Waterwheel of the Soul & Other Poems by Francoise Roy

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Francoise Roy

ُّ ‫سَاقيَةَ​َإلروح‬ ‫وقَصَائدَأخرى‬ Waterwheel of the Soul & Other Poems

Translated into Arabic by Ashraf Aboul-Yazid

3

Of carriages

The last sign is always the most confusing.

Is it really a blue carriage that cuts short the curtain of fog?

Or is it a beggar's coach pulled by two mangy greyhounds?

Am I sitting on the left, the right, or better yet, the cardinal points changing places according to the angle of the eye that watches?

You mention a village with a town sweeper.

The village, lost in the snow, it did have a sweeper.

But in that ninth hour when the sun went down to twenty-eight degrees before the solstice (it was December, cold; snowy land was about to release the dawn like a feverish dove in the half-closed fist of night), he hibernated: did not sweep the street except in dreams, his broom inside.

I grant you the image of the sky-blue carriage.

4

I was born at 4:35 am.

Frost went up the mast of my throat, integral in providing the first cry.

I moved the skirt of mist with my hands.

My newborn fingers were knife blades.

5

‫عنَالعربات‬

‫ً‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ً‬ ‫َإألكيَؤرباكا‪.‬‬ ‫ةَه‬ ‫اَماَتكونَإؤلشارةَإألخي‬ ‫دإئم‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ي‬ ‫هلَهَحقاَعربةَزرقاء‬ ‫ي‬ ‫تشقَغاللةَإلضباب؟‬ ‫أمَأنهَمدربَشحاذ‬ ‫سحبهَكلبانَسلوقيان؟‬ ‫أمَإليمي‪،‬‬ ‫ر َ‬ ‫هلَأناَجالسَعىلَإليسا َر‪َ،‬‬ ‫أوَإألفضلَمنَذلك‪َ،‬إلنقاطَإألساسية‬ ‫َإلتَترإقب؟‬ ‫تغييَإألماكنَحسبَز‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ر‬ ‫إويةَإلعي ي‬ ‫أشتَلقريةَهااَنناسةَمدننة‪.‬‬ ‫َ‬ ‫َضاعتَفَإلثلج‪َ،‬كانَلدنااَنناسة‪.‬‬ ‫إلت‬ ‫ي‬ ‫إلقرية‪ َ،‬ي‬ ‫لكنَفَتلكَإلساعةَإلتاسعة‬ ‫ي‬ ‫عندماَغابتَإلشمسَؤىلَثمانيةَوعشينَدرجة‬ ‫ً‬ ‫َ(كانَشارَديسميَباردإَ؛‬ ‫قبلَإإلنقالبَإلشمس‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ي‬ ‫كانتَإألرضَإلثلجيةَعىلَوشكَأنَتحررَفجرإ‬ ‫يشبهَحمامةَمحمومة‬ ‫يفَقبضةَإلليلَنصفَإلمغلقة(‪،‬‬ ‫‪6‬‬

‫غالبهَسبات‪:‬‬ ‫عَؤإلَفَإإلحالم‬ ‫ولمَيكنسَإلشار‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ومكنستهَبالدإخل‪.‬‬ ‫أعطيكَصورةَعربةَإلسماءَإلزرقاء‪.‬‬ ‫لقدَولدتَفَإلساعةَ‪َ53:4‬صباحا‪.‬‬ ‫ي‬ ‫َصاريَحلق‪،‬‬ ‫يَ‬ ‫صعدَإلصقيعَحت‬ ‫يكَيكملَرصخةَإلبكاءَإألول‪.‬‬ ‫حرنتَتنورةَإلضبابَهيدي‪.‬‬ ‫َسكي‪.‬‬ ‫إت ر ن َ‬ ‫كانتَأصابعَحدنثةَإلوإلدةَشفر ِ‬ ‫ي‬

‫‪7‬‬

Snaps in C major

Once the paper has been troubled, faces come up; they do not know what they came for, neither do I. —Henri Michaux

No one sees you, armed with balances and measuring tape, drooling, with a touch of madhouse in the pupil.

Light descends the ladder of silver: blessed illusion that passes between my cornea and retina like a veil.

They thought they saw me.

But you are the words, the blank page.

You embody the template of all possible arrangements (my foot never fit into your slipper, 8

nor my finger your magic ring).

Do not come near me. I admit I had visions, that there were never strange faces or a brilliant waterfall.

The crack of your whip deafens.

It is snowing in my head.

I close my eyes: peace is a December morning in a Nordic forest.

If I close my eyes long enough, you will tire and go.

Someday, I will have to clean every trace of your poison.

I will make you disappear like a stallion balks before a cliff.

9

‫لقطاتَدوَالكبيَ‬

‫بمجردَأنَتمزقَإلورقة‪َ،‬تظارَإلوجوهَ؛‬ ‫إلَيعرفونَماَإلذيَجاءوإَمنَأجله‪َ،‬وإلَأناَإلَأعرف‪.‬‬ ‫‪-‬هييَميشو‬

‫إلَأحدَنرإك‬ ‫مسلحيَبموإزينَوشيطَقياس‪،‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫َهؤبؤَإلعي‪.‬‬ ‫ر َ‬ ‫يسيلَلعاهامَمعَمسحةَمنَإلجنونَف‬ ‫ي‬ ‫نيلَإلنورَعىلَدرجَإلفضة‪:‬‬ ‫ْ‬ ‫َقرنيت ي َ‬ ‫َعيت‬ ‫ر َ‬ ‫إلوهمَإلمباركَإلذيَيمرَهي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫وشبكيةَإلعيَحجاب‪.‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫أون‪.‬‬ ‫ظنوإَأنامَر ي َ‬ ‫لكنكَإلكلمات‪َ،‬وإلصفحةَإلفارغة‪.‬‬ ‫أنتَتتجسد‬ ‫نقالبَنتسعَلجميعَإليتيباتَإلممكنة‬ ‫ً‬ ‫قدمَإلَتتناسبَأبدإَمعَنعلك‪،‬‬ ‫( ي‬ ‫كماَإلَتناسبَؤصبعَخاتمكَإلسحري)‪.‬‬ ‫ي‬ ‫‪10‬‬

‫بَمت‪َ.‬أعيفَأنَلديَرؤى‪،‬‬ ‫إلَتقي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫أنهَلمَتكنَهناكَوجوهَغريبة‬ ‫أ َوَشاللَرإئع‪.‬‬ ‫صدعَسوطكَيصمَإآلذإن‪.‬‬ ‫أس‪.‬‬ ‫ؤنااَتثلجَفَر ي َ‬ ‫ي‬ ‫وأناَأغمضَعيت‪:‬‬ ‫يَ‬ ‫إلسالمَصباحَديسميي‬ ‫ر‬ ‫يفَغابةَإلشمال‪.‬‬ ‫ؤذإَأغمضتَعيتَلفيةَكافية‪،‬‬ ‫ي‬ ‫سوفَتتعبَوتذهب‪.‬‬ ‫ً‬ ‫نوماَمَا‪َ،‬سأضطرَؤىلَتنظيفَكلَأثرَلس ِّمكَ‪.‬‬ ‫سأجعلكَتختقَمثلماَنتوقفَفحلَإلخيلَأمامَإلمنحدر‪َ.‬‬ ‫ي‬ ‫َ‬ ‫َ‬ ‫َ‬ ‫َ‬

‫‪11‬‬

Amniotic room

The room filled with amniotic fluid. A Noah's Ark underwater our two bodies twisted stem to stern, hearts made doves, thighs made like palm vipers, lungs a pair of butterflies, hands an ephemeral dance that ends as soon as embraces spawn: all an ancient zoo of mind, overturned in the water. I floated there in sync with the creatures of the world map and the entourage of stars woven tight on the slate blue, and you floating by my side, our mouths sealed by the wall of water, I am caught in your velvet tentacles. I touch the gills on your side, scales which will again become epithelial tissues, but not until a god responsible for protecting flowers and other innocent species has emptied the room of this prenatal liquid where we birthed each other.

12

‫غرفةَتحيطَبجنيَ‬

‫غرفةَيمألهاَإلسائلَإألمنيوس‪َ.‬سفينةَنوحَتحتَإلماء‪َ،‬جذعاَ‬ ‫ي‬ ‫جسدنناَإلملتويانَباتجاهَإلمؤخرة‪َ،‬وقلبانَيشكالنَحمامتي‪َ،‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫وإلفخذإنَمثلَسعفَإلنخيل‪َ،‬وإلرئتانَزوجَمنَإلفرإشات‪َ،‬وإليدإنَ‬ ‫يعةَإلزوإلَتنتهَبمجردَبدءَإألحضان‪َ3‬كلَحديقةَ‬ ‫رقصةَش‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ةَللعقل‪َ،‬إنقلبتَفَإلماء‪َ.‬لقدَطفتَهناكَسوياَمعَ‬ ‫حيوإناتَأزلي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫مخلوقاتَخريطةَإلعالمَوحاشيةَإلنجومَإلمنسوجةَهإحكامَعىلَ‬ ‫وأنتَتسبحَبجانت‪َ،‬فماناَمختومانَ‬ ‫ر يَ‬ ‫إأللوإحَإلصخريةَإلزرقا َء‪َ،‬‬ ‫علقتَفَمخالبكَإلمخملية‪َ.‬ألمسَإلخياشيمَ‬ ‫بجدإرَإلما َء‪َ،‬‬ ‫ي‬ ‫إلموجودةَعىلَجانبيك‪َ،‬إلقشورَإلتَستصبحَمرةَأخرىَأنسجةَ‬ ‫ي‬ ‫طالئية‪َ،‬ولكنَليسَحتَيفرغَؤلهَمسؤولَعنَحمايةَإلزهورَ‬ ‫وإألنوإعَإلييئةَإألخرى‪َ،‬يفرغَإلغرفةَمنَهذإَإلسائلَقبلَإلوإلدة؛َ‬ ‫ر‬ ‫حيثَأنجبَكلَمناَإآلخر‪.‬‬

‫‪13‬‬

The head, heaviest of flowers

The head, heaviest of flowers.

The stem of her body buckles under the broth of ideas —the heart, meanwhile, retouches its feelings—, and he leans his face upon her like Narcissus clinging to a face other than his own.

Her arms, two petals shaped by hands, that both, so badly wanted to caress her, pluck her with lips.

Is it a sunflower facing the sun, which covers her mouth and eyes, forehead and chin, cheeks and nose?

Or does the dead weight of the blossom seek to kiss the lower parts like balloons fly toward the sun, with the Moon reaching 14 degrees of Virgo?

14

Darwin in reverse. The face becomes flower, retracing the links, and these bedrooms, these streets, the path that descends to this lake, are fields of invisible poppies where God tests a foolish floriculture, sunflower and silhouette, sheet and virgin hands.

15

‫الرأس‪َ،‬أثقلَاألزهار‬

‫إلرأس‪َ،‬أثقلَإألزهار‪.‬‬ ‫جذعَجسدهاَيلتويَتحتَحساءَإألفكار‬ ‫—إلقلب‪ َ،‬يفَغضونَذلك‪َ،‬ننقحَمشاعره— ‪،‬‬ ‫ئ‬ ‫ويتكَعليااَمثلَإليجس‬ ‫متشبثاَهوجهَغيَوجاه‪.‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ذرإعاهَا‪َ،‬هتلتانَشكلتاماَإليدإن‪،‬‬ ‫حتَأرإدَكالهماَمدإعبتااَبشدة‪،‬‬ ‫وقطفااَبالشفتي‪.‬‬ ‫ر َ‬ ‫هلَهوَعبادَإلشمسَفَموإجاةَإلشمس؟‬ ‫يَ‬ ‫َتغطَفمااَوعينياَا‪،‬‬ ‫إلت‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫إلجبيَوإلذقنَوإلخدننَوإألنف؟‬ ‫ر‬ ‫أمَأنهَإلثقلَإلميتَمنَإلزهرة‬ ‫تسعَلتقبيلَإألجزإءَإلسفليةَمثلَإلبالونات‬ ‫تطيَنحوَإلشمس‪،‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫معَوصولَإلقمرَ‪َ45‬هرجَإلعذرإء؟‬ ‫‪16‬‬

‫دإروينَفَإإلتجاهَإلمعاكس‪َ.‬يصبحَإلوجهَزهرة‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ؤعادةَإلوصل‪َ،‬وغرفَإلنومَهذه‪،‬‬ ‫لَؤىلَهذهَإلبحية‪،‬‬ ‫هذهَإلشوإرع‪َ،‬إلطريقَإلذيَني‬ ‫ر‬ ‫َحقولَإلخشخاشَغيَإلمرئية‬ ‫ه‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ي‬ ‫حيثَيختيَهللاَزرإعةَزهورَحمقا َء‪،‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫عبادَإلشمسَوإلصورةَإلظلية‪َ،‬إألورإقَوإأليديَإلعذرإء‪.‬‬

‫‪17‬‬

18

Untitled

The painting smelling of sandalwood and cinnamon was not torn. Dreams oscillated from one side of the bed to the other with their moorings fastened securely above me. The adobe house was a temple (I wore my celestial robe; you, a cloth).

A triplicate of everything: fact, memory and amnesia, with their intermediate degrees.

Until I could no longer see you—walking randomly, shaking your handkerchief in your left hand like a warning— did I know that the canvas itself was slightly marred: a scar in the weave, perhaps, that was opening, a defect of the loom.

19

‫بدونَعنوان‬

‫إللوحةَهرإئحةَخشبَإلصندلَوإلقرفةَلمَتمزق‪َ.‬كانتَإألحالمَ‬ ‫تتأرجحَمنَأحدَجانتَإلشيرَؤىلَإلجانبَإآلخرَمعَمرإسيااَإلمثبتةَ‬ ‫ري‬ ‫ّ‬ ‫أعاليَهإحكام‪َ.‬كانَإلبيتَإلمشيدَمنَإلطوبَهوَإلمعبدَ(ننتَ‬ ‫أرتديَإلروبَإلسماوي‪َ،‬وأنت‪َ،‬إلقماش (‬ ‫ثالثَنسخَمنَكلَسء‪َ3‬إلحقيقةَوإلذإكرةَوفقدإنَإلذإكرةَبدرجاتااَ‬ ‫ي‬ ‫إلمتوسطة‪.‬‬ ‫ئ‬ ‫وتازَمنديلكَفَ‬ ‫َ‬ ‫‪،‬‬ ‫َ‬ ‫َبشكلَعشوإن‬ ‫تمس‬ ‫َلمَيعدَهإمكانَرؤيتكَ‪َ-‬‬ ‫حت‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ًي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫يدكَإليشىَمحذرإَ‪َ-‬هلَننتَأعرفَأنَإلقماشَنفسهَكانَمشوهاَ‬ ‫ً‬ ‫‪3‬‬ ‫عيباَفَإلمغزل‪.‬‬ ‫َندبةَفَإلنسيج‪َ،‬ربمَا‪َ،‬كانتَشخَا‪َ،‬‬ ‫قليال‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬

‫‪20‬‬

Waterwheel of the soul Waterwheel of the soul, arms of a cross to bear each Saturn return, the one which the Greeks, lovers of time, called Chronos.

Stopwatch of wounds and superficial flowers, safe pastures deserted since my body crossed the Tropic Line.

Oh, dad, so much stone along the road, and we were like suns dancing in unison only to seem like dancers.

Waterwheel of the soul, the spirit on stilts, will not be carried by a cutwater come from other beds, other rib cages, another yesterday requiring still more days to retrace and understand what today burns our lips, and other parts still more fragile.

21

‫َ‬

‫ساقيةَالروح‬ ‫ساقيةَإلروح‬ ‫ذرإعاَصليبَيحملَكلَعودةَلزحل‪،‬‬ ‫تلكَإلتَسماهاَإليونانيون‪َ،‬عشاقَإلزمن‪،‬‬ ‫ي‬ ‫نرونوس‪.‬‬ ‫ساعةَتوقيتَإلجروحَوإلزهورَإلصناعية‪،‬‬ ‫إعَآمنةَمقفرة‬ ‫مر‬ ‫ِ‬ ‫منذَأنَعيَجسديَخطَإإلستوإء‪.‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ماَأكيَإألحجارَعىلَطولَإلطريق‪،‬‬ ‫ياَأن‪َ،‬‬ ‫آه‪ َ،‬ر ي َ‬ ‫ونناَكالشموسَنرقصَفَإنسجامَتام‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‪.‬‬ ‫فقطَليبدوَنرإقص ر َ‬ ‫عجلةَإلروح‪َ،‬إلروحَعىلَركائ َز‪،‬‬ ‫لنَيحملااَمقدمَإلسفينة‬ ‫تأنَمنَأسطحَأخرى‪،‬‬ ‫ي‬ ‫أقفاصَصدريةَأخرى‪َ،‬نومَأمسَآخر‬ ‫ر‬ ‫إلَيحتاجَأياماَأكيَللتوإصل‬ ‫إلَنز‬ ‫لنفامَماَيحرقَشفاهناَإليوم‪،‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫إلَأكيَهشاشة‪َ.‬‬ ‫وأجزإءَأخرىَإلَتز‬ ‫‪22‬‬

Lips Two moons of pink flesh waning toward the new moon, hinged by that strange word, "commissure," single seam, tiny stitch connecting them to the face.

Trembling orchids of the body, chamois petal, hem of words, yes, but beyond their pounding sound, its mill, its velvet, its muriatic acid, its colorful swarms of notes.

Their purpose is the kiss.

That of Judas, in the farewell, the heart buried in the rib cage —boyfriend of Aphrodite— dream of hearing white sacraments.

Perhaps God opened in mute man that wound in the face, telling him, "Speak!"

23

‫الشفتان‬ ‫قمرإنَمنَإللحمَإلوردي‬ ‫نتجاانَنحوَإلقمرَإلجدي َد‪،‬‬ ‫نتوقفانَعىلَتلكَإلكلمةَإلغريبةَ"خطاَلقاءَإلشفاه"‬ ‫غرزةَصغية‬ ‫ندبةَوإحدة‪َ،‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ربطتاماَبالوجه‪.‬‬ ‫بساتيَإلفاكاةَإلجسديةَترتجف‪،‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫هتلةَإلشاموإه‪َ،‬همامةَإلكلمات‪َ،‬نعم‪،‬‬ ‫ولكنَماَورإءَصوتااَإلخاطف‪،‬‬ ‫طاحونتاَا‪َ،‬مخملاَا‪َ،‬حمضَكلورَإلماء‪،‬‬ ‫أشإبَملونةَمنَإلمالحظات‪.‬‬ ‫إلادفَهوَإلقبلة‪.‬‬ ‫لياوذإَفَإلودإع‪،‬‬ ‫ي‬ ‫قلبَمطمورَفَإلقفصَإلصدري‬ ‫ي‬ ‫صدنقَأفروديت‪-‬‬‫حلمَسماعَإألشإرَإلبيضاء‪.‬‬ ‫أنناَهللاَفَرجلَأخرس‬ ‫ربماَر‬ ‫ي‬ ‫قالَلهَإلجرحَفَوجاهَ"تكلم"!‬ ‫ي‬ ‫‪24‬‬

Adonis and the three black irises

Of my two hands, one is more defeated than the other, its network of incomprehensible lines more furrowed.

It waves a white handkerchief bearing your embroidered initials.

Three irises of anthracite decanted in your palm turn into a mirabel plum, a grenade, a nest with three magenta eggs.

The god of chaos watches us at the height of lightening.

25

‫أدونيسَوالقزحياتَالسوداءَالثالثة‬

‫َإإلثنتي‪َ،‬وإحدة‬ ‫منَيدي‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ر‬ ‫هزمتَأكيَمنَإألخرى‪،‬‬ ‫شبكتااَمنَإلخطوطَغيَإلمفاومة‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ر‬ ‫أكيَتجعدإ‪.‬‬ ‫تلوحَبمنديلَأهيض‬ ‫يحملَإألحرفَإألوىلَمنَإسمكَمطرزة‪.‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫إسايتَمصبوبةَفَرإحةَيدك‬ ‫ثالثَقزحيةَمنَإألني‬ ‫ي‬ ‫تتحولَؤىلَهرقوق‪َ،‬قنبلةَيدوية‪،‬‬ ‫الثَهيضاتَأرجوإنية‪.‬‬ ‫عشَهث َ‬ ‫َ‬ ‫ؤلهَإلفوض‬ ‫َذروةَإليق‪.‬‬ ‫إقبناَف‬ ‫نر‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ي‬

‫‪26‬‬

Death

You say I need a dead person. Is there anything in life as painful as needing a corpse?

The clay has covered his mouth that used to smile at me, has frozen his hands that used to touch me. Did you see how heavy the gravestone is? How the block of white marble prevents him from rising and telling me he still loves me? Do you think some magic trick can resurrect him? How can you hope to put his entire revived cadaver in a bed that has long since sailed away, carried by the inevitable swelling?

27

‫الموت‬ ‫ر‬ ‫َأهناكَماَهوَأكي ً‬ ‫أنتَتقولَأنتَبحاجةَؤىلَشخصَميت‪.‬‬ ‫َؤيالماَ‬ ‫ي‬ ‫يفَإلحياةَمثلَإلحاجةَؤىلَجثة؟‬ ‫جمدَيديهَإلتَكانتَ‬ ‫َفمهَإلذيَكانَنبتسمَىل‪َ،‬‬ ‫يَ‬ ‫غطَإلطي‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ي‬ ‫أيتَمدىَثقلَإلقي؟َنيفَتمنعهَنتلةَإلرخامَ‬ ‫تتلمست‪َ.‬هلَر‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ي‬ ‫إلَيحبت؟‬ ‫إألهيضَمنَإلناوضَليقولَىلَؤنهَماَز‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫َهلَتعتقدَأنَبعضَإلخدعَإلسحريةَيمكنَأنَتحييه؟َ‬ ‫َأعيدَؤحياؤهاَبالكاملَفَ‬ ‫َوضعَجثتهَإلت‬ ‫نيفَيمكنكَأنَتأملَف‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ً‬ ‫يحملهَإإلنتفاخَإلحتم؟‬ ‫َ‬ ‫‪،‬‬ ‫ةَطويلة‬ ‫إَمنذَفي‬ ‫يرَأبحرَبعيد‬ ‫ش‬ ‫ي‬

‫‪‬‬

‫‪28‬‬

She was approached by death ...next to her not even Destiny could poke a single finger —CÊsar Vallejo

She was approached by death who caressed her like a prairie wind caresses the tree.

She did not know death was inevitable.

So she invited death and together they ate grapes and unleavened bread from her table of misfortune.

She was approached by death and was laid down in a coffin so death could measure her size and test her mortality.

She did not know 29

death was treacherous: so she went to sleep in her coffin of choice without suspecting death would close the lid.

30

‫دناَمنااَإلموت‬ ‫ً‬ ‫ً‬ ‫َأنَيدقَؤصبعاَوإحدإ‬ ‫‪...‬بجانبااَإلَيستطيعَإلقدرَحت‬ ‫سيإرَفاليخو‬ ‫‪ -‬ر‬

‫دناَمنااَإلموت‬ ‫بمدإعبتاا‬ ‫حَإليإريَإلشجرة‪.‬‬ ‫كماَتدإعبَري‬ ‫ر‬ ‫لمَتكنَتعلم‬ ‫كانَإلموتَإلَمفرَمنه‪.‬‬ ‫لذلكَدعتَإلموت‬ ‫وأكالَمعا‬ ‫عنباَوخي ر َ‬ ‫َفطي‬ ‫ر‬ ‫منَمائدتااَإلنحس‪.‬‬

‫‪31‬‬

‫إقيبَمنااَإلموت‬ ‫ووضعااَفَنعش‬ ‫ي‬ ‫حتَإلموتَيمكنَأنَيقيسَحجماا‬ ‫ويختيَفناءها‪.‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫لمَتكنَتعلم‬ ‫كانَإلموتَغدرإ‪:‬‬ ‫لذلكَذهبتَللنوم‬ ‫يفَنعشااَإلمفضل‬ ‫دونَأدنَشك‬ ‫ربماَيغلقَإلموتَإلغطاء‪.‬‬

‫‪32‬‬

Flock of one

It was so white.

Freshly shorn, seemed as if they had removed from its back cottony clouds, and about a foot of them had fallen, defeated by their own weight.

In its eyes a lake surrounded by reeds, a body of water embedded in the gentle hand of evening.

But they came, mostly women.

No one noticed when the fluffy tail grew a stinger, the bleating tongue split in two, and the snowy fur began to grow scales between misty tangles of hair.

No one noticed.

33

‫قطيعَوإحد‬ ‫كانتَهيضاءَجدإ‪.‬‬ ‫مجزأةَحدنثا‬ ‫بدإَوكأنامَأزإلوإَمنَظارها‬ ‫غيوماَقطنية‪،‬‬ ‫وسقطتَنحوَقدمَأحدهم‪،‬‬ ‫هزمامَوزنام‪.‬‬ ‫يفَعينيه‬ ‫بحيةَتحيطَهااَأعوإدَإلقصب‪،‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫هيئةَإلمياه‬ ‫جزءَإلَنتجزأَمنَيدَإلمساءَإلرقيقة‪.‬‬ ‫لكنامَجاءوَإ‪َ،‬ومعظمامَمنَإلنساء‪.‬‬ ‫لمَيلحظَأحد‬ ‫لحظةَنموَإلذيلَإلرقيق‪،‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ثارَؤىلَقسمي‪،‬‬ ‫ر َ‬ ‫وشقَإللسانَإلي‬ ‫ر يَ‬ ‫إءَإلثلج‬ ‫وبدإيةَنموَإلفر‬ ‫َإلشعرَإلضبانَإلمتشابك‪.‬‬ ‫رهي‬ ‫ري‬ ‫لمَيلحظَأحد‪.‬‬ ‫‪34‬‬

Bisection Flowers halved. Bodies halved. The shadow cut in two.

Lord, the executioner's arms are stretched ever further. Always more toward the city-center, and yesteryear’s borders will rot beneath the sun.

Only spikes mark the threshold between light and shadow, between one book and another (kitab in Arabic, what a lovely word), between one’s land and a neighbor's: scars on the world globe that angels—natural-born jugglers—hold in their hands. They bow, bending the body, reeds in the storm, until their lips touch the ground. Their angelic lips. Their lips like winged flowers. Petals of near-mortal gods opening over corollas of dust.

The sun, one day, will extinguish (Mallarmé suffered a terrible depression when he sensed this). The sun is beautiful, a gem in the midst of heaven, and it will be millions of years before it goes extinct.

35

Today it illuminates Palestinian days, the dawns of Golan Heights, the red sunsets of Mexico, while its girlfriend the moon barely illuminates the shadow of the anti-Sun. The eclipse lasted more than three weeks in the Gaza Strip, and that makes three years without sunrise in Mexico.

Astronomers of the future will find this phenomenon interesting.

36

‫إلتنصيف‬ ‫إلزهورَقطعتَللنصف‪َ.‬إلجثثَشطرتَؤىلَإلنصف‪َ.‬إلظلَصارَؤىلَ‬ ‫قسمي‪.‬‬ ‫ر َ‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ر‬ ‫إعاَإلجالدَممتدةَأكيَمنَأيَوقتَمض‪.‬‬ ‫َدوماَتتجهَأكيَ‬ ‫ياَرب‪َ،‬ذر‬ ‫وسوفَتتعفنَحدودَإلعامَإلماضَتحتَ‬ ‫نحوَوسطَإلمدننة‪َ،‬‬ ‫ي‬ ‫إلشمس‪.‬‬ ‫َتحددَإلعتبةَهيَإلضوءَوإلظل‪َ،‬‬ ‫َإلت‬ ‫ر‬ ‫َفقطَإلنتوءإتَه ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫رهيَنتابَوآخرَ(نتابَبالعربية‪َ،‬ياَلااَمنَكلمةَجميلة)‪ َ،‬رهيَأرضَ‬ ‫إلمرءَوجيإنه‪َ3‬ندوبَعىلَإلكرةَإألرضيةَتحملااَإلمالئكةَ‪َ-‬‬ ‫ر‬ ‫إلمشعوذ َونَإلمولودونَبالفطرةَ‪ َ-‬يفَأيدنامَ َ‪.‬‬ ‫إلقصبَفَإلعاصفة‪َ،‬حتَتلمسَشفاهامَ‬ ‫ننحنون‪َ،‬نثنونَإلجس َد‪َ،‬‬ ‫ي‬ ‫إألرض‪َ.‬شفاهامَإلمالئكية‪َ.‬شفاهامَكالزهورَإلمجنحة‪َ.‬تفتحَ‬ ‫هتالتَإآللاةَشبهَإلمميتةَفوقَتويجاتَمنَإلغبار‪.‬‬ ‫ً‬ ‫ءَإلشمسَنوماَماَ(عانَماإلرميهَمنَإكتئابَرهيبَعندماَ‬ ‫ستنطق‬ ‫ي‬ ‫جوهرةَفَوسطَإلسما َء‪َ،‬وسوفَتمرَ‬ ‫شعرَبذلك)‪َ.‬إلشمسَجميلة‪َ،‬‬ ‫ي‬ ‫َإلسنيَقبلَأنَتنقرض‪َ.‬‬ ‫مالني‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ر‬

‫‪37‬‬

‫إليومَيضءَإأليامَإلفلسطينية‪َ،‬فجرَمرتفعاتَإلجوإلن‪َ،‬غروبَ‬ ‫ي‬ ‫هينماَتضءَصديقتهَإلقمريةَبالكادَظلَ‬ ‫إلشمسَإألحمرَللمكسيك‪َ،‬‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ر‬ ‫إلشمس‪.‬‬ ‫َمنَثالثةَأساهيعَفَقطاعَغزة‪َ،‬وهذإَ‬ ‫َإستمرَإلكسوفَأكي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫وقَإلشمسَفَإلمكسيك‪.‬‬ ‫الثَسنوإتَتمرَبدونَش‬ ‫يجعلَث َ‬ ‫ي‬ ‫َإلمستقبلَهذهَإلظاهرةَمثيةَلالهتمام‪.‬‬ ‫سيجدَعلماءَإلفلكَف‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ي‬

‫‪38‬‬

Francoise Roy is a Poet, a translator and a photographer. She studied A certificate in translation from English to Spanish at Asociación Mexicana de Traductores - Capítulo de Occidente.

She studied Certificate in Photography at Colegio Fotográfico de Occidente. She studied Urban geography at University of Maryland, College Park. She studied Geography at University of Florida. She Went to Collège Jésus-Marie de Sillery. She is from Sainte-Foy, Quebec. She is married and lives in Mexico.

39

Ashraf Aboul-Yazid, a poet-writer in contemporary Egypt, born in March 13, 1963. Editor in Chief, THE SILK ROAD LITERATURE SERIES, Worked in Cultural Journalism for 30 years. Authored and translated 40 books. Man of Culture for the Year, 2012, Tatarstan, Russia. Manhae Prize in Literature, 2014, the Republic of Korea, Arab Journalism Award in Culture, in 2015, UAE, President, Asia Journalist Association since April 2016.

Some of his books are translated into Korean, Turkish, Persian, English, Sindhi, Spanish and Malayalam.

40

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