Fall 2012
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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 — such as The Museum of Modern Art, Tate Modern, and the Sharjah Art Foundation — ArteEast’s film, visual arts, and literary programs reach thousands of new audiences each year. 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. www.arteeast.org November, 2012. New York.
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Edited by Barrak Alzaid
Contemporary Literature in Translation Series Excerpt from Mary Choueiter’s Contes féeriques Translated by Sophie Chamas 3
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Table of Contents From the Editor
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From the Translator
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Contes fĂŠeriques
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In Conversation
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About the Contributors
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From the Editor The following excerpts from Mary Choueiter’s Contes féeriques have been adapted by the artist from a meticulously hand crafted artists’ book for this exclusive digital Shahadat edition. The story that unfolds is an allegory of modern Lebanese history, told through the voice of a young, naïve figure and a cast of animal characters. In this adaptation Choueiter manipulates the legibility of text through a custom typeface, and draws on this illustrative quality of type to create patterns, as she does with the Arabic letter nun that composes a rooster’s visage. These motifs, coupled with massive 3D modeled Arabic title cards bleed across pages of the publication, and collaborate to blur the boundaries between a folklore aesthetic and the dystopic modalities of corruption, control and power.
The artist’s adaptation and re-reading of Lebanese extends the trajectory spearheaded by leading Lebanese artists like Rabih Mroué who use performance and visual art to draw attention to the myriad conflicting stories that comprise the country’s history. Through this digital work, which is paired with a public reading and performance,
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Choueiter offers a new method for narrating Lebanese history and subverts her role as an authoritative voice by casting her story, much like Lebanon’s own history, as subjective and rife with inconsistencies.
Sophie Chamas’ translation of Choueiter’s poetic text deftly handles the conceptual and lyrical leaps demanded by code switching between Modern Standard Arabic and the Lebanese dialect. The narrative does not pander or seek to fill all the gaps. Instead, Choueiter’s text and its subsequent translation renders the complex nature of Lebanon’s histories through parables that are often illegible, incomprehensible and laced with irony.
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From the Translator I have a puzzle for you.
Once upon (a not so distant) time, In a far away land (but only for some), Two girls were born and raised. They spoke the same language, Ate the same food, Shared the same flag, And held the same sorry passport. But they hailed from different countries. How could this be?
Mary Choueiter and I are both Lebanese. We were raised, like most of our compatriots, on the smell of the Levantine kitchen, the sound of perpetual traffic congestion, the satirical relief of Ziad Rahbani, and the discipline, advice, and affection communicated by parents and teachers, neighbors and elderly strangers, through the often nonsensical vernacular of Arabic proverbs.
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But while our childhoods unfolded in the same, small geographic space, Mary and I grew up in different countries – the reluctant natives of distinct, inimical Lebanons. Each exists alongside a plethora of national iterations constantly in contest with one another. These conflicts, arising more from internal ruptures than foreign punches, create cultural fault lines.
Lebanon does not have a unified national history curriculum for its schools. Our nation's origin story, its most valuable resource, is fervently fought over by politicians who see themselves as the rightful inheritors of a fictive, ages-old battle for this shriveled territory's soul. These individuals seek control of the past to hold on to the present and stamp out their preferred path forward. In its short time as an independent country, Lebanon has produced sectarian rather than national leaders, who see history as a powerful instrument through which to prove their respective group’s rightful place at the head of the nation and in its most privileged positions.
In Lebanon, “national history” is often learned in the home. Criticality, analysis, sources, and debate are abandoned in favor of memorized
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and parroted mantras aimed at evoking feelings of righteousness, indignation, pride, and a desire to march, lobby, vote, fight, and even kill or potentially die in the name of a homogenous country, infested with foreign bacteria that must be expelled. Who are the natives and who are the unwelcome squatters differ from one tiny kilometer to the other.
We are a nation of boys crying wolf, accustomed to the stench of political diarrhea, which travels through media sewage pipes into our homes and cars, offices and restaurants. It communicates truth after truth after baseless truth, until the concept loses all meaning and value and we resign ourselves to our post-structuralist, post-modern, post-nationalist fate of living devoid of history without any foreseeable future. We become content with, or at least numb to, this perpetual, stagnant present, which we prefer over the chaos that all previous attempts at resolving the past have brought stampeding into our world.
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In the pages that follow, Mary Choueiter does not tell the truth. Rather, she narrates a series of untruths, piecing together from memory bits and pieces she has collected from conversations and arguments had or overheard, lectures attended, posters glimpsed and speeches and newsreels watched. She assembles them into the the deformed bouquet of national nonsense that they collectively reflect. She subverts the normative framework of Lebanese historical narration, speaking and writing not from a place of self-proclaimed authority, but from a space of vulnerability and doubt. Through a fable that follows two lost birds on a journey to familiarize themselves with a contested land of unknown origins, she shares her confusion, her feelings of ignorance towards her past, and the precarious nature of her ‘Lebaneseness.’
Unlike other projects and publications that deal with Lebanese history but that aim to prove a prefabricated point, serving the interests of a particular sect, political party or corporation, Mary's text is introspective. It is a personal struggle through a wilderness of pseudo-information, not a means of passing judgment or placing blame. It is one Lebanese
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subject’s honest attempt at examining her relationship with her country, and an admission of her alienation, disappointment, and inability to fully know it.
Mary does not present an argument. Rather, through her investigation of Lebanese history, she emphasizes a sensibility that is central to the subjectivity of the young, contemporary Lebanese subject. Unable to accept the dominant narratives of Lebanese nation and native, many Lebanese are made to feel alienated from and foreign to their homeland, the families that coddled them but often promote discriminatory and hateful tales of primordial roots and blood-based rights, and the religious leaders they grew up respecting, but who preach social fragmentation and who oppose cross-sectarian cooperation.
Despite the frustrations it voices, the comforting conclusions it fails to come to, and the sarcastic and almost nihilistic satire that runs throughout it, Mary’s fable is ultimately a hopeful one. Mary rejects
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divisive sectarian narratives and attempts to engage her country directly without filters, pushing not to uncover the truth but to acknowledge its impossibility and nonexistence. She reveals that there is no discernible beginning but only the here and now of pluralism. In so doing, Mary and her fable have the potential to provoke some equally confused, unsatisfied and curious Lebanese beings into writing from scratch a story that, even if it is pure fabrication, works to cultivate an identity for nation and not sect, an identity for all of Lebanon’s peoples.
The Arabic text shifts back and forth between Modern Standard Arabic and Lebanese colloquial Arabic. The chapter 'Creation and Adolescence' is written completely in Lebanese colloquial, with the exception of the last paragraph. The chapters 'Entry' and 'Exit' oscillate between MSA and colloquial. To differentiate between the two styles in the English translation of 'Entry' and 'Exit', colloquial words or phrases are italicized.
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Entry
ال بل بدايات .وهذه الحكاية تجري يف زمن تعذّر علينا تحديده لقدمه وكان فيه ما كان ،أي تع ّد َدت فيه االحتامالت. والقصة التي هي موضوع هذه الصفحات بدأت يف فرتة ّ فص ُع َب علينا أن نستهلّها كان يا ما كان يف قديم الزمانَ ، (ولعل مفرد بداياتها أكرث دقّة هنا) .نواجه إذن، من بدايتها ّ الحكاية التالية ونكتفي بالدخول إليها بال مق ّدمات ،حيث نجد أنفسنا يف ق ٍّن ملختلف أنواع الدواجن والطيور.
his is how our story begins – in an
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unidentified time and place. As is always the
case with the unknown, the possibilities are endless.
”This story was born many “once upon a times ago, and so its origin – or origins to be more precise - are difficult to pinpoint. We begin then, without any introductions, in a coop housing all manners of birds and chickens.
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“O
nce upon a time, in a faraway land.”
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أوضح السبب الذي سمح بأن ينتهي بنا املطاف أن ّ يف هذا الق ّن دون غريه .فمنزل الطيور هذا عكس غريه من املنازل ،إحتضن عائلة هائلة من أالف وأالف الطيور والدواجن. بالعريب املشربح كان معمل. وملّا مل يتطابق هذا الق ّن مع مفهو ِمنا للمنزل، إعتربناه معمال عىل أكمل وجه .فصارت أسامء الطيور أرقا ًما إمت ّدت من الرقم 1...إىل الرقم .3...
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P
erhaps it is best that I explain why, at the start of our tale, we find ourselves in a bird coop - a most
peculiar location. This coop was an unconventional kind of home, cradling an enormous family of birds and chickens
numbering in the thousands. All euphemisms aside, it was a factory. The birds were assigned numbers ranging from 1,000 to 3,000.
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توصل فيه ديك 1943 وألسباب مجهولة حتّى اآلنّ ، وطاووس 2..5إىل نفس اإلستنتاج .ولحسن الح ّظ ،جاء
ميت إستنتاجهام يف مرحلة مبكرة ،موفّ ًرا بذلك رس ًدا مم ًل ال ّ للحدث املفصيل بصلة .متثّل هذا الحدث بات ّخاذ وحدتَ 1943و 2..5قرا ًرا بالرحيل عن معمل الدواجن .فقد ّ شك الديك بأسباب الحاجة املاسة إليه ،خاص ًة أ ّن وفرة ديوك املعمل كانت تو ِق ُع بالدجاجات التي بدورها تؤ ّمن الصيصان الكتامل حلقة اإلستمراريّة .إذ أ ّن عملية حسابية بسيطة ،ت ُظهِر أ ّن ديكًا واح ًدا يستطيع أن يوقع بأالف الدجاجات .فام الحاجة إليه إلّ إذا كان الهدف املنشود ليس اإلستمراريّة ،بل نقيضه متا ًما ،أي القضاء عىل الديوك مبارشةً .أ ّما من وجهة نظر الطاووس ،فقد رأى أ ّن مواهبه تذهب هد ًرا يف هذه الزريبة وال ب ّد له من الخروج منها إىل العامل األوسع.
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O
ne day, for reasons still unknown, rooster 1943 and peacock 2005 were both struck by the same
epiphany. As luck would have it, their realization arrived at
an early stage, sparing us from having to weave a narrative complicated by tedious threads that would contribute little to the pulse of our tale. Our story begins with 1943 and 2005’s decision to leave the factory where they had spent their entire lives. The rooster had experienced an existential crisis. Was there, he reasoned, much use for him at the factory given the abundance of other roosters available for mating with the hens? The species would continue to reproduce and survive without him, he reassured himself. In fact, a simple mathematical formula had shown him that one rooster was capable of fertilizing a thousand hens. If that was indeed the case, what need was there for him at the factory? Unless, he feared, the plan was the annihilation of all roosters. As for the peacock, he had come to the conclusion that he was wasting his talents confined within the stifling walls of the factory. He wanted to break out into the wider world.
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وحدت 1943و2..5 الكتشاف تجانس اآلراء ،قررت ّ
عرض إقرتاح الرحيل عىل باقي أفرقاء الق ّن ،متمنيّان أن يكتمل املُخطّط برحيل جميع الدواجن. بيد أ ّن األفرقاء فا َجأوا 1943و 2..5بردة فعلٍ مل تكن يف الحسبان ،وذلك عندما طرحوا عليهم السؤال اآليت: عارفني حالكن لوين رايحني؟ جواب وكام هي العادة يف هكذا حال ،مل يحصلوا عىل ٍ رصي ٍح من الوحدتني 1943و ،2..5وذلك العتقاد الوحدتني أ ّن فعل الرحيل هو ٌ هدف بح ّد ذاته .فام الداعي لتلك التفاصيل الهامشيّة يف تحديد نقطة وصول يصبح فيها فعل الرحيل سبيلاً لها.
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A
n excited 1943 and 2005 decided to propose
 their plan to the remainder of the coop, hoping that
their fellow birds would fervently embrace it. But their peers
reacted in a manner that took 1943 and 2005 by surprise. Instead of mirroring their enthusiasm and congratulating them on their cunning scheme, the other birds asked, “Do you know where you are headed?� As is customary in such a scenario, the birds did not get a direct response out of 1943 and 2005. The two adventurous birds were adamant that departure was the end goal in and of itself. For, they explained, what was the point of elaborating on marginal details such as their final destination, which limit the act of departure, transforming it into nothing more than a means to an end.
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مام دعى الفرقاء إلجابتهم: حرين بَ ْدكُن تروحوا؟ ّ نحن هون باقيين نف ّتش عأكلنا ،مش ضاهرين خلّينا هون عالتنبيل قاعدين.
نفش 1943و 2..5ريشيهام واستقبال العامل الجديد ٍ بحامس وشوقٍ وفرح ٍة وشعو ٍر آخر ،مل يستطيعا التعبري عنه آنذاك إ ّل بعد فوات األوان ،وهو الخوف والقلق من املجهول.
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To this, the other birds responded in unison: “You are free to go if you so desire, We choose to remain here, To more we do not aspire, We are content gathering food And keeping out of sight, Leave us set in our ways, Lazy, content and satisfied.”
1943 and 2005 retorted by puffing up their feathers and greeting the new world with excitement, eagerness, joy, and a strange, novel sensation they were incapable of completely recognizing until it was too late: a gnawing fear of the unknown.
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يف هذا الفضاء ،الذي غلب فيه املجهول عىل املعلوم ،فلم يعرتض طريقهام شيئًا أو أح ًدا إلّ عبارة فيل م َّر من هنا، بني الحني واآلخر ،مرسومة عىل الجدران والطرقات .إىل أن التقى 1943و 2..5بفأرة عابثة ،إسمها فارة ،زكزك أنفَها اإلحساس بضياعهام فاستوقفتهام سائلة: ُ عارفني حالكن لوين رايحني؟ ح ّتى هلّ إنتو َوين كاينني؟ ٍ حينئذ أىت سؤال 1943و 2..5عىل شكل إعرتافهام بتهمة الضياع الذي و ّجهته لهام فارة: ألي معمل تابعة هاألرض؟ وين بتخلص بالطول وبالعرض؟
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O
nwards they marched into this foreign space
where the unknown reigns supreme over small,
precious pockets of familiar terrain. Walking along desolate streets, they passed nothing and no one, save
for the occasional graffiti scribbled onto walls and roads that spelled, “An elephant passed through here.” Suddenly however, 1943 and 2005 came across a flippant mouse named Mouse, who picked up the scent of their confusion and stopped them to ask, “Do you know where you are headed, or even where you are?” 1943 and 2005 responded, in turn, with a question that confirmed the accusation implicit in the question Mouse had asked them – that they were in fact lost. “Of what factory is this realm a part? And does it have borders, an end or a start?”
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فارة :هووو هوووو وين بعدكن يا إخوان بطّلنا بدنية معامل رصنا بعامل بلدان واألرض يلّ إنتو عليها ،بلد إسمه فعالن لحد اآلن. ّ بلد ح ّر ومستقل ،عالقليلة ّ :1943هيدا اليش صار أمتني؟ وكيف نحنا مش عارفني؟ درسا قد إنقبضت تعابري فارة فقالت ،وكأنّها تتلو ً حفظته عن ظهر قلب من أحد املصادر املوثوقة: «تحقّق استقالل فعالن يف تاري ٍخ وجب تحديده. تاري ٌخ ليس بزمان ،هذا ما ميكن تأكيده» سأل 2..5متجاهلً جديّة ترصيح فارة: نحدد تاريخ ط ّيب إذا ما فينا ّ من أي مبدأ اإلستقالل ِخ ّريج؟ شو خلّ فعالن بَلَد ،مش بطّيخ؟ وفرحة العامل هيصة باندفاع صواريخ.
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Dramatically Mouse responded, “You are no longer in the realm of factories, my lost brothers, For you have entered the dominion of countries. And this patch of land you are standing on Belongs to a place called Fa’lan. It is a free and independent nation, at least for now.” “When did this happen?” asked 1943, “and how could we not have known?” Mouse cringed and responded as if regurgitating a lesson from a trusted source, “Fa’lan acquired its independence recently, that much we know for sure. The exact date is yet to be determined, it remains obscure.” Ignoring the gravity of Mouse’s words, 2005 asked, “But if we can't pinpoint the date, how can we claim independence? Are we a country or a watermelon we just ate? A cause for hysterical happiness we have yet to abate"
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عىل إثر هذا التعليق عادت فارة إىل سابق عهدها فضحكت وحكت له ح ّزورة: يف يش بيجمع الط ّرة والنقشة ،والقايم والقاعد، والواقف واملايش ،والجالس واألعوج ،والوجه والقفا وأنا وإنت من ح ّبو كتري :1943هلّ فعالن...؟! فارة :حزرت وبرتبح معنا فيل! :2..5لحظة ،لحظة ،يا فارة جيتينا من اآلخر، أي يش و ما فهمنا م ّنك َوال َّ ارجعي ،خلّينا من األول نبارش، بداية لفعالن أكيد يكون يف. :1943وملّن عرفنا إنُّو البداية بدايات، َس ْمعينا يا فارة شو عندك حكايات فارة :ما يف يش بيخلَق من ما يش حب يكرس القاعدة وفعالن ما ّ ِخلِق البلد ،وكان ال ّبد إنّو امنشِّ ولو ما عرفنا مني الوالد والوالدة.
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Upon hearing this comment, Mouse reverted to her playful character. Laughing, she shared a riddle with the birds. “There is something you and I love dearly. It is both a tail and a head, mobile as if living and still as if dead. It stands like a soldier and sits like a sloth, is straight as an arrow and crooked as a disoriented moth. Like an owl it faces front and at the same time looks back. Can you guess what it is?” “Is it Fa’lan!?” 1943 asked enthusiastically. “You guessed correctly! And for that, you win an elephant,” said Mouse. “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” interjected 2005. “Mouse, you have done nothing but confuse us. Let us start over; surely this Fa’lan has a beginning.” “Now that we know that there are, in fact, many beginnings, let us hear what tales you possess, Mouse,” said 1943. “Everything has an origin, no thing comes from nothing” narrated Mouse. “And Fa’lan is no exception to the rule. The country was born with mother and father unknown, But we had to let it grow, even if into a fool.”
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Creation and Adolescence
Bulls Dogs Wolves
ثريان وكالب وذئاب عايشني حالة إكتئاب مصدرها َرفضُ ن ألي إحتكاك خو ًفا من وقوع يش إشتباك كل ما كلب شيف تور يرعا جِ لده ود ّمه يفور والتور حردان واقف ناطور ألي ديب حوله يدور كالب وثريان وواو ّية كلها ِشل َْل متل بعضها قويّة تتبادل السقالة بكل عفويّة وتتداول املس ّبات بانفتاح وحريّة
A society of bulls, dogs, and wolves lived in a state of utter depression. They refused to rub shoulders with one another for fear that any form of cross-species interaction would lead to violence and aggression.
Whenever a dog came across a bull, his skin would crawl and his blood would boil, while the despondent bull stood guard watching for wolves.
Dogs, bulls and wolves, All strong creatures of a similar breed, mocked one another passionately. Of all sense of decorum they were freed, exchanging curses and insults blatantly.
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إىل أنْ ه ّبت عاصفة ِشتي ورعد ق ّربت الثالثية كلّها عبعض وقلبتها جامع ّية ما ف ّيي خبرِّ كن بَ ْعد غري إنّو بيخلق م ّنا فعالن عالوعد هالحب والحنني ِكبِ فعالن بج ّو ّ ومش معروف أصلُه من وين أم ديبني، أم كلبني،من تورين أي تنني ّ أم ح ّتي خليط أصول
Until a storm of heavy rain and thunder, Brought this hostile threesome closer. From their forced union Fa’lan was born, Into a world where he would be nurtured on baloney and blunder.
Fa’lan grew up in a loving and tender milieu, but how he came into this world remains a mystery. He might have been born of two bulls, two dogs, two wolves, or even a mix of species, a menagerie.
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رص املراهق فعالن يعرف الحقيقة ّ لحني ما أ طفّوله بقلبو الحريقة،بس ّ ُقلوله ط ّولت الجامعة الجامع ّية وكانت إجابتها بطيئة واإلجابة طلعت إجابات واله ّوة بَيناتُن عميقة اتح ّججت ونسبت كل جامعة إللها فعالن فعالن طالعلنا حردان:ح ّجة الثريان ويف وال م ّرة جميله نسيان:ح ّجة الكالب بندوق وزيك كل يش عرفان:ح ّجة الدياب
Now a young adult, Fa'lan demanded to know the origins of which he was a part. He asked 'the three' to tell him and stamp out the fire brewing in his curious heart. A committee was formed to investigate it, The truth is a mystery not to be uncovered but eradicated.
Every meeting produced its own version. Fa’lan who is morose like the bulls, Fa’lan who is loyal like the dogs, Fa’lan who is cunning like the wolves.
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وهيك إتف ّتت الجامع ّية لثالث ّية والثالث ّية لوحدان ّية والوحدان ّية لعدم وساعتها شو نفع الندم إذ فعالن بغضب البجم أول شخص انعدم
And so crumbled the gathering of the three. The three became one, and the one became nothing, mere debris. What good then will regret do if Fa’lan, possessed by the anger of the wronged and abandoned, became the first to be executed?
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ٍ صمت إكرا ًما لروح فعالن ،وف ّكرا يف 1943و 2..5دقيقة صمتهام أنّه ملّا كان لقاء التساوي األول عامده الحب، تع ّمد اللقاء الثاين بالدم وكان الدم طائف ا ً. فبات الكلب يقتل الثور والثور يقتل الذئب والذئب يقتل الكلب والكلب يقتل الكلب والثور يقتل الثور والذئب يقتل الذئب. كَ َثُت العرب واإلستنتاجات واستمعت فارة وهي تفكر أ ّن كل العرب واألحداث ت ُه َدر عىل هاتني الوحدتني، فاكتفت بصمتها ُمنتظرة لتبدأ بحكايتها الجديدة.
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1943 and 2005 shared a moment of silence in honor of the spirit of Fa’lan. In their silence, they thought about their first meeting, grounded in love, and their second, rooted in blood, blood that overflowed. And so, the dog slaughters the bull, and the bull butchers the wolf, and the wolf murders the dog, and the dog annihilates his fellow dog, the bull his fellow bull, and the wolf his fellow wolf. The story produced many a moral. Mouse listened as she thought of how unfortunate it was to waste such fables on these two birds. She sat in silence, waiting to begin her next story.
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Exit
توصل وفارة تنقلهم من إحتامل تل َو اآلخر إىل أن ّ 1943و 2..5إىل نفس اإلستنتاج وذلك للمرة الثانية منذ بداية رحلتهام .ومبوجب هذا اإلستنتاج إستأذنا من فارة بعد أن شكراها عىل وقتها وحكاياتها و ُوسعِ آفاقها ومعلوماتها ،ومضيا يف رحلتهام. :2..5صديقي الديك ،أنا عهالخبار عم خاف من املشوار شو رأيك نك ِتفي بنهار ونرجع عاملعمل متل الشطّار أبدا ،شو نايس إنّو موتنا ناطرنا عالرجعة ً :1943 أم األرضب ِم ّنو وتقوم تِض َحك علينا ال ِر ْفقَة.
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T
his is how they passed the time, with Mouse
taking them from one narrative to the other,
until 1943 and 2005 reached the same conclusion for
the second time since the beginning of their journey. Excusing themselves, they thanked Mouse for her time and stories, and for her breadth of knowledge and information, and they continued along their journey. Turning to his companion, 2005 said, “Rooster my friend, these stories have shaken me, What do you think of returning to the factory like responsible birds, and no longer pursuing this fearsome journey?” “Out of the question. It’s not even a possibility,” responded 1943, “Have you forgotten that all that awaits us in that place is death, or worse, humiliation and mockery?”
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حني كان الخوف حافز 2..5لوداع فارة وحكاياتها ،دفعت الفضولية والغرور 1943عىل القيام بالخطوة ذاتها .أراد 1943أن يكتشف بالد فعالن بنفسه فانطلق مع 2..5إىل حيث مل يدريا.
نرتك الوحدتني يف رحلتهام لفرتة من الزمن لنعود ونقابلهام لحظة يصالن إىل بناء كبري ،مفتوح نحوى السامء ،متأله آالت ضخمة ويف تح ّرك دائم .تهيّأ للوحدتني أ ّن هذا املكان كان... كان معمل!
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P
ossessed by fear, 2005 bid Mouse and her stories
farewell, while curiosity and jealousy drove 1943 to
follow suit. 1943 wanted to explore the land of Fa’lan for himself, and so into the unknown he went along with a reluctant 2005.
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fter some time, the companions reached a large
 familiar building, open onto the sky and filled
with large, constantly powered machines.
They quickly realized it resembled a factory!
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بيد أنّهام ،وهام يقفان باملنقار املآلن دهشة ،مل يالحظا ألوان اآلالت الزاهية وأضواءها الكثرية وموسيقاها الفرحة. رفعا نظرهام إىل أعىل املدخل حيث قرآ الفتة كُ ِت َب عليها مالعب التاريخ. عىل أثر هذه املعلومات دخال املكان الذي أغراهام بالتسلية واملرح ،ووصلت بذلك دهشتهام ح ّد الصدمة عندما وجدا يف حشود مدينة املالهي هذه كل الكائنات التي حكت لهام عنها فارة .كانوا جميعهم ير ّددون العبارة التالية ،عىل وقع موسيقى األلعاب املختلفة وهم ميتطونها: أل ما فينا انو ِّقف لِعب بَ ْدنا بَ ْدنا نِلْ َعب بَ ْعد.
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They stood at the entrance, their beaks hanging open with surprise. They failed to notice the vibrant colors of the machines and the many lights and joyful music that emanated from them. They raised their eyes to the top of the entrance and read the sign: playgrounds of history. Its playful and joyous spirit drew them inside, where their surprise morphed into shock at the sight of a large crowd of beings all of whom had been part of Mouse’s stories. They were all gathered together, reciting the same phrase repeatedly as theme park music played in the background: “No, we cannot stop playing! What for, what for? We must, we must play more!”
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عن 1943و 2..5ليتمكّنا الوصول إىل اإلستنتاج نفسه للم ّرة الثالثة ،عندما وجدا أنفسهام يركضان إىل اللعبة الوحيدة الشاغرة .مبوجب هذا اإلستنتاج ،جلسا يف لعبة مرجوحة التيتي يتأرجحان لفرت ٍة مؤقّتة ُمر ّددين: لحد ما نت َعب. نحن كمني بدنا نِلْ َعب عالقليلة ّ
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G
radually, as the final traces of shock faded away,
1943 and 2005 came, yet again, to the same
conclusion for the third time. They ran towards the only
free ride. They perched themselves onto the ‘titi’ swing set and began their own cyclical recitation. “We also want to swing and play freely, at least until we get tired, bored or weary ” they chanted.
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A
nd this is how it came to pass, once upon a time in a faraway land. The playground of history can still be found in the heart
of Fa’lan, where Rooster 1943 and Peacock 2005 remain in the same
space, ‘temporarily’ perched on the ‘titi’ swing set, awaiting exhaustion, which has yet to arrive.
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Epilogue
لطاملا كانت هذه الفقرات أكرثها ابتذالاً بالنسبة يل ،خاص ًة عندما كنت أقرأ ّبدي أشكر أ ّمي وبيَ ِّ والدين كلّها... ولكن ،وبعد أن أرشفت عىل اإلنتهاء ،توقّفت وفكّرت بعميل. أي شخص آخر. هل هو حقًا عميل؟ أي عميل أنا دون ّ ف أو كون شاعر ّية بس خلّينا نكون ما َق ْصدي إتْ َفل َْس ْ واقع ّية .كنت وصلت يش لهون لو ما ليىل كانت تضحك يل وتعمليّ وعظة إلها أول ما إلها آخر ،أو ما ُعر َِف ع ِّ بالبيب توك ( ،)pep talkكل ما تشوفني بَل َِّشت إفقد األمل وخاف .ولو ما اإلستاذ سمري صايغ قرييل كل كلمة كتبتها وكمني ضحك ،معي ...أو عل ّيي ،مش أكيدة .من هاملنطلق اسمحويل قولّ :بدي أشكر إ ّمي و ِّيب والعامل كلّها! العامل يّيل مش مضط ّرة تتح ّمل بيك ون َْق وأسئلة و ...و...
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A
cknowledgements and Apologies I’ve always found this part of a project to be
the most challenging, cringing at the thought of parroting the usual, “I would like to thank my mother and father and the whole wide world…” However, after finally bringing this story to a close, I stopped and thought about my work. Is it really my work? Could I have done it alone?
I don’t mean to sound sentimental or to poeticize, but I have to be honest. Would I have made it this far without Leila to laugh with, or to give me one of her pep talks whenever I lost hope or felt overwhelmed by fear? And, if it wasn’t for Professor Samir Sayegh, who read every word I wrote and also laughed with me and sometimes at me, would I be where I am today? I really don’t know. From here, please let me say, I would like to thank my mother and father and the whole wide world! A world that isn’t required to put up with this much crying and whining and questioning and…and…
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ليىل مصفي ،األستاذ سمري صايغ ،دانيال درينني، وليد صادق ،جنا طرابليس ،هاين عصفور، ميدا فريجي مقديس أو ماما ميدا. إ ّمي وب ْيي إخوايت غنوة وندين ،و سعاد عيد. صفّي كلّه ،رميا أبو شقراُ ،ج َونّا أبو سمرا ،الرا قبطان، ألني سكياس ،مريم يكن وإمها. رياض وطارق الصغري ب «فيوترش غرافيكس». و أكيد أكيد صويف شمص للرتجمة اإلنكليزيّة وباراك الزايد ورايّا الزين لفرصة النرش من خالل شهادات. وأخ ًريا ،إسمحوا يل بأن أتو ّجه بإعتذار إىل الحيوانات التي ت ّم ذك َرها يف هذه الصفحات ،إذ مل يكن القصد املساس بكرامتها ومصداقيّتها أو الته ّجم عليها .أ ّما اإلعتذار الثاين فأخصصه للحيوانات التي أغفلت عن ذك َرها ،وذلك ّ القصة ،بل ألن ليس بسبب عدم تالؤمها مع شخصيّات ّ الحيوانات املذكورة أتت عىل سبيل املثال ال الحرص.
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Leila Musfi, Professor Samir Sayegh, Daniel Drennan, Walid Sadek, Janna Traboulsi, Hani Asfour, Mayda Freiji Makdessi or Mama Mayda, Mom and Dad and my sisters Ghinwa and Nadine, and Souad Eid. My whole class too, Rima Abou chakra, Joanna Abou Samra, Lara Captan, Aline Sikias, Mariam Yakan and her mother. Also Riyad and Little Tarek from Future Graphics. Last and certainly not least I would like to thank Sophie Chamas for translating the text, Barrak Alzaid, and Rayya Al Zayn, thank you all for the opportunity to publish through Shadat.
Finally, please allow me to apologize to the animals that were mentioned in these pages. My intention was not to attack them or to soil their reputations. I would also like to apologize to the animals I failed to mention. The animals included were selected at random, so don’t take your absence personally.
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In Conversation Translating a Fable
Sophie Chamas: We often speak in metaphor and proverb; we cloak advice and opinions in allusions and riddles; we offer up lessons we seem to have inherited, and provide this genealogical context to our reactions on contemporary subjects. You structured your story as a fable when it could have taken a number of other forms. Its shape is familiar to the Arab ear, tickling it with warm memories of grandparents reciting stories that interweave familial and ancestral history with national myths, clan legends and fictional tales, making family, nation, sect, tribe and imaginary beings indistinguishable. This form, I think, is as integral to your story as the content of the plot itself, making its (potential) demise through the process of translation quite regrettable.
I don’t think this form can be wholly recreated in English, in part because of its cultural specificity, – a language lives and breathes, it has character and personality, idiosyncrasies and annoying habits. In this vein language cannot simply be ‘translated,’ or detached from the people, the land, the
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daily habits and actions, the centuries-old practices and customs, that comprise it and of which it is a part. I wonder, is the translator always, to some degree, set up to fail?
Mary Choueiter: Yes, always! On a more serious note though, when we started working on this project and the translation I was excited when you referred to it as a version rather than a pure translation. And I think that is precisely what it is. The Arabic text reflects the idiosyncrasies of its source language, whether in Modern Standard Arabic or the Lebanese dialect and the same goes for the English version. When I first set out to write the text for this piece, I did not have in mind that I needed to write something that would reflect the culture. I write what I know, using the words that are available for me. With that in mind, it would make sense that writing in Arabic in Lebanon would lend itself to proverbs, and fables and culturally specific playful word twists.
SC: There is something about form, something it seems capable of achieving that content never can. Content, in most cases, hails the reader.
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It explains, describes, narrates, philosophizes, proselytizes, prophesizes, educates, berates, asks questions and presents answers. There is something about the curves of your letters that evokes the past, feels lived, handed down, told and retold, shaped and misshaped. This seems appropriate for a tale about history - or histories. How do you think it affects the story, and would the story be different without it? What sort of effect can typeface have on how a text is read?
MC: Your questions bring to mind this quote by Robert Bringhurst "Typography exists to honor content." In my own crass terms, if the content you are designing is crap, it is wrong to manipulate people into thinking it is otherwise, by distracting them with a flashy design. In nicer terms, if you believe that what you are writing is worth being communicated, then you should make it look inviting. Good design and typography is not an added bonus or an after thought. To me, at least, it is an integral part of my work. What was going through my mind? Playfulness was going through my mind, as well as the many Islamic manuscripts I was exposed to by Sameer Sayegh during my time at AUB. For example the Maghribi script was a direct influence on the letters I
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drew later. It became the basis for the tawuss font (e.g. the last spread of the exit section before the acknowledgements). In other instances, the references are less clear but the element of play was more pronounced and consistent. The illustrations for Kelaab Zee’ab Theeran (Dogs Wolves Bulls) were made by drawing geometric letters onto cardboard and cutting them out to build the 3D models that I would later arrange into scenes and shoot by camera. I was playing manually with my hands and with paper, then digitally with the camera and the computer. Another example of playfulness is the pattern I use throughout, which consists of the Arabic letter nun composed of peacock and rooster feathers. In my work, the form is as much the content as the written word. They are inseparable. I am trained as a graphic designer, not a writer or a historian. I assumed these roles through the lens of a visual communicator, a mediator orchestrating these separate pieces and bringing them together to do what I do best - tell a story that needs to be told through visuals and text. Visuals become content, text becomes form and visuals.
SC: You have admitted to me on numerous occasions that you are not a political person, that you don’t follow the day-to-day drudgery
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of Lebanese politics. But while you may not be politicized, this story implies that, on one level or another, you are aware that you are a political creature, shaped by the narratives of nation and sect that took (partial) root in your subjectivity. I’m curious what specific feelings drove you towards this topic? What compelled you to explore Lebanese history as a fable and why use humor? Did it serve as a kind of buffer? You mention that this project sprung more from a place of confusion and ignorance than from a place of authority or a desire to share some truth you had uncovered. How did these feelings of insecurity towards your subject affect the process of writing this book?
MC: It is hard not to be involved in politics when you grow up in Lebanon, even if you don't own a TV or never leave your home. A neighbor or a family member might come knocking at your door to borrow some salt and share the latest news. If you live in Lebanon politics will sway you one way or another, whether you follow it or not. Someone in your circle is bound to have a political opinion and you end up half-hearing a story half-told about some event or the other through half-facts passed down
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(
from one TV station or another to the neighbor on the fifth floor, all the way down to the second floor where you live. Once you come to terms with the fact that politics in Lebanon is unavoidable, what then? I always felt that I did not understand it because I was not smart enough, or I did not listen closely enough to the news, or I was not reading the paper often enough. I was too apathetic and self-absorbed. Clearly I did not care about the world around me. It was all these naive thoughts related to my need to be involved and to change the world that drove me to try and learn everything there is to know about Lebanese history, to find out where it went wrong and to fix it. That is not what I ended up writing. Instead, I wrote my frustration and my confusion. I had to write what I knew, which was that I knew nothing, but since I had put my thoughts down on paper (in words and images) I felt less guilty about that fact. Reading it out loud, I realized that there is not one story, but many stories to tell. It took me six years after writing these stories to articulate that it was not important how accurate my metaphors were. I was composing the bleak confusion of it all. I culled disparate pieces and placed them side by side on paper (or in this case the digital screen). History is not important to us as a true story of facts but rather as a collection of myths
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and fiction that we are willing to believe, and hold on to. My insecurities remain. I continue to be more interested in hearing my mom, sister, cousin, neighbor, or friends back home tell me what they think is happening in the country. But the news is still something that I have not developed the discipline for. I think there is a difference between reading a history book and reading a newspaper. I prefer the history book.
SC: What were some of the varied responses to your story?
MC: Some responses in brief: this is not a hopeful story but a sad story. The narrative style might have been inspired by the sarcastic Lebanese way of speaking, and perhaps that makes it even more sad. The metaphors are confusing, contradictory and not always clear or successful. In this extract, for example, some references that act as loose metaphors or inspirations include Rooster ww, and that year when Lebanon gained independence. Peacock 2005 is the younger more impulsive independence promoted by an advertising company in Lebanon (I forget which one so I won’t include any names) who printed “Independence '05 “ stickers as
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branding for the protests and events that were taking place in the aftermath of former or PM Rafik Hariri’s assassination. A final example happens at the end of the keelab zee’ab story, ‘wa kan al dam ta’ifan’ refers to the Taif Accords. Eventually, I understood that perhaps the failure of these metaphors interacting with each other makes the piece successful because it reflects my own loss and confusion. Other times people would try to guess what political party I belonged to, because clearly I must belong to one if I wrote a book trying to understand the “Creation and Adolescence” of Lebanon, and surely there must be blame hiding somewhere in those pages.
The first time I revisited the text I wanted to correct everything, and I found myself crossing out sentences and re-writing them. The calculated thought of adulthood was taking over the quick and light step of youth. The words were not flowing anymore, and the arrogant self-confidence of youth was replaced by an adult’s apologies. Looking at the work today, I have a different response.
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About the Contributors Mary Choueiter discovered that scissors can do magic and engaged in a career of perfecting cut out techniques in bright colors. Her love for paper is only equaled by her love for what is on the paper; stories, images, typography, and all the white space in between. Inspired by old Islamic calligraphic manuscripts, she conducted several experiments in designing Arabic lettering to write stories and fables on the history of her country, Lebanon. Her experiments in Arabic typography entered the 3-D realm as shelving and tile designs while at the architecture, art and design interdisciplinary office, Nadim Karam & Atelier Hapsitus in Lebanon. Her typography work for the Beirut Exhibition Center signage was a Professional Runner-Up at the 2011 Core77 Design Awards. Her design work in print, branding, web and exhibition design has taken her to Lebanon, Amsterdam, and New York. She currently works at Ralph Applebaum Associates, New York. Mary received a Merit Scholarship from the American University of Beirut where she pursued a BFA in Graphic Design. She holds an MFA in Digital Media from the Rhode Island School of Design extending the element of play and her interactive hands-on work process from print to the digital realm.
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Sophie Chamas is a freelance writer based in the United Arab Emirates, where she is also the English Language Editor at the Sharjah Art Foundation. A nerd at heart, she spent two years as a Master's Candidate at New York University's Near Eastern Studies department euphorically inhaling book after book and engaging in graduate school-speak with fellow academophiles. Her writing has appeared in Jadaliyya, Mashallah News, TheState, Kalimat Magazine, Harper's Bazaar Art Arabia and the Abu Dhabi Film Festival Magazine, among publications. She has a BA in International Studies from the American University of Sharjah. Her upcoming work includes a chapter in Mashallah News' anthology of forgotten stories from Beirut, and she recently began experimenting with what she hopes will be her first novella. Never quite capable of settling down, she continues to imagine herself as living 'in between' countries.
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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 ArteEast’s online programming, the AE Quarterly. For past issues of Shahadat click here.
ABOUT THIS SERIES Shahadat is proud to run two alternating series, and releases four issues a year. The issue you’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.
SPECIAL THANKS TO: Rayya El Zein ISSUE DESIGNED BY: Mary Choueiter
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Shahadat logo design by Rima Farouki
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