls in a brotherly desert move with him from the house to the street to the café and into the shops of old maps and photos. He spends most of the night with his fingertips like a fine cashier touching the faint light emitted by those slender faces and winding paths. From the house, the street to shop for old photos and maps

‫أصبح جسده باقة من املسارات الحزينة‬ ‫التى تسكن عينيه‬ ‫فتختلط عليه الشوارع‬ ‫عندها يصبح البيت بلدا بعيدا‬ .‫يصعب الوصول إليه‬ ،‫استبدل بخريطة العامل الحب والعائلة‬ ‫العامل الذى مل يره إال عىل شاشات التليفزيون‬

to the stool in the dark corner of the café the melancholy paths, that for years flew unruffled as a pile of chaff. His body is transformed as a bouquet of melancholy paths that settled in his eyes, the streets get muddled and the house becomes a faraway country difficult to access. Replaced with a map to the world of love and family the world who did not see until it was televised.

By Najwan Darwish Translated from the Arabic by Sousan Hammad

‫س ِّيد درويش‬

‫ وال أَعرف من هذه التي ت َْصدح مكانك‬،‫ يا ع ّم‬،‫أُغنيتك نَ ِف َد ْت‬

‫ذكِّرين برحلتنا أَواخر ذلك الصيف‬ ‫إىل َج َبل الترُ َّهات‬ ٍ ‫كانت ِمرص مرفوع ًة عىل ال ِّرماح ِمثل ُم ْص‬ ‫حف وأَنا مشدو ٌه بأُغنيتك‬ ‫أَترى هاهي األُغنيات تَ ْن َف ُد‬ ‫وال فلوكة واحدة توقّفت يل‬ !‫وال ص َّياد ل َّوح‬ ‫وما عاد يه ّمني إن كان هذا شاطئ حيفا أَم بحر اإلسكندرية‬ ‫إن كان صحيحاً أَ ّن األُغنيات نفدت‬

Sayed Darwish Your song is coming to an end, my friend and I don’t know this woman who is singing in your place You remind me of our journey to Mount Folly that late summer when I was swept by your song and Egypt was pierced on spears like a Quran You see, the songs here are coming to an end not one felucca stopped for me, not one boatman waved! I no longer care whether it’s the shore of Haifa or the sea of Alexandria If it is true, that the songs are coming to an end.

By Najwan Darwish Translated from the Arabic by Sousan Hammad

‫إىل حيفا‬ ‫هيه يا َح ّيوفة‬ ‫أَخريا ً يف قَدمي ِش ْب ِشب ويف قَد ِمك شبشب‬ .ً‫لبس شلح ًة وأَتج َّول يف البيت منس ّيا‬ ُ َ‫أ‬ َ‫جبالك وأ‬ ِ ِ ِ ‫مغائرك منذ العرص الربونزي‬ ‫شجارك وهؤالء النامئني يف‬ ‫رغم‬ ‫مثيل مل تَ ْبلغي الثالثة والثالثني‬ .‫الصباح موصوالً بالحلم‬ ّ ‫مثيل تح ٍّبني‬ ‫إنظري‬ ‫هاهي سفن نابليون تبتلعها ذاكر ُة البحر‬ "‫هاهي املستعمرة التي كانوا يدعونها "إرسائيل‬ ‫معروض ًة للبيع‬ ‫أمام دكاكني ال ُخردة يف وادي الصليب‬ :‫وهاهم أبناؤك ميألون الطرقات وينشدون‬ ..‫هيه يا َح ّيوفة‬

For Haifa My darling, my Haifa, Finally, with a slipper on my foot and a slipper on your foot, I wear an undershirt and wander the house forgetfully. Though your mountains and trees, have been asleep in your caves since the Bronze Age, like me, you are not yet thirty-three like me, you cherish mornings coupled with dreams. Look around: here are Napolean’s ships, swallowed by the sea's memory. here is the colony they called "Israel"

memories and objects

peddled by scrap dealers in Wadi Saleeb

ِ َ‫كيف أ‬...‫كيف أَنجب ِتهم‬ ‫كل هذه الحشود‬ َّ ‫نجبت‬ ‫أَيتها الصبية؟‬ ‫غسان يصع ُد درج البيت‬ َّ ‫وهاهو هو‬ ‫مرتدياً شلح ًة وقد اسرت ّد جسده املمزق‬ ‫كف عن تف ُّحص يده‬ ّ َ‫وال أ‬ ‫وال أَعرف أَيّنا الزائر وأَيّنا املُضيف‬ ...‫كنت أَم ُّر بني الغزاة املصطافني‬ ُ ‫وما تقول رغوة أَمواج بَ ْحر ِِك اآلن ــــــ طاملا أَحزنَتْني أَيام الهزمية حني‬ !‫وهاهو بح ُر ِك يضحك اآلن من ُخردة أحزاين‬ ...‫هيه يا َح ّيوفة‬

and here are your children, filling the streets, singing: my darling, my Haifa… How did you birth these crowds(?)

And here is Ghassan, climbing the stairs of my house, wearing an undershirt He retrieved his exploded body I did not stop to look at his hand, nor can I tell the guest from the host. And what does the foam of your waves say now? -- they often sadden me on the days of defeat, when I pass by crowds of tourists on the beach Here now is your sea laughing from the scraps of my grief! My darling, my Haifa…

* Ghassan Kanafani, a renowned Palestinian writer and activist, was assassinated in Beirut at the age of 36 from a bomb planted in his car by the Israeli Mossad. His severed hand was found on a nearby rooftop.

By Najwan Darwish Translated from the Arabic by Sousan Hammad

‫يف الج ّنة‬ . ..‫استيقظنا م ّر ًة يف ال َج َّنة‬ :‫وفاجأنا املالئك ُة باملكانس والقشّ اطات‬ ‫ــــــ تفوح منكم رائحة كحول من األَرض‬ ...‫يف جيوبكم قصائد وهرطقات‬ ٍ ‫ قلنا لهم؛ ُحلْ ُمنا بصبا ٍح‬،‫مهلكم يا خدم الله‬ ‫واحد من صباحات حيفا‬ .‫قادنا إىل ج ّنتكم بالخطأ‬

In Paradise One day, we awoke in Paradise and the angels surprised us with brooms and mops:

You smell of alcohol and your pockets are filled with poems and heresies! Calm down, o servants of God, we told them, Our dream is to experience just one morning from Haifa’s everyday life. We landed in your home by mistake.

By Najwan Darwish Translated from the Arabic by Sousan Hammad

‫الطنطورة‬ ‫البحر أَصغر من ُم ْستَ َح ّم طفلٍ يف الثانية‬ ‫كان "يُ َبطْ ِب ُط" منذ قليل يف مستح ِّمه األَزرق‬ ‫ــــــ صورة فوتوغراف ّية للسعادة الكاملة ــــــ‬ ‫وشخاتري حمراء يف غسق يشقّه نو ُر ليل ِة ال َق ْدر‬ ‫إِنّها الطنطورة صباح يوم القيامة‬ .‫تلعب عند شواطئها شخاتري من الدم‬ ُ

Tantura The sea is smaller than a toddler’s wash basin there he splashes like rainfall in a hollow bowl

a photograph of sweet happiness

Red trawlers at dawn splintered by lights on The Night of Destiny This is Tantura* morning on the Day of Resurrection Near the shore fishing boats are splashing in blood

*Tantura is a Palestinian village on the Mediterranean coast, just north of Haifa. On May 23, 1948, occupation forces massacred 240 Palestinians. Bodies of people who resisted throughout the night were found the next morning on the shore.

By Najwan Darwish Translated from the Arabic by Sousan Hammad

‫َف رْ َبكَة‬ ِ ‫املتوسط وأَ َّن‬ ‫وصلت البح َر‬ ‫سالت حتّى‬ ْ ‫ أَبدا ً مل أُص ّد ُق لعبة أَنك ُذ ِب ْح ِت وأَ ّن دمائك‬.‫القصة كلّها ُم َفبرْ َكَة‬ ِّ ‫ مريام كريشنباوم وشلومو غانور‬:‫القصة كلّها ُم َفبرْ َكَة‬ ِ َ‫البحر ر‬ ٌ .‫شبَ ِك‬ ّ ‫واثق أَ َّن‬ ‫ الجزيرة العربية الح ّرة‬:‫ اشطب الواو‬.‫الجزيرة والح ّرة والعربية‬ ‫مريام كريشنباوم وشلومو غانور‬ ‫واثق أَيضاً أَنها ُم َفبرْ َكَة‬ ٌ ‫الفواتري التي ال أَعرف َم ْن يَ َضعها يف صناديقي‬ ‫اسم العائلة يف ثالث لغات‬ ‫كلّها ُم َفبرْ َكَة‬ ‫هذه املرأة التي تح ّبني يف الربيد االلكرتوين‬ ‫حيفا أَيضاً ُم َفبرْ َكَة‬ .‫ولهذا ال أَنزل إىل الشارع وأَكتفي بالنظر إىل البحر بشكل جانبي من النافذة‬ ‫ الحقائق كلّها‬،‫ مل يتعب أَحد يف فَبرْ َكَ ِتها ولهذا بقيت حقيقية آه نسيت‬،‫صداقتنا مل تكن يف حساب أَحد‬ .‫ ولهذا استمتعت أَمس يف مشاطرتكم ال َع َرق والتفّاح واملكسرَّ ات وأَشياء أُخرى‬.‫ُم َفبرْ َكَة‬

Fabrications The whole thing is fabricated. Never have I believed the story that says you were slaughtered, and that your blood poured all the way to the Mediterranean only to be consumed by the sea. I’m sure the whole thing is fabricated. Merriam Kershenbaum and Shlomo Ganor every night at 7:30. Al-Hurra, "the free" [Satellite Channel], al-Arabiyya, "the Arab", and Al-Jazeera, "the Peninsula". Taken together: the "Free Arab Peninsula". Merriam Kershenbaum and Shlomo Ganor. I am sure they are also fabricated. The bills are placed in my mailbox by a person I don’t know. The name of my family in three different languages. They, also, are fabricated. This woman who loves me through email. Haifa, too, is fabricated. This is why I never go down the street, and I only look at the sea from a perpendicular angle. Our friendship was in no one’s account. No one took the time to fabricate it; this is why it remained true. Oh! I forgot, all truths are fabricated. This is why I enjoyed sharing with you Araq, apples, nuts and other things.

ً‫ الحواجز أيضا‬.‫ فالرسقة أَيضاً ُم َفبرْ َكَة‬.‫ وال أَمت ّزق عند النظر إىل بالدنا التي رسقوها‬،‫ال يشء يضغطني‬ ‫ وعجائز الروم األرثوذكس اللوايت يَ ْعبرُ ن "حاجز بيت‬.‫ُم َفبرْ َكَة والجنود أَيضاً أطفال يبولون عىل أَنفسهم‬ ‫ الجمعة الحزينة ُم َفبرْ َكَة واألَلحان‬.‫ "بسم الصليب" تقولها بشكل ُم َفبرْ َك‬.‫لحم" هذا الصباح ُم َفبرْ َكات‬ ‫ الجحيم مفربكة‬.‫ أَعدايئ ُم َفبرْ َكون وأَقاريب ِق ّمة يف ال َفبرْ َكة‬.‫البيزنطية يف كنيسة املوارنة يف النارصة ُم َفبرْ َكَة‬ .)‫ هل صوت فريوز هو اآلخر ُم َفبرْ َك؟‬،‫ (اللعنة‬.‫لكن الج ّنة ُم َفبرْ َكة بلؤم ومهارة أَكرب‬ ‫ ليس يل خصومة‬،‫ ال أُعاين من خلل يف ساعتي البيولوجية‬.‫ هذه كوابيس ُم َفبرْ َكة‬،‫ال كوابيس تطاردين‬ .‫ كل هذه مس ّميات ُم َفبرْ َكة‬..‫ ال أُعاين من ِطباعي املوروثة‬،‫قدمية مع الشمس‬ .‫ ألَن جميع الضامئر ُم َفبرْ َكة‬-‫ ليس ألَين أَنا‬.‫أَنا ُم َفبرْ َك‬ .‫ انظروا كيف أَسمع سامجات مذيعيهم دون أَن أَتقيأ‬.‫أَنا ال أَكره الجواسيس‬ .‫ ليس لدي رهاب جرس الباب ورنّة التلفون‬.‫أنا ال أَخاف من ساعة املن ِّبه وال من اإليدز والسالح النووي‬ .‫ هذه كلّها أخبار ُم َفبرْ َكة‬..ً ‫لن ينتهي العامل غدا‬ ‫ رومنطيقية ممزوجة بخراء مستهلِكني ِم ْن جميع‬،‫تعبت من رومنطقية القرن الواحد والعرشين‬ ُ .‫ هذه أَيضاً نظرية ُم َفبرْ َكة‬.‫ إن أَردت أَن تعيش البد أَن تتلطخ‬.‫الطبقات‬ ‫ وأَنتم تنتحبون طوال هذه‬.‫ ُم َفبرْ َكة‬-‫رسة أَجدادكم‬ ّ َ‫ املك ّدسة تحت أ‬-‫ صناديق الهزمية‬،‫هللوا وافرحوا‬ ‫ كذبة كبرية ألّفها‬.‫الضياع ُم َفبرْ َك‬ َ )‫ ولْكُم(وتعني ويلكم بالعربية الفصحى‬.‫السنوات عىل َضياع بالدكم‬ .‫سرُ ّاق وجودكم‬

Nothing pressures me. This is why I am not torn when I see our land that has been stolen. The robbery was fabricated, checkpoints are fabricated and the soldiers: a bunch of kids who still wet themselves. The elderly Greek Orthodox women crossing the Bethlehem checkpoint this morning are, also, fabricated. "In the name of the cross!" is said in a fabricated way. Good Friday is fabricated. The Byzantine melodies at the Maronite church in Nazareth are fabricated. My enemies are fabricated, and my relatives are the epitome of fabrication. Hell is fabricated, and Paradise is fabricated with even greater skill and spite. (Damn! Is Fairouz’s voice also fabricated?) No nightmares haunt me, nightmares are fabricated. I suffer of no disorders of my biological clock. I have no old enmity towards the sun, I do not suffer because of my inherited nature. All of these labels are fabrications. I, too, a fabrication. Not who I am, but all pronouns are fabrications. I do not hate collaborators; see how I listen to their news commentators without vomiting? I am not afraid of the alarm clock, or even AIDS or atomic weapons. I do not suffer the phobia of the doorbell or ringing phone. The world will not end tomorrow. All of this news is a fabrication. I am tired of 21st century romanticism: romance mixed with the shit of consumers from all classes. If you want to live, you too must be tarnished. This theory, yet another fabrication. So rejoice and be merry! The boxes filled with defeat stacked up under your grandparents’ beds— fabrications. And you have been wailing all those years about losing your homeland. Dude! (Wow! as said in a Classical way) Loss is a fabrication. A big lie formed by robbers of your existence.

‫مريم كريشنباوم شلومو غانور‬ ‫العربية الح ّرة الجزيرة‬ .‫وذلك األَبرص الذي ميسك بالرميوت كونرتول‬ ‫ أَفكارنا النمطية عن‬.‫ انظروا لدماثة هذا ورقة بشاعة وجه ذاك‬،‫الرصاصري والجواسيس كائنات وديعة‬ .‫وضاعتهم ُم َفبرْ َكة‬ ‫ مثة نساء محرتمات يصنعن‬."‫مثة رجال وقورون يجلسون يف الصالون ويستمعون لـ"صوت ارسائيل‬ .‫ ال تقلقوا هؤالء جميعاً ُم َفبرْ َكون‬.‫التبولة ويفكّرن باملستقبل بعد دفن كرامتنا العمومية‬ .‫ال نستطيع أَن نحرتم بضع شجرات أَمام بيوتنا وأَن نرتك الجبال ملن نصبوا الشِّ باك يف قيلولَ ِتنا‬ ‫ رفع بضع أَفنديّات راية بيضاء والتقطت‬1917/12/8 ‫ يف‬.‫ هذا تاريخ ُم َفبرْ َك‬،‫سقطت حيفا‬ 1948/4/22 ‫يف‬ ْ ‫ أَن‬،‫ يف أَي وقت‬،‫ فبإمكانك‬.‫ هذا حدث فعالً لكن الصورة ُم َفبرْ َكة‬.‫لهم صورة وهم يسلِّمون القدس‬ ‫تجمع ب ِْضع أَفنديّات وأَن تطلب منهم أَن يرفعوا راي ًة بيضاء وأن ميشوا بها إىل باب الخليل اللتقاط‬ .‫صورة‬

Merriam Kershenbaum Shlomo Ganor, Al-Arabiyya, Al-Hurra Al-Jazeera and that leper who holds the remote control. Cockroaches and collaborators are nice creatures. Look at how gentle this one is, and how sweet the ugliness of that one’s face is. Our conventional ideas about their cheapness — fabrications. A sedated group of men sit in the living room listening to the "Voice of Israel". A respectable group of women make "Tabbouleh" and think about the future after burying our public dignity. Don’t worry— these are all fabrications. We cannot respect a few trees in front of our homes, leaving the mountains for those who set up the nets in our naps. On the 22nd of April, 1948, Haifa surrendered. The date is fabricated. On the 8th of December, 1917, Effendis carried their white flag and a picture was taken

‫ املخ ّدات‬.‫كل الناس ناموا واستيقظوا وأَنا بع ُد مستيقظ‬ ّ .2010 ‫ ظهرا ً يف األَول من نيسان‬11:30 ‫الساعة‬ ‫ يا سيدة لبنان صليّ ألَجلنا(نحن‬.‫ الفيزا عقبة كأداء ُم َفبرْ َكة‬،‫ سأَذهب بعد أُسبوعني إىل بريوت‬.‫ُم َفبرْ َكة‬ .)‫نعرف أَ ّن صالتك ُم َفبرْ َكة‬

of them as they surrendered Jerusalem. The event truly took place, but the picture — a fabrication. You can, at any given time, gather a few Effendis and ask them to carry a white flag and march with it to Jaffa Gate to take a picture. The time is 11:30 just before noon on the first of April 2010. Everyone has gone to sleep and awoken, and I am still up. Pillows are fabrications. In two weeks I will be going to Beirut. The Visa is an enormously fabricated obstacle. Oh, Our Lady of Lebanon, pray for us (though we know your prayer is another fabrication).

‫ الكلامت العربية تتطاير من‬.‫ فصديقتي الشعنونة سرتكب الباص وتجيء من النارصة‬،‫بعد قليلٍ أَنام‬ ‫ لغة األَعداء رجل آيل‬.‫ هذه إيديولوجيا ُم َفبرْ َكة‬:‫ فأَقول لها‬،‫حولها كالذباب ألَنها تفكّر أَ ّن لغة األَعداء جثة‬ .‫ فتضحك ضحكة شعنونة ُم َفبرْ َكة‬.‫بال ذكورة وال أُنوثة‬ ‫كل ما‬ ّ .‫ األَبدية ُم َفبرْ َكة‬.‫ نحن نركض يف األبدية وصنادلنا تُطَ ْر ِطق‬.‫ لن منوت أَيها الرب‬،‫نَ ْف َق ُع ِم َن الضحك‬ ‫وكل كائن يرفع اآلن ذراعيه ِمثل شجرة يف هذه القصيدة‬ ّ .‫سبق كان فَبرْ َكَة وكل ما سيجيء أَيضاً فَبرْ َكة‬ .‫امل ُ َفبرْ َكة‬

In a while I am going to sleep as my wacky friend rides the bus from Nazareth. Words in Hebrew are flying around her like flies because she thinks the language of the enemy is a corpse, so I tell her: This is a fabricated ideology, the language of the enemy is a sexless robot. She bursts into a wacky, fabricated, laughter. We burst into laughter. Oh god, we won’t die. We run into eternity, our flip-flops tap along. Eternity is fabricated. Everything that preceded was a fabrication. Everything to come is also a fabrication. And each creature raises its arms like a tree in this fabricated poem.

‫حال عليان‬ ‫ أحمد حبيب‬:‫الرتجمة من اللغة االنجليزية اىل العربية‬

‫ املهجر‬- ‫ بيت‬٢٢

22 Houses (Diaspora)

.‫ البحر يصفع تحت الشبابيك‬،‫طوال شهر ديسمرب‬

All December long, the sea slapped below the windows.

.‫منت يف غرفة الغسيل مرة واحدة‬

.‫أيب واخواين يشتمون الدخان عىل شاشة التليفزيون‬

I slept in the laundry room, once.

My father and his brothers cursed at the smoke on the television.

.‫أنا حولت املغسلة إىل حديقة‬

I turned the sink into a garden.

".‫الجريان ينادوين بإسم "هويل‬

The neighbors called me Holly.

.‫حصدت الثلج حتى ذقت طعم التكيال‬

I scooped out ice cubes until I tasted tequila.

.‫إصطيقظنة عىل إنفجار صفارات إنذار اإلعصار‬

We woke to the bleat of tornado sirens.

.‫نزفت من محاولتي للتسلق إىل داخل الشباك‬

I bled trying to climb into the window.

.‫كذبت عن رنة التلفون‬ .‫ترك أحد وردة تعبانة يل لونها زهري عىل مرشف الباب‬

By Hala Alyan

I lied about the telephone ringing. Someone left me a straggly pink flower on the doormat.

.‫مللمت حبات املطر مبلعقة من عىل البلكونة‬

I caught rain with a spoon on the balcony.

.‫العاصفة الثلجية دفنت الشبابيك كل إذن‬

The blizzard buried the windows like ears.

.‫ ثم قلت ال‬،‫قلت نعم‬ .‫تركنا هدايا العيد امليالد عند ما وصل الجيش‬ .‫كنت أحلم دامئا بالجريث والثلج‬ .‫صديقتي سمعت صوت عضامي ترضب القرميدة‬ .‫إنقلب لون النافذة إىل السواد من هياكل السجائر‬ .‫مزقت رسالة الحب ورشيت املاء لتشويش الحرب‬ .‫كانت هناك زخرفة عىل شكل سلحفاء يف حوض االستحامم‬ .‫رأيت إنعكايس عىل األبواب الزجاجية ورصخت‬ .‫االغنية عادت نفسها مرة بعد مرة عند ما كنت أستحام‬ .‫سمحت للعنكبوت بأن يعيش‬

I said yes, and then no. We left behind birthday gifts when the army landed. I kept dreaming about an eel, and snow. My friend heard my bone against the tile. The windowsill blackened with cigarette skeletons. I tore the love letter, and sprinkled water to smudge the ink. There was a single turquoise sequin in the bathtub. I saw my reflection in the French doors and screamed. The song played on a loop while he showered. I let the spider live.

‫حال عليان‬ ‫ أحمد حبيب‬:‫الرتجمة من اللغة االنجليزية اىل العربية‬

‫محادثة يف شهر ابريل‬

‫ يف فناء‬،‫شاي‬ ‫ صف طويل‬.‫يف منطقة الحمرا‬ ‫من األشجار يرفعون‬ ‫أكتافهم إىل السامء و‬

One Conversation in April Tea, courtyard in Hamra. A long row of trees quirk their shoulders to the sky and

‫تقول يل أن يجب عيل أن أذوق النعناع‬ ‫ األمس كانت هناك عاصفة‬.‫يف فلسطني‬

she tells me I must taste mint

‫والطرق مبعرثة‬ ‫بأغصن األشجار و‬

and the roads are still littered

‫وصور من شهداء حزب الله‬ ‫لديها لسان‬ ‫يسمونهوا الفيكتوريون‬ .‫مأساوي مكرش وحزين‬ ‫ ومذا عن الله؟‬.‫تتحجم‬ ‫أيريد هذا اليشء؟ تقصد‬ 42

By Hala Alyan

in Palestine. Yesterday, a storm,

with branches and the papered faces of Hezbollah martyrs. She has a mouth the Victorians would call tragic, downturned and full. She flinches. And God? Does He want this? She means the

‫ تقصد الرجال‬.‫املضاهرات‬ ‫وصدورهم الحمراء وهم‬ .‫يبارزون البحر‬ ‫اه أن يسكن الشخص عىل شاطئ البحار‬ ‫ويكون منبهر وهو ينتف نجم البحر‬ .‫من قرصها الرميل‬

protests. She means the men with chests of red as they lance the sea. O to be a beachcomber, plucking dazed the starfish from her gritty palace.

‫سألت عن امللح قبل‬ ‫ من أجل الحب‬.‫أن أذوع الرز‬

I ask for salt before I

‫املؤذن يشعل‬ .‫املدينة بأكملها بصدى صوته‬

the muezzin flames

taste the rice. For love,

the entire city with echoes.

‫أتريد أن تكون له مصدر وحي‬ ‫أم زوجته؟ هي تسأل‬

Would you rather be his muse

‫ والغيوم تفقد ألوانها‬،‫املطر من جديد‬ ‫شعرة بيضاء واحدة‬

Rain again, clouds blanching.

or his wife? she asks.

A single white hair,

‫ قطة جديت‬- ‫المعة‬ ‫تتمسك‬

glossy—my grandmother’s

،‫ أفضل أن أكون مصدر وحي‬.‫ اعطيها صفعة خفيفة‬.‫بثيايب‬ .‫ولكنني أكذب‬

sweater. I flick at it. Muse,

cat—clings to my

but I am lying.

‫حال عليان‬ ‫ترجمة من اإلنجليزية من احمد حبيب‬

‫موسم الجفل‬

‫مهداة ملن إتصل‬

‫قد يكون مصباح فاشل أم خطوات خاطئة‬ ‫ نرضة حذرة منك وسوف تراه‬،‫صباحاً ما‬ ،‫دبور حقدك امليت‬ ‫أز تلك الضج حليب تلك الضج يزين منقار الدبور و‬ ،‫ رياضيات أملا بعد‬،‫ سرتاه‬.‫الغبار يغطي اعيونه‬ ‫ ملحن‬.‫ الجرح الذي أهديته‬،‫عفن‬ ،‫ ذلك الشتاء‬،‫ كانت كعكة عرس‬،‫صغري‬ .‫ضعيف من الزلزال وخشخة أبواب مفتوحة‬ ،‫ كوخ ما مبني من الطني مزين بالصبار‬.‫أنا أطلقك لنفسك‬ ‫ و يف كل مكان‬.‫أو ناطحة سحاب يف لوس انجيليس‬ ‫ أضلع صغرية‬.‫ تفتت الحرشة‬:‫تذكري كاألسنان اللبنية‬ .‫ مشع يف لحمك‬،‫ حناج مجعد‬.‫عىل سجادتك‬

By Hala Alyan

Season for Flinching For the one who made the phone calls

It may be a sputtered lightbulb or lost footing one morning, a wary squinting and you will see it— the dead wasp of your malice, that buzz hum buzz milk still beading the stinger and dust filming each eye. You will see it, arithmetic of after, septic, the wound you gifted. Little composer, it was a wedding cake, that winter, limp with earthquake and the rattle of lobbed doors. I release you to yourself. Some adobe hut trimmed with cacti, or a skyscraper in Los Angeles. And, everywhere, reminders like milk teeth: the insect detritus. Tiny limbs on your carpet. A crinkled wing, radiant in your meat.

‫حال عليان‬ ‫ أحمد حبيب‬:‫الرتجمة من اللغة االنجليزية اىل العربية‬

‫وردة حيفا‬

‫ حرشة‬،‫إحدى أوراق الوردة ضائعة والجذع مرقش‬ ‫ بالرغم من ذلك أشد عىل األخرض بلطف‬.‫أو مرض يخرتق النباتة كالبرة‬ :‫ الحديقة ليست أبداً مليك‬.‫من الشجرية‬ ‫ رمش مجرور‬،‫ إصبع القدم‬،‫ األنف‬.‫أسمي الرشوق شبكة شعرية‬ ‫ والقرار‬.‫ عىل صفحة جريدة‬،‫ يف وقت الحق‬،‫وجد‬ ‫ ايجب عيل أن اقذف هذا اليشء‬.‫ أو للضامد أو للرأفة‬،‫لإلجالل‬ ‫ واجعل أوراق الشجر‬،‫ إىل أعامق البحر‬،‫مثل حبيبة من حضارة املايا‬ ،‫ حتى األمواج تندفع وتبلع‬،‫يسبحون بهوس وجنون‬ ‫ أنتف إىل القلب‬،‫وتنسق كهف أخرض؟ أو ألقي الطمع‬ ‫وأطالب برؤية الهيكل العضمي لحبيبي؟‬ ‫ أنا إبنة التقارير اإلخبارية‬.‫ عاطفية‬،‫عالمة نارية‬ ‫طاولة املطبخ امللطخة بالجص الذي يرسم‬ .‫ سلمى املصنوعة من الرماد‬،‫ مصطفى‬،‫ وجيد‬،‫إسم عايدة‬ .‫ إحرتاق اإلحرتاق‬،‫ذلك الطني الذي يعيش عىل طريق الدخان‬ 48

By Hala Alyan

The Flower from Haifa A petal is missing and the stem is mottled, some aphid or virus needling the skin. Still, I yank the green gently from the shrub. The garden is never mine: I name the sunup lattice. Nose, toe, eyelash tugged and found, later, on a newspaper page. And the decision for homage, the gauze or the clemency. Do I fling it, like some Mayan sweetheart, into the sea, let the leaves swim frantically, until the waves hurtle and swallow, orchestrate a green grave? Or recite some coveting, pluck it to the heart demanding to see the skeleton of my love? Fire sign, sentimental. I am the daughter of news reports, the spackled kitchen counter in whose pattern skulk the names—Aida, Wajid, Mustafa, Salma—of the ashed. That loam alive with smoke trail, the burning a burning.

‫ وسمحت له أن يكون نجمة‬.‫ أثر قديم يعرج‬:‫ يف شعري‬،ً‫أوال‬ .‫ غري مرتب يف حظرية حيوانات ناشفة مؤقتة‬،‫يف قنينة ماء فارغة‬

First, in my hair: limp relic. Then I let it star an empty

‫ أفك الجثة املبلولة‬.‫ البالستيك ميوع‬.‫والكن يف الحرارة‬ ‫ عضو الذكر الجنيس للنبتة منحني وأضغطه‬،‫ورقة شجرة مطويية‬

But the heat. The plastic melts. I untangle the wet corpse—

water bottle, tousled in the makeshift vivarium.

one leaf dog-eared, stamen drooping—and press it

.‫ ما بني قنديل البحر مدوسة وحى مغلق‬،‫بدقة يف كتاب‬ ‫ متكلسة بأوراق الورد‬،‫ يف بروكلني‬،‫وعند ما أجدهو‬

meticulously in a book, between a Medusa and a ghetto.

.‫ وأتذكر انني قرصنته‬،‫ والبنفسجي‬،‫ الربتقايل‬:‫مجمدة‬

stiffed: the orange, the fuchsia, this remember I pirated.

When I find it, in Brooklyn, it is calcified with petals

Vénus Khoury-Ghata Translated from French by Marilyn Hacker

Eight Poems

Odeur mâle d’arbres sans nom et de sueur d’écorce

Male odor of nameless trees and sweat of their bark

La femme verte abrite une ruche sous son aisselle

The green woman shelters a hive in her armpit

Le fleuve dévié pour arroser ses genoux enjambera son seuil

The river unbedded to water her knees will step across her threshold

Les hommes venus de l’embouchure traquent son miel

Men come from the river’s mouth seek her honey

Les fumées de leurs cigarettes font suffoquer les morts épinglés sur son mur

The smoke of their cigarettes chokes the dead who are hung on her wall

Autant de trépassés que de neiges épaissies

as many dead as there were deep snowfalls

Le premier avait un caillou dans sa poche

The first one had a pebble in his pocket

Le deuxième avait un livre mais ne savait pas lire

The second had a book but couldn’t read

Le troisième céda son manteau à un loup

The third gave away his coat to a wolf

Celle qui lave loups et livres dans la même eau ne fait pas la différence entre un mot

The woman who washes wolves and books in the same water treats words and

et un caillou

pebbles alike

Maison habitée déshabitée soumise aux structures de l’air

Inhabited uninhabited house subject to the air’s structure

Nous écartions les cloisons pour améliorer un quotidien fait de hachures

We opened up the partitions to improve a daily life made of crosshatching

Admettions l’extension de la pluie dans nos tiroirs entre linge menstruel et draps

accepted the rain’s stretching itself into our drawers between menstrual cloths and

Pluie de village qui va nu-pieds suivie de hordes d’eau criardes

sheets

Repoussait les clôtures

A village rain that went barefoot followed by gangs of squalling waters

Enjambait les jardins

pushed gates open

Pluie sans revendications balayée par la mère avec les épluchures

climbed over gardens

Bruine dévalant sans émotion le mur du cimetière

Rain that made no claims swept away by the mother with the vegetable peelings

S’arrêtant avec respect face au premier caillou

Drizzle gushing down the cemetery wall with no emotion

C’est du moins ce qu’elle transcrivait sur nos vitres

stopping respectfully in front of the first pebble

Notre tâche consistait à l’écouter

At least that’s what she wrote on our windowpanes

À la guider lorsqu’elle perdait ses repaires

Our task was to listen to her

S’absentait une saison sur deux accrochée à la falaise alors que nous discutions avec

and guide her when she lost her way

des cailloux de basse extraction Et que nous l’appelions Pas de pitié pour une sourde clamait le père et il abattait le toit du plat de la main

and was gone one season out of two hanging on to the cliff while we conversed with common-born pebbles and called to her I have no pity for a deaf woman exclaimed the father and he knocked down the roof with the palm of his hand

La terre à l’époque cumulait les terres

The earth in those days gathered up other earths

On enterrait à tour de bras les océans

Oceans were buried by the dozens

Le soleil devenait précaire

The sun became precarious

La nuit arrivait à tout moment

Night came at any moment

La mère nous confiait à l’obscurité qui éfface les fautes d’orthographe et les cahiers

The mother gave us over to darkness that erased spelling mistakes and notebooks

La mère nous éffacait avant de rejoindre l’orme qui l’attendait nu dans son écorce

The mother erased us before going to meet the elm awaiting her naked in its bark

L’aimait à genoux

Made love to it on her knees

Sueur verte et résine maculant son corsage en dentelle

green sweat and resin staining her lace bodice The mother milked the tree under the forest’s nose

Elle allait aux étreintes comme on va à l’herbe

She went toward embraces the way one goes to pasture

Accrochait au passage un orme blanc

grabbed onto a white elm in passing

Un platane aux bras raccourcis

a plane-tree with shortened arms

Faisait des petits avec toute ombres qu’elle croisait

made babies with every shadow that brushed against her

Nos frères en désarroi les oiseaux ramenés dans ses cheveux

the birds she brought back in her hair were our brothers in disorder

La mère une saisonnière d’amour comme la grive aux yeux roux

The mother was love’s day-worker like the rusty-eyed thrush

La mère trayait l’arbre à la barbe de la forêt

Le pain rassis sur le muret nourissait les fourmis et l’ange de la maison

The stale bread on the windowsill fed the ants and the angel of the house

Ses plumes sur la vitre pluvieuse nous protégeaient de la hargne du tilleul le vrai

his feathers on the rainy pane protected us from the spite

propriétaire des lieux

of the linden tree, true owner of the grounds

Nos doigts le dessinaient à la droite du dieu du repentir et de la frugalité

Our fingers drew him standing to the right of the god of repentance and frugality

Épaules chancelantes telle balance de fin de marché

shoulders unsteady as a scale at the end of market day

Dieu de l’abondance et de sauterelles amicales

God of abundance and of friendly locusts

Qui casse les noix du revers de la main

who cracks walnuts with the back of your hand

Fais reluire les casseroles de la mère avec ton soleil de poche

polish the mother’s pots with the sun you keep in your pocket

Remplis-les du bruissement de tes abeilles

fill them with your bees’ buzzing

Mets une bague à chaque doigt de nos pigeons

put a ring on every one of our pigeons’ fingers.

Les armées de poussière soulevées par son balai mangeaient la porte nos cahiers et son collier

The armies of dust raised by her broom ate the door our notebooks and her necklace belched up bits of pearl

Rotaient des échardes de perles

It was war

C’était la guerre

The bloody battles between those who chewed on our first-communion smiles and

Les batailles sanglantes entre ceux qui machaient nos sourires de premiers communiants et ceux qui lapaient le sel de l’évier se déroulaient sous la jupe de la mère Dans son puits obscur au centre de sa margelle

those who lapped up the salt from the kitchen sink went on beneath the mother’s skirt in the dark at the bottom of her well

Accrochés au manche de son balai

Clinging to her broomstick

On la suppliait de signer l’armistice avec les généraux chamarrés du soleil

we begged her to sign a truce with the sun-bedecked generals

Avec les artilleurs nourris au grain

with the grain-fed artillery

De mettre à terre le porte-drapeau qui brandissait son linge souillé

to dismiss the flag-bearer waving her soiled laundry

Nous la supplions de sauver les casseroles la branche de buis de nos baptêmes les

We begged her to save the pots the boxwood branch from our baptism grandfather’s

lunettes du grand-père

glasses

De frayer avec toutes les armées

to mix with all the armies

Celles qui deroulent les routes devant les cortèges

the ones who rolled out the roads in front of the funeral processions

Celles qui balaient les morts étrangers

the ones who swept away the foreign dead

Que d’applaudissements sous les jupes de la mère qui coloriait Dieu en jaune avec

Such applause beneath the mother’s skirts as she colored God yellow with a touch of

une pointe de rouge aux joues

red on the cheeks

Les doigts de la mère nous retiraient de l’âtre où nous crépitions avec les châtaignes Déposait nos cendres sur les meubles

The mother’s fingers drew us out of the hearth where we crackled with the chestnuts

Sur les toits où les chats s’étirent

placed our ashes on the furniture

Nous étions des enfants inflammables

on the rooftops where the cats stretched themselves

Noms d’une syllabe bondissant entre âtre et évier

we were flammable children

Les oreilles pointues du père l’assimilaient à un loup

one-syllable names leapt between the hearth and the sink

La mère qui nous regardait rougeoyer nous soulevait par le cou

the father’s pointed ears linked him to wolves

Nous époussetait

the mother who watched us glowing red lifted us by the scruff of the neck

Suturait notre âme

dusted us off

La mère criait dans les cendriers

stitched up our souls the mother cried out in the ash-pan

Suzanne Alaywan Translated from the Arabic by Ghada Mourad

Montmartre ‫املطل‬ ّ ‫التل‬ ّ ‫عىل‬ ‫أسطوري‬ ‫كطائر‬ ّ ‫عىل مدينتنا‬ ‫غيم وشجر صنوبر‬ ‫وصغار باألبيض واألسود‬ ‫فوق ظلّينا يركضون‬ ‫خطوة عىل جفنك‬ ‫خدي‬ ‫عىل‬ ‫أختها‬ ّ ‫أودية خفيفة‬ ‫يف ابتسامتنا‬ ‫مظلّة يف يد عازف‬ ‫كامن‬ ‫حقيبة‬ ‫صحو‬ ‫لوحات حول ساحة‬ ‫يج ّنحها الحامم‬ ‫رص‬ ‫ومطر‬ ّ ّ ‫رسام ي‬ ‫الصيف‬ ‫عىل األلوان املائ ّية‬ 68

Montmartre On the hill overlooking our city like a mythical bird cloud and pine trees and little ones in black and white running over both our shadows A step on your eyelid Its sister on my cheek Light valleys in our smile An umbrella in the hand of a player the fineness of a violin case paintings around a courtyard winged by doves and summer rain a painter insisting on watercolors

‫لوفرة الدموع‬ ‫بغريزة الغرقى‬ ‫تتشابك يدانا‬ ‫برغبة األزرق‬ ‫يف أن يبقى سامء‬ ‫القطار أحمر‬ ‫ُقبلة عىل قضبان‬ ‫نسمة عىل سالمل‬ ‫دوري ودفقة عطر‬ ّ ‫طاحونة حول مالمحنا‬ ‫ليل ألتدثّر بعينيك‬ ‫مليون درجة‬ ‫من الجرح‬ ‫فينا‬ ‫ياسمني يابس‬ ‫م ّنا يتساقط‬ ‫هي الضفّة الضحكة من الحكاية‬ ً‫العامل أعىل قليال‬ ‫كعبه يف وحل‬ ‫من‬

for the abundance of tears

With the instinct of shipwrecked our hands intertwine with the blue's desire to remain a sky The train is red a kiss on bars A breeze on ladders a sparrow and a splash of a perfume A mill around our lineaments a night to wrap myself in your eyes A million phases of the wound in us Dried jasmine falling from us It's the tale's laughing bank the world a little higher than its heel in mud

‫كنيسة عتيقة‬ ‫فضّ ة طافئة‬ ‫ووجهك نجم ُة َمن أضاع يف النهر وجهه‬

An old church a tarnished silver and your face is the star of the one who in the river lost his face

Suzanne Alaywan Translated from the Arabic by Ghada Mourad

‫مس ّودة مدينة‬ ّ ‫قش‬ ‫عريشة أقامر يف قارورة‬ ‫أبيات بحر عىل محرمة‬ ‫مطرقة عىل حطب عناق‬ ‫مشط يضحك‬ ‫فراشات ودبابيس‬ ‫مه ّرج صغري من البالستك‬ ‫رسة‬ ّ ‫قطنة سكرى وسط‬ ‫خيط حكاية أحمر‬ ‫حبال طويلة من مطر‬ ‫فلّينة لغرق بني األصابع‬ ‫لقطة يتيمة‬ ‫لوهلة وجهني‬ 74

Draft of a City Two straw lovers a canopy of moons in a bottle Lines of verse on a handkerchief A hammer on the wood of an embrace A comb laughing butterflies and pins A small plastic clown a drunken cotton ball in the navel's center A tale's red thread long ropes of rain A cork for sinking between fingers an orphan snapshot of the brevity of two faces

‫تلويحة وداع‬ ‫وردة‬ ‫بحس‬ ّ ‫قصة مص ّورة‬ ّ ‫قلب فنجان‬ ‫يف‬ ‫عربة روببكيا‬ ‫هذا العامل‬ ‫لوال دمعة تدلّني‬

A farewell wave with Warda's voice A story illustrated in the heart of a cup A cart of rubbish this world were it not for a tear leading me

Suzanne Alaywan Translated from the Arabic by Ghada Mourad

‫الدرجة صفر من الصحراء‬

1 ‫صهيل صحارى‬ ‫ألحصنة بحر‬ ‫كواكب وحص‬ ‫قطيع من املراكب الوادعة‬ ‫كيف لوتد يصدأ‬ ‫أن يصبح جذ ًرا؟‬ ‫ومن أين ألبيات‬ ‫من يباس وبرت‬ ‫بكل هذه الواحات يف وجدان؟‬ ّ ‫القصة‬ ّ ‫هكذا‬ ‫وغرق‬ ‫من غبار‬ ‫ظبي‬ ‫سائلة‬ ‫بنظرة‬

Degree Zero of the Desert 1 Neigh of deserts for sea horses Planets and gravel A herd of peaceful boats How can a corroding peg become a root? And where do verses of dryness and severance have all these oases in emotion from? Thus the story from dust and drowning A deer with a questioning glance

‫وابل من س ّيارات‬ ‫نوارس ملطّخة‬ ‫بحروب ونفط‬ ‫أسامك بكاء عميق‬ ‫مسك مواعيد‬ ‫عىل ساعة معصمي‬ ‫أكياس كثرية‬ ‫فارغة‬ ‫ركام سورها‬ ‫من‬ ‫مدينة‬ ‫وحل عىل مالمح‬ ‫مفاتيح يف أرواح‬ ‫ومن النخل أمريات‬ ‫من ساللة ملك ضلّيل‬ ‫يكنسن ظالل السعف‬ ‫بسعف من ظالل‬ ‫وبنات نعش‬ ‫عىل الدرب مؤنسات‬ ‫من عصافري الصوف‬ ‫لوشاح شاحب‬ ‫من أقىص األجنحة‬ ‫إىل أحرف ذات صلة‬

A downpour of cars Gulls stained by wars and oil Fish, deeply crying Musk of rendezvous on my wrist watch Many bags empty A city of rubble wall Mud on lineaments keys in souls And from the palms princesses descended from a deceptive king sweeping the fronds' shadows with shadows' fronds And the Ursa Major stars on the road affable to a pale scarf of wool sparrows from the farthest wings to letters linked to a Christ's-thorn tree inhabiting me

‫بسدرة تسكنني‬ ‫كعمود بفقرات مكسورة‬ ‫بعينني عراق ّيتني‬ ‫تعرفهام النواهل‬ ‫كام األنهار‬ ‫مغمض ًة‬ ‫نحو أطفالها تسيل‬ ‫بهالل صغري‬ ‫لهول الجرح‬ ‫الصق عىل جبني‬ 2 ‫من املفرد‬ ‫إىل اللاّ نهاية‬ ‫كل مرادف‬ ّ ‫ضد‬ ّ ‫ومرآة‬ ‫ضد األرجوحة‬ ّ ‫مجازًا‬ ‫ومزا ًجا‬ ‫وما ميثّله‬ ‫كام لو عىل خشبة مرسح‬ ‫زوج حامم‬

as a column with broken vertebrae To two Iraqi eyes whom springs know as well as rivers with eyes shut flowing towards their children to a small crescent for the wound's gravity adhering to a front

2 From the singular to infinity against each synonym and every mirror Against the swing metaphorically and in disposition and what symbolizes as if on stage a pair of doves

‫ َمن‬ ‫مبشنقة مضاعفة‬ ‫يتعلّق؟‬ ‫مع الخطوة‬ ‫ألنّها طائر‬ ‫ضد الصورة‬ ّ ‫والرسوة‬ ‫وألنّ القميص الذي أهديتني‬ ‫تلويحة كفن‬ ‫رشاع‬ ‫يف‬ ‫بحطامي أرفرف‬ ‫سفين ًة عىل رمال ماحية‬ ‫عىل يقني‬ ‫بأنّ ب ًرئا من ضوء‬ ‫من أزرق قصيدة‬ ‫يف بقعة ما‬ ‫من هذه العاصفة الصفراء‬ ‫تختبئ‬ 3 ‫الصاحب األ ّول‬ ‫مصابيح السادسة صبا ًحا‬ ‫جدار‬ ‫جوف‬ ‫جمر غضً ا يف‬ ‫غيمة غامضة عىل مسيل‬ 84

Who with a double gallows dangles? With the step because it's a bird against the image and the cypress tree and because the shirt you gifted me is a shroud's plank in a sail in my wreckage I flutter a ship on erasing sands Certain that a well of light from a poem's blue in some spot of this yellow storm hides 3 The old companion the six-in-the-morning lights Lush embers in a wall cavity a nebulous cloud on a riverbed

‫ّرت‬ ُ ‫كم تأخ‬ ‫عن شمعتي وتابويت‬ ‫كم من املطر‬ ‫يف ندايئ لحبيبي‬ ‫ومن خشب الكعوب املتسلّقة‬ ‫سالمل ابتسامتنا‬ ‫عىل‬ ‫يا إسمي‬ 4 ‫سبعة كالب ضامرة‬ ‫سدو شموس‬ ‫عىل حدبات جسور‬ ‫أصابع إثل آثم‬ ‫صغار لؤلؤ يف سديم‬ ‫وتلك الجالسة األجمل من نفسها‬ ‫برد باكر‬ ‫يف‬ ‫بفنجانني مرتجفني‬ ‫عىل حا ّفة شاهقة من نحيبنا‬ ‫الحب‬ ّ ‫أيّها‬ ‫ال تع ِّرنا أكرث‬ ‫أيّتها اللحظة‬ ‫أمهليني معطف عظامي‬ 86

How late I am to my candle and coffin How much rain there is in my call to my beloved and how much wood of the heels climbing on our smile's ladders Oh my name 4 Seven skinny dogs the Sadu of suns on the bridges' humps fingers of a sinful tamarisk small pearls in a nebula And that one seated and more beautiful than herself with two cups shaking in an early cold on a towering edge of our wailing Love, Denude us no more O moment, Respite me my skeleton's coat

‫خشية أن يكون املشوار‬ ‫أقرص من أغنية‬ ‫أن تنهك أكتا َفنا‬ ‫رياح دومنا أزهار‬ ٌ ‫يستحيل قمر املنازل الحزينة‬ ‫أسطوانة سوداء‬ ‫يف أفق رصيفه‬ ‫والشار ُع الذي‬ ‫محطّة فراق‬ ‫شجر ًة ال يؤ ّرقها‬ ‫سوى ما يورق فينا‬

Lest the journey be shorter than a song a wind without flowers fatigue our shoulders the sad homes' moon turns into a black disc and the street in whose sidewalk's horizon a parting station a tree kept awake only by what leafs in us

Nouri al-Jarrah Translated from Arabic by Tom Warner

‫دمشق‬ َ‫نزلت من قاسيون‬ ُ ‫وطَ َويْ ُت الجبل‬ ‫حقيبتي صغرية وسؤايل كبري‬ ،‫مقفل‬ ٌ ‫دمشق‬ ‫اك‬ َ ُ ‫شُ َّب‬ .‫الخائف يف دوالبها‬ ‫وقل ُبها‬ ُ ‫يف موضعه‬ .‫الصوف‬ ِّ ‫الص ْب َي ُة املنت ِحرونَ كُ َر َة‬ ِّ ‫تَ َر َك‬ ِ ‫الباب ورايئ‬ َ ‫لتوص ِد‬ ِ ‫وتغزِل الكنز‬ ‫ات للموىت‬ ‫و‬ .‫تنتظ ُر‬

Damascus In this little bag that bumps at my shoulder, I carry down a question bigger than Mount Qasioun. The entrance to Damascus is locked and checked; out of reach, the city’s stashed its heart away. Boys who killed themselves left balls of wool; I tie my door, knit jumpers for the dead, wait.

Nouri al-Jarrah Translated from Arabic by Tom Warner

‫الهارب‬ ‫حني تجيئني‬ ‫أترك ُِك واقف ًة‬ ‫وأستلقي‬ ‫وجهي لحرام* الصوف‬ َ ‫عميق‬ ‫عيناي الختفا ٍء‬ ٍ ‫حني تجيئني‬ ‫أفلت من أصابعك كسمك ٍة‬ ‫وأسبح عىل السلَّم‬ ُ ٍ‫إىل شارع‬ ‫إىل قف ٍر‬ ‫إىل غاب ٍة‬ .‫تحت سام ٍء ال ت ُِظ ُّل سوى الهاربني‬

The Fugitive When you unfold the map of your words, smooth the creases from your questions, I roll over, turn my face to the sheets and find I’m really a fish slipping through the sludgy waterways beneath the streets, escaping to a sky that hides the likes of me. Beirut, spring, 1983

1983 ‫ربيع بريوت‬

Nouri al-Jarrah Translated from Arabic by Tom Warner

‫بعد تأ ُّمل‬

‫إىل شاعر إغريقي‬

‫قصيدتك‬ ‫خارج‬ َ َ ‫الغزا ُة الذين انتظرتَ ُه ُم‬ ‫كانوا ورا َءك يف املدينة‬ ُ ،‫وسارق العجل ِة من املعبد‬ ،‫اللص‬ ُ ُ‫الطحان‬ ‫ املحامي املصاب بالكَلَب‬،‫ القايض املرتيش‬،‫الالعب بالنقود‬ ‫التاج ُر‬ ُ ‫العسكري‬ ،‫صاحب النياشني‬ ُ ُّ ،‫اغب يف رسير املتعة‬ ُ ‫والجندي الز‬ ُّ ِ ‫ويف َح‬ ..‫كاتب التقرير مبدا ِد العلم‬ ُ ‫ضيض السل َِّم‬

On Reflection To a Greek poet

The invaders you wait for outside the poem are behind you in the city: the miller pilfering weights of grain, the one who stole the wheel from the temple, the merchant with his stack of deeds, the judge with greasy hands, the rabid lawyer, the officer of polished medals, the soldier with a shadow on his lip thin and naked in a stranger’s bed, the informer, the lowest, the lowest, who submits reports in the ink of the flag.

،‫الغزا ُة الذين انتظرتَهم يف ظاهر املدينة باألناشيد‬ ،‫وبالصو ِر الشاهقة‬ ‫بالزبَد‬ ً‫صارخا‬ ،‫يف َف ِم الخطيب‬ ...‫وباملوازين مطفَّف ًة‬ ِ ‫الفتات املعرك ِة‬ ‫ومن وراء‬ ِ ، ٍ‫الحرب غائص ًة يف وحل‬ ‫وعجالت‬ ‫بكتائب العسكر‬ ِ ِ ...‫وبالرشف املنزيل الرفيع‬ ،‫ يف السوق ويف القلعة‬،‫اءك‬ َ ‫اءك ور‬ َ ‫ور‬ .‫كان الغزاة‬ ‫ لهالل رمضان؟‬،‫ هذه السنة‬،"‫ماذا سيقول "سوق الحميدية‬ ِ ،‫الحليب‬ ‫أباريق‬ ‫الحقول ومعه َّن‬ ‫األمهات يف‬ ُ ‫الغزا ُة الذين انتظرتْ ُه ُم‬ ُ ِ ِ ...‫ات بالتطريز‬ ُ ‫والجد‬ ،‫باملناسف‬ ‫واآلبا ُء‬ ّ ِ . ..‫للرجال بأ ٍمل يف الحالب‬ ‫ وتسببوا‬..‫الغزا ُة الذين أثاروا مخ ِّيلة الصبايا‬ ،‫م ّروا يف يقظتك‬ ‫ومروا يف منامك‬

You wait for them in the upper city, with your anthems, with lofty expectations, with foam in the mouth ofspokesmen, with scales of beguiling balance, with banners of the battle, with military brigades, with wheels of war sunk in the mud, and with your homemade honour. The invaders are behind you in the bazaar, in the castle. Al-Hamidiya, how will you speak to the crescent of Ramadan this year? The invaders, mothers wait for them in the fields with jugs of milk and fathers carry plates of food and grandmothers bring embroidery. The invaders, who stir the thoughts of women and turn water to a burning trickle, pass through your waking hours and pass through your sleep.

،‫وسحب الدخان عىل الجبال‬ ،‫هكذا انترصت املخيل ُة عىل املدينة‬ ُ ‫دم الليل‬ ِ ‫انترص النامئون يف عسل الفكر ِة عىل الضاربني أيديهم يف امللح والعابرين يف‬ ،‫الجندي النائم عىل الجندي املستيقظ‬ ‫انترص‬ ُّ ...‫والهارب من السيف عىل املدافع تحت السور‬ ُ :‫املفضوح أنشدوا للراقصة يف تلك الليلة‬ ‫والقنصل‬ ُ ،‫والسيايس املرن‬ ،‫الخطيب املفوه‬ ُ ُ ُّ ‫عاش الوطن‬ ‫عاش الوطن‬ ،‫ وال عن أسامء املجروحني واملفقودين‬،‫مل يسأل أحد عن صور الضحايا‬ ...‫ والجرحى بأكياس الشعري‬،‫طمرت القتىل بالغار‬ ْ ‫العربات‬ ‫الغزا ُة‬ ‫الغزا ُة‬

Thus imagination triumphs over the city, clouds of smoke over the mountains, the sleepers in the honey of ideas triumph over those who punch the salt and over transients in the blood of night; how the sleeping soldier triumphs over he who sits awake, how the coward who runs triumphs over the stalwart who stays to hold the wall. The vehement orator, the flexible politician, the scandalous consul, all sing together to the belly dancer tonight, Long live the homeland! Long live the homeland! No one asks for photos of the victims, nor the names of the wounded and the missing. They throw the dead and injured on carriages and dump on them piles of laurels and barley bags. The invaders you wait for inside the poem, in the shadow, are with you in the marrow of the city.

About the Contributors

TRANSLATORS

WRITERS

Ahmed Habib is an Iraqi writer, living on the Suzanne Alaywan was born in 1974 in Beirut to a Lebanese father and an Iraqi mother. rooftop of love, with no view of Baghdad. Because of the war she spent her childhood Marilyn Hacker's twelve books of poems and adolescence between Andalusia, Paris, include Names and Essays on Departure. and Cairo. In 1997, she graduated from Among her translations from the French are the school of Journalism and Media, at the Rachida Madani’s Tales of a Severed Head University of Cairo. Now living in Beirut, "the and Vénus Khoury-Ghata’s Alphabets of homeland’s fairytale", she writes, paints, and Sand and Nettles. She is a Chancellor of the dreams sometimes. Academy of American Poets. Sousan Hammad is a Palestinian writer and translator from Texas. She currently lives in Paris and is working on a piece of fiction. Ghada Mourad is a PhD student in Comparative Literature at University of California, Irvine and a Schaeffer fellow in literary translation in the International Center of Writing and Translation at UC Irvine as well. Her research interests include politics and aesthetics in late twentieth-century Arabic and Francophone literature in the MENA.

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Hala Alyan is a Palestinian-American poet and doctoral student whose work has appeared in journals such as Eclectica, The Dirty Napkin, and The Journal. Hala has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and was a winner of the 2012 Nazim Hikmet Poetry Festival Competition. Her full-length collection of poetry, Atrium, was published by Three Rooms Press in New York City last year.

Sulafa Hijjawi was born in Nablus in 1934. In Iraq, Hijjawi worked as both a teacher and, from 1974 to 1980, was the editor of the Review of the Center for Palestinian Studies at Baghdad University. She later moved to Tunis, where she worked in translation, particularly of Palestinian poetry into English. Her work includes an edited volume of poetry in Poetry of Resistance in Occupied Palestine and a translation of David Sinclair’s Edgar Allan Poe. Hijjawi also writes political articles published in Arabic newspapers and has a collection of her prose poems in the book, Palestinian Songs. Najwan Darwish is a poet, critic and literary editor. He lives in Jerusalem, Palestine. Darwish is the literary advisor of the Palestine Festival of Literature (PalFest) and a co-founder of Palestine Writing Workshop. Darwish has published five books, the latest of which is Je me lèverai un jour; a selection of his poetry in French. He was selected in 2009 by the Beirut 39 Festival as one of the best Arabic-language writers under the age of 39. Nouri al-Jarrah was born in Damascus in 1956. As a leading Syrian poet and editor, al-Jarrah has had more than ten books of poetry published. He established the literary magazine Al-Katiba, a quarterly journal for poetry, and as a practitioner has coestablished a number of cultural initiatives in the past three decades. Al-Jarrah has lived in London since 1986, where he is currently the director of The Arab Centre for Geographical Literature.

photographer Salwa Rashad. Khaled has six books of poetry, his most recent being Taht Alshems Zakirat Okhra (Under the Sun of Another Memory). His latest book is the novel, Wajouh Eskenderiyya (Faces of Alexandria), also published in 2012. Vénus Khoury-Ghata, Lebanese poet and novelist, and long-time Paris resident, is the author of seventeen novels, including Une Maison aux bord des larmes, La Maestra, and Le Facteur des Arbruzzes, and sixteen collections of poems, most recently Où vont les arbrex. Four collections of her poems and one novel are available in English in Marilyn Hacker’s translation. Recipient of the Académie Française prize in poetry in 2009, she was named an Officer of the Légion d’honneur the following year. She received the Prix Goncourt de poésie in 2011. Ahmad Yamani is an Egyptian poet and translator who lives in Madrid. He has published four books of poetry in Arabic, which include Amaken Khati'a (Wrong Places) and Wardat fi' I-RAAS (Roses in the Head). Yamani also translates dozens of Spanish and Latin American authors and young poets. His fifth book of poetry is forthcoming.

Alaa Khaled, a poet and essayist, was born in Alexandria in 1960. He is the editor of Amkenah, a magazine interested in the ‘culture of the place’, which he publishes with artist and

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ABOUT SHAHADAT Shahadat is a quarterly online series designed to provide a platform for short-form writing and experimentation in writing by young and underexposed writers from the MENA region (Middle East and North Africa). The series features stories, vignettes, reflections, and chronicles in translation and the original language of Arabic, Farsi, Turkish, or Kurdish. It makes up one quarter of ArteEastâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s online programming, the AE Quarterly. For past issues of Shahadat click here.

Acknowledgements: For their encouragement and critique, I am grateful to my professors at The American University of Paris: Geoff Gilbert, director of the Masters in Cultural Translation program, and Anna-Louise Milne and Ziad Majed. I am grateful also to Najwan Darwish, and a big cheer to all the translators and poets who were patient with my persistent emails. May we all find our cities again.

ABOUT THIS SERIES Shahadat is proud to run two alternating series, and releases four issues a year. The issue youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve just perused is part of the "Contemporary Literature in Translation" series which presents contemporary authors in Works are presented in their original language and in translation.. Our other series, "Exploring Popular Literature" challenges traditional understandings of "literature" emerging from the Middle East and North Africa by presenting genres of creative production that rely on words and language but which have not typically been studied as literature. In each issue, we gather texts from a spectrum of writers to challenge the singular status of the artist/author and to encourage a more complex presentation of the Middle Eastern and North African "street" for English-speaking audiences.

Shahadat logo design by Rima Farouki 102

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