A State of Siege
I will scream in my solitude not to wake up the sleeping,
but for my scream to wake me from my imprisoned imagination.
Poem By:
This poem is a part of “A State of Siege”
Mahmoud Darwish
Translated from the Arabic by Fady Joudah
From the book: The Butterfly’s Burden
In Her Absence I Created Her Image
In her absence I created her image: Out of the earthly
The hidden heavenly commences. I am here weighing
the expanse with Jahili Odes….. And absence
is the guide, It is the guide, for each rhyme a tent
is pitched. And for each thing blowing in the wind
a rhyme. Absence teaches me its lesson: If it weren’t
for the mirage you wouldn’t have been steadfast
Then in the emptiness, I disassembled a letter from one
Of the ancient alphabets, and I leaned on absence. So who am I after the visitation?
A bird, or a passerby amid the symbols and the memory vendors? As if I were
an antique piece, as if I were a ghost sneaking in from Yabous, telling myself: Let’s
go to the seven hills. Then I placed
My mask on a stone, and walked as the sleepless
Walk, led by my dream. And from one moon to another I leapt.
There is enough of unconsciousness to liberate things from their history. And
there is enough if history to liberate unconsciousness from its ascension. Take
me to our early years – my first girlfriend says. Leave the windows open
for the house sparrow to enter your dream – I say ….. then I awaken,
and no city is in the city. No “here” except “there”.
And no there but here.
If it weren’t for the mirage
I wouldn’t have walked to the seven hills….
If it weren’t for the mirage!
Poem By: Mahmoud Darwish
Translated from the Arabic by Fady Joudah
From the book: The Butterfly’s Burden
A State of Siege
The martyr is the daughter of a martyr who is the daughter of a martyr and
her brother is a martyr and her sister is a martyr’s and a daughter-in-law
of a martyr’s mother who’s the grandchild of a martyr’s grandfather
and a martyr’s uncle’s neighbor etc., etc.
And nothing happens in this civilized world,
The age of barbarism is over,
And the victim is nameless, ordinary
And the victim….like truth…. Is relative
etc., etc.,
Poem By:
This poem is a part of “A State of Siege”
Mahmoud Darwish
Translated from the Arabic by Fady Joudah
From the book: The Butterfly’s
Burden
Murdered and Unknown
Murdered and unknown. No forgetfulness gathers them
and no remembrance scatters them ….. they’re forgotten in
winter’s grass on the public highway between
two long stories about heroism and suffering.
“I am the victim.” “No. I alone am the victim.”
They didn’t tell the author.
“No victim kills another.
There is in the story a victim and a killer.
“ They were young picking the snow off Christ’s cypress,
and playing with cherubs, since they were of one generation…
they used to leak out of schools to escape math and ancient
Hamassa poetry, then play with soldiers,
by the roadblocks, the innocent game of death,
they didn’t tell the soldiers: “drop your rifles
and open up the roads for the butterfly to find
its mother by morning, and for us to fly with
the butterfly outside dreams, since dreams
are narrow at our doors.” They were young
playing, and making a story for the red
rose beneath the snow, behind two long
stories about heroism and suffering, and they were
running away with cherubs toward a clear sky.
Poem By:
This poem is a part of “A State of Siege”
Mahmoud Darwish
Translated from the Arabic by Fady Joudah
From the book: The Butterfly’s Burden