contemporary poems from the arabian peninsulaivan strpka for giving the slovak translation a poetic...

Contemporary Poems fromthe Arabian Peninsula

Translated by:Dr. Shihab M. Ghanem

Dr. Peter Zsoldos

قصائد معاصرة من الجزيرة العربية

3

Contemporary Poems from the Arabian Peninsula

Dedication

To all those who believe in the message conveyed by the verse that says:

“O mankind, We have created you male and female and made you into races and tribes that you may know one another…”

Al- Hujurat/13.

We would also like to dedicate this book to all the poets and artists involved in this book.

4

قصائد معاصرة من الجزيرة العربيةContemporary Poems from the Arabian Peninsula

Acknowledgements

We wish to thank the Cultural Foundation of Abu Dhabi Culture & Heritage and in particular its top management for their support, advice and encouragement and for undertaking to produce this book.

We also wish to thank Slovak poet, translator and editor-in-chief Ivan Strpka for giving the Slovak translation a poetic touch.

We would also like to express our gratitude to:

1) Slovak artist Robert Brun

2) Arab Calligrapher Mohamed Mendi


5


CONTENTS

Introduction by Ambassador Peter Zsoldos

Poems:

1. UAE

1. Shihab M Ghanem - Bakhbookh 14

2. Habib Al-Sayegh - So as Not to 15

3. Khaled Badr - Stones 16

4. Adel Khuzam. - The Old Generation 17

5. Ahmed Rashed Thani - A National 18

6. Muna Matar - The Dancing Heart 19

7. Nujoom Al-Ghanem- The Moon of Midnight 20

2. Bahrain

1. Qasem Haddad- The Feast of the Sea 22

2. Hamda Khamees- Equality 23

3. Ali AshSharqawi- Rain 24

6


3. Kuwait

1. Suad As-Sabbah- Female 2000 26

2. Khalifah Al-Wuqyyan- Those Sailing with The Wind (2) 28

3. Muhammad Ahmed Al-Mashari- Not as They Wish 30

4. Ali As-Sabti- Glory to Poets 31

5. Muhammad Al-Fayez- Reading about Things that Had Vanished 33

4. Oman

1. Saif Ar-Rahbi- Tea 35

2. Hilal Al-Amiri- The Writing on the Wall of Silence 36

3. Abdulla Ar-Riyami- To the Health of Strangers 37

5. Qatar

1. Zakiya Mal-Allah- Roofs 39

2. Suad Al-Kawwari- The Jounney 40

3. Muhammad Khalifah Al-Atiyyah- The Visiting Poetry 41

6. Saudi Arabia

1. Ghazi Al-Qusaibi- Words from the Epic of Passion 43

2. Hasan Abdullah Al-Qurashi- For Whom is Glory 45

3. Ahmed Saleh Al-Saleh- Expatriation Monologue 46

4. Fawziyya Abu Khaled- The Keyboard of the Computer 49


7


5. Abdulla Basharaheel- Nothingness 50

6. Thoraya Al-Urayyedh - All of Them are Me 51

7. Yemen

1. Muhammad Abduh Ghanem- Extract from: My Leaves 54

2. Abdullah Al-Baradooni- Extract from: Invasion from Within 55

3. Abdul-Aziz Al-Maqaleh- To My Mother 57

4. Huda Ablan- Bundle 59

5. Fatimah Al- ِAshbi- A Man Made of Paper 60

8


I come from a place in Central Europe, which became important in the past thanks to Islam. It may seem paradoxical, but the Ottoman invasion at the beginning of the 16th century turned into a blessing for Bratislava, the capital of the Slovak Republic today. Szekesfehervar, was the city where the coronation ceremonies of Hungarian rulers took place. When it fell into Turkish hands, a substitute had to be found. The choice fell to ancient and fortified Bratislava. In 1563 it became capital of the country, site of the Parliament, seat of central administration and city for coronations, putting it on the same footing as Vienna, Prague or Krakow. It also meant that the best-guarded tower of the Bratislava castle became the repository for the crown jewels. The reign of Maria Theresa in the 18th century brought great favour to the city and led to its Golden Age. She regularly attended opera and theatre performances, concerts and balls there.

Geography and history meant that there were few links between Slovakia and the Arabian Peninsula at that time. However, there was one interesting exception: the Maria Theresa thaler. The thaler is one of the world’s most beautiful and famous coins. Even up to the early 1960s, this exquisite silver coin was legal tender in Yemen and the Gulf region and was often used as a weight for assessing the value of a piece of jewelry. The coin, named after Empress Maria Theresa, mentioned above, Queen of Hungary and Archduchess of Austria between 1740 and 1780, was produced in Central Europe, including in Kremnica, the seat of the mint that has been operating for nearly seven centuries, in the heart of the Slovak Republic. The thaler was an ideal coin for trading, since it was difficult to counterfeit. For people who did not have their own currency of exchange, the thaler became an economic necessity. So it is only a small stretch of the facts to claim that we shared a queen and a currency.

Nowadays Western diplomats in the Gulf try hard to be part-time Arabs. When in Rome do as the Romans do goes the saying and there

To Understand is to Set up a Relationship

Introduction by: Peter Zsoldos @

@ Non resident ambassador to the UAE


9


is a great deal of doing and learning during the process. Naturally you spend a lot of time linking up your respective countries’ interests with the ones of your host countries. Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Manama, Doha, Kuwait City and Muscat are all busy becoming the focal points of business, finance, trade and tourism in the region. The history of Slovakia reveals the interesting story of the Maria Theresa thaler. However, things get even more interesting with intellectual property. The West’s spiritual life has been nurtured secretly by the East for centuries. Buddhism is an early example, followed by pre-Islamic poetry and classical Arabic and Persian literature. The impact of Alf Leila wa Leila on the development of European belles letters was considerable.

Eastern poetry is immutable and its beauty has mesmerized and influenced authors and intellectuals in Central Europe as well. A good example is B. Balassi (1554-1594), an aristocrat, soldier and poet, a true Renaissance spirit who was born in Zvolen castle in Central Slovakia. He spent most of his life fighting the occupying Turks, but this did not prevent him from speaking their language and enjoying their poetry. Ashik and diwan poetry created by Turkish minstrels under the influence of Arab-Persian literature was well known in the occupied regions of Europe and we can presume that several motifs of Slovak, Hungarian and Bosnian folk love poems are of Turkish origin. Balassi was unique in the sense that he succeeded in deciphering even the inner, spiritual and sufi meanings of the poetry of janichar or bektashi masters and making use of them in his Petrarcan love poetry, a feat only J.W.Goethe could match in his West-Ostlicher Divan some two hundred years later.

In a world falling apart, it is in poetry one finds some remaining sense of integrity. This message of Hafiz, the pre-eminent Persian classical poet, was conveyed to Europe for the first time by a diplomat born in Slovakia. Count K. Reviczky (1736 –1793) was an ambassador

10


and minister of the Austro-Hungarian Empire in London and in 1768 he met Sir William Jones and introduced him to Persian poetry. Sir William, a well known English philologist and the founder of the Asiatic Society, and Reviczky became friends and maintained a lifelong correspondence in Latin and French. Jones later admitted his mentor’s deepest knowledge of Asiatic literature and this fact was crowned by Reviczky’s Latin version of Hafiz together with the Persian originals which appeared as Specimen poeseos Persicae in Vienna in 1771.

A more recent instance of cultural dialogue, the Safvet beg Basagic collection of Islamic manuscripts and prints in the University Library in Bratislava, expresses well Slovakia’s interest in Islamic studies. Safvet beg Basagic (1870 – 1934) a leading intellectual of Bosnia, symbolizes Islamic culture, which has flourished in Bosnian lands since the15th century and developed in close symbiosis with modern European culture. Basagic graduated in Oriental Studies from the Vienna University. After his studies he returned to Bosnia where he took active part in cultural life, working as a university professor, journalist and director of the National Museum in Sarajevo. Later on he got involved in Bosnian political life, serving as Chairman of the Bosnian Parliament for an extended period of time. A remarkable literary work by Safvet beg Basegic includes historical studies, dramas, poetry, current affairs and translations from Oriental languages, inspired by old manuscripts in his

personal book collection. Over the years Savfet beg made constant efforts to enlarge the collection, purchasing further copies of manuscripts and prints from all over the Balkans. He focused on saving and preserving precious relics of Muslim culture from the territory of Yugoslavia from the preceding centuries. Therefore apart from the classics of Islamic religious literature, scientific works, poetry, prose and mysticism, one also finds in the collection authors of Serbian,


11


Croatian and Turkish origin who wrote in Arabic. . In 1924 Safvet beg Basegic decided to sell his collection to the University Library in Bratislava, turning down more lucrative offers from major European libraries. He explained his decision as an effort to transfer the precious collection to “a safe and tolerant place”. Indeed, Bratislava was rarely ravaged by wars during its long history and its inhabitants, speaking a number of languages, have always been multicultural and cosmopolitan. The collection contains 393 Arabic, 117 Turkish and 88 Persian manuscripts dating from the 12th to the 19th centuries. The prints contain 145 Arabic, 337 Turkish and 8 Persian books dating from the 18th to the 20th centuries. The “Basagic Collection” of Islamic manuscripts was inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage List “Memory of the World” in 1997.

Outstanding personalities coming from Central Europe have played an important role in providing the old continent with exact, scientific and unbiased research on oriental languages and literatures throughout history. Perhaps the first encyclopedic work on Turkish, Arabic and Persian, the monumental Thesaurus Linguarum Orientalium Turcicae, Arabicae, Percicae, was written and published by a Polish diplomat Franciszek Meninski in 1680 in Vienna. The life and work of Abdul-Karim Germanus, a Hungarian Orientalist is also a good example of our contribution to Arabic studies. Germanus, a scholar of world repute, had a great desire to learn more about Islam and Arab culture, which led him to meet the most prominent Arab poets. He enjoyed the friendship of Dr. Muhammed Abduh Ghanem, the great Yemeni poet included in our Anthology, maintained some correspondence with him and published in English a book on modern Yemeni poetry in 1971. Germanus in his preface to this book writes the following: “There is a revival of the Arab genius, which manifested itself in its vigorous, martial literature, poetry and prose and its writers do not shrink from pointing out the sore spots of their social life. This brave

12


attitude serves to the modern Arabic literature a noble place among the spiritual achievements of the nation.” It is interesting to note here that the co-translator of this volume, Dr Shihab M. Ghanem, is the son of the late Dr Muhammad Abduh Ghanem, which indicates that the tradition of the relationship continues.

Looking at the history of our ties, a cheerful story comes to mind told me by Abdullah Jasim al-Mutairi, the Director of Sheikh Saeed al-Maktoum’s House Museum in Dubai. During the reign of Sheikh Shakhbut ibn Sultan al-Nahyan, the predecessor of Sheikh Zayed, an international fair was held in the United Arab Emirates in the middle of the last century. A stunning silver Skoda car was the prime exhibit Czechoslovakia sent to the fair. The audience was fascinated by the beauty of the elegant automobile and everybody wondered where such a country could be who sent it and who their people were. Unable to solve the riddle, they took the matter to the ruler. Sheikh Shakhbut, after a while of deep thought, said the following: “Czechoslovakia is a country of two brotherly people, the Czechs and the Slovaks, in the heart of Europe. They are well developed, clever and make many good products”. When the fair was over, Sheikh Shakhbut decided to buy the car and kept it for himself.

It is evident that we drink from different cups, but we have the same water. East and West can meet, enrich each other, whether it’s a silver coin or car, golden poetry, prose or philosophy and can take advantage of each other’s culture and civilization. That, in a nutshell, is the aim of this present anthology of poetry of the seven countries of the Arabian Peninsula.

We have worked along the same lines as we did in the case of our first book, Pearls and Dates, published seven years ago. Dr. Shihab M. Ghanem and myself were encouraged by the interest of the general public and media and honoured by the prize Best Book of the Year in the UAE in the category of translation, handed over to us by His


13


Highness Dr. Sheikh Sultan bin Muhammed al-Qassimi, Supreme Council member and Ruler of Sharjah, on the occasion of the Sharjah International Book Fair in 2003.

I would like to express my heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Dr. Shihab who did the overwhelming bulk of work by providing me with a wide selection of wonderful poetry of modern Arabia in English and Arabic. My task was merely the enjoyable cherry-picking and translating the poems into Slovak. I was so impressed by his poem Bakhbookh that I have chosen it as the first poem for our whole anthology. This word, unlike its original meaning making things vanish in a make-believe game, epitomizes the present day Open Sesame expression (iftah ya simsem) which opens the door to a magnificent treasure store of modern Arabian Gulf poetry at its best.

According to an Arabic adage books are the heart in the hands of people. On behalf of the authors, calligraphers, graphic artists, publishers and translators we hope the Reader will enjoy this volume as much as we did in producing it and will grasp its human message – to understand is to set up a relationship.

14


I centered the coin on my left palmAnd blew on itThen put on top my other palmAnd said to her : say “Bakhbookh” !She said : “Bahbooh”I opened my handsWhere is the coin ?.. where ?It vanished in a winkShe laughed .. and her happiness gleamed in her eyesShe was -may Allah protect her- less than two years old“Bakhbookh”And our coin vanished She went to bring her big dollWith the velvet dressShe put it in my handsAnd said : “Bahbooh”I said , in a hoarse voice :“This doll is too beautiful to be allowed to vanishO soul of my soul !”

Bakhbookh*Shihab Ghanem – UAE

{To my granddaughter Hanouf}

@ “Bakhbookh” is a word like “abracadabra” used by a magician to make things vanish.


15


The pit of lifeis deep and dark and I descend into itstep by stepso that my foot doesn’t stumbleand I fall on my backdue to excessive laughter.

So As Not ToHabib Al-Sayegh - UAE

16


When you came outfrom the hot bathwith the steam still emanating from you, you were staringat the windowand stumbling in your stepsto go prepare the incense.I know that you were thinking about the stonesthat you had collectedfrom the course of the cold riverIn “Tennessee”,and which you have to leave behindwhen leaving.

StonesKhaled Badr - UAE


17


My father was a box for the secrets of keysHe comes and turns into a palm treethat stands above its ashesHe was warm like his million neighboursOnly his dreams escape our notebooksWe relax and enter a building for the disappearance of childhood,Young ones walking towards greatnessLike an endless queue.The old generation had their sticks gnawed by antsAnd whenever we were absent for half a nightThe ants were the third part of the trio:We,and the ants,and the guards!

The Old GenerationAdel Khuzam - UAE

18


He sits on his historyHe sits awaiting the skyHis pocket is dryBeneath him a treasureAnd his heart is crammedInto the emptiness.Sitting,Just sitting, that’s all.

A NationalAhmed Rashed Thani – UAE


19


The complete fireThis simple onethat penetrates to the heart of thingsThe heat that always danceson the surface of waterfor usWe,whose salts ooze outpure sugar.

The Dancing HeartMuna Matar - UAE

20


I know that the night becomesa captivating expressionfor those who love,And the morning a brook that does not knowwhere it may smuggle its waterI know that the sea is for the thirsty,And the sand is the herbage of nomads,I know..I knowBut I don’t know what the last star wantsIn the darkness that is overcast with clouds.I hear the howling of the windAnd I don’t perceive the name which they call the moonWhen it hides in the throngThere at the edgeThe poor fishermenObserve the horizon expectantlyWhat is there in the horizon? I wonderWhat does that stormy evening sayOther than the death of laughter,And the wandering of the straying spirits in high locationsWithout a coat or shoes?What do the forests awaitFrom dreamers under their treesExcept the guffaws of the drunk?The sounds that soften the silence and occupy the stillness?We come and go,Saddle the times,Race with the periods, whispering:

The Moon of MidnightNujoom Al-Ghanem - UAE


21


It’s all right, it’s all rightWhilst our spirits are burningAnd our souls are climbing the stepsAs if they would never come down.

22


.. And he came to us with all his fish and weeds,and shells and wavesand lots and lots of saltand dinner was ready.Has anyone of you tried to invite the sea to dinner?!I had to do thatfor my sweetheart loved the seato the point of jealousy And in a fit of angershe promised me to desert the seaif I invited him to dinner,just once... And he came in his full attireOur abode turned into shoresAnd I swallowed my jealousyDrink by drink,while the sea was teaching my sweetheart swimming,she pretending to drown each time.And before hell broke loose inside my headSomeone knocked on the door:The sea has to gofor the ships are unable to travel.I relaxed as I bid the sea farewell at the doorHe said: “Your dinner is tasty and enticing”,and he went.And when I entered to see my sweetheartto ask her about her promise to meI found that she has truly deserted,but with the sea.

The Feast of the SeaQasem Haddad – Bahrain


23


Wait o comrades !Here I come to you with female wisdomand the secrets of sowing,engineering children,seasons,ideas,and rain;innovating seasons for embracing.In my body are the good tidings of life,and in my fingers the moldable forms.Here I am naked of forged historiesfenced with my possibilities.What is potent in my soulis well-rooted inside you.I am taking off the diaphanous chemise of hunting,and the nets of old femininity, and join your ranks;a being of milk and brilliance,of steel and silk.I get nothing that you don’t get,I am neither above or below you.The gates of morning are spinning appointments for us,neither of us goes before the other.What is the value of the morningwithout a woman and a man.

EqualityHamda Khamees – Bahrain

24


Perhaps you don’t remember,Perhaps you do rememberwhen we walked together in the echo of the nightRain was thereBlue like the taste of the eveningFalling downinto my blood and the heart of the treesYou said:Where are you taking me toI said:We will just leave our feetfollow the bolting feelings that are whinnying over the volcanoesO partner of my soul,the road that leads to loveis sweet.We walkedYour fingers in my handlike fire.The rain was falling like warmthon the hair locks of the friendly roadIt was blanketing us Like its children going out into the coldI discovered my love like fireAnd you were my handThe rain was wearing us like a dressConverting us into stars in the clouds that see their dreams in the riverWe walkedThe rain rolled over our feet

RainAli Ash-Sharqawi -Bahrain


25


The adolescent morn climbed us upThe rain wastorturing us like the nectar intoxicated with the smell of bees,or the fire attacking through the ribsWe were the peevish risingThe rainwas falling on the horizon of the eye,in the fire of the back,in the whoops of the heartThe rain was therePerhaps you rememberPerhapsAh!ButI will remember.

26


I could have spent my time- like all other women in the world -In front of the mirror admiring my reflectionI could have sipped coffeein the warmth of my bedAnd chatted over the phone for hours and hoursNot feeling the passing of timeI could have busied myself donning make-upApplying kohlBeing coquettishLying under the sun to tan my skinDancing on the waves like all nymphsI could have busied myselfPutting on adornments of turquoise and rubiesStrutting like a queenI could have done nothingRead nothingWritten nothingDevoted my time to seeking the limelight ..To the latest fashions ..To traveling the world ..I could have avoided refusalAvoided being full of rage,Or shouting in the face of the tragedy ..I could have swallowed the tearsSwallowed the repressionGrown resigned to imprisonmentI could have avoided the questions of History

Female 2000Suad Al-Sabah - Kuwait


27


And escaped the self tortureI could have avoidedThe sighs of all the down-trodden people,The cries of all the crushed people,The revolt of the thousands who have died.But I betrayed the law of the femaleAnd chose to grapple with words!

28


It gives me pain to think of those sailorsWho seem drownedTheir oars brokenTheir sails ripped in the deep blue seaWhile my ships are lost in the dark nightWhichever way they travel, east or west ..Their helmsman has strayedAnd lost his wayAnd I have grown weary of directing him.I have wrestled with the difficulties of life since early youthOvercoming them with willOn every road skirted by fireScorching every stepBut never have I been terrified by a tyrantAnd his walls could never stifle justice in my eyes,And when I returnedMy mind and tongue were heavyBurdened with what I could not sayBecause of its magnitudeIf I spoke everyone would rise against me roaring with abuseOh! How many of us is still a slave at heart!I yearn to see a glimmer Of a better world amongst the starsWherever you look, you would see a singing birdPouring out love like a gentle streamWith man tilling the land …Climbing its rugged terrain …Sowing its fields with love

Those Sailing with the Wind (2)Khalifah Al-Wuqayyan – Kuwait


29


And reaping its harvest,Not crushed by injustice and grief, …Not daunted by the evils from whose cup he is forced to drink.But each time life darkensI surmount the difficulties.Bewitching dreams do not captivate my mindI am never beguiled by themHappily, I fill the lamp of the caravanWith my melted soulHowever much I suffer.

30


I will live the way I wantNot as they wish.I will live as resolved as I wishAs proud as I wish.Walking steadily along the path, however long it may beNeither the rocks of injustice and intimidation can tire my feetNor the shine of falsehood and temptation blind my sight.I will remain the way I want- Not as they wish –Always seeing wrong as wrongAnd right as right.Whenever they speak with hypocrisy and guileI will tell the truthI will never allow my faith to be blemishedFor the sake of worldly gainsAnd my will shall never be softened by the oppression I suffer.I will proceed as I wantNot as they wish.I am not a blind man groping in the dark,But can see clearlyMy guides are my mind, my feelings, and my conscienceAnd in my soul there is a lamp lit by glorious hopes.That is how I want my life to be,That is how it shall be.

Not as They WishMuhammad Ahmed Al-Mashari – Kuwait


31


On the balcony, one evening,Whilst my room was dark,And the street dancing with lightsFiras asked me: DadWhy are you sitting alone in the dark?I was engrossed in my dream,The stars appearing like a waterfall of light, I discuss with him, and ask:Have you written the homework, Firas?Daddy I am your son, I am not like other boysI learn my lessons and then teach my class-matesI am a child of my times!Like you dad, I have a sense of responsibility.I felt I wanted to fly with joyI kissed him. Ah how joyful,to have a son like me! What great hopes!O! Part of my bloodHow wonderful that things become completeAnd man sees his endGrowing..rebelling..what a continuityWhat immortality for the poet!Dreams of a poet come back to me:Ideals that I nurture, love, and adopt,That all men live as equalsWhy should any man be thirsty, whilst rivers flow everywhere?

Glory to PoetsAli As-Sabti - Kuwait

32


Why should the breaths of the weak be suffocated,when roses perfume all places?O child! It is for you that I have shouldered all burdensAnd for the sake of simple honest menI burn my nervesAnd melt my years of youthTo open a path for all the poor.Glory to us: poetsAnd glory to the lovers of truthful wordsWhen in the darkThe lights of white thoughts erupt.Glory to us poets!


33


The poet, my lady,Used to write what the wind sangHe used to paint what the shadow drewHe used to watch the flocks of birdsReturning from their migrationThe poet was the start of wordsAnd the echo of things that had vanishedWhen man fell upon the crowded squaresThe poet used to recite to themAnd convey to themwhat the wind had said,whilst the funeral of a sparrow would shine in his eyesAnd the air of the this earth would be nailsPiercing his lungsUntil the Twentieth century arrived-And a different man cameWhy then, my lady,The yearnings of the poet do not change.The first wordswere a song sung by David,and the letters of the echoes of that first songstill pierce the breast of the earth.There, my lady,You can see the poet loitering at the gates of the vanquished citiesThe cities afflicted with disasterHe has no longer one to praise with his eulogies-He no longer has a sword-He no longer has a shield-

Reading about Things that Had VanishedMuhammad Al-Fayez - Kuwait

34


He is crawling between two epochsHe is bleeding between two erasHe has become the water And the fireAnd the in-between.He who kicks the waist of the poet-Feels two hearts.


35


Today you make for me morning tea.Twenty years earlier you made for me coffee,which I have given up lately, with the same fingers,and the same fear under the shadow of which our life blossomed.You go directly to the kitchenYou open the drawersYou place the kettleI watch the scene in silenceI collect myself from the fog of the years.But you, the capable one,shaking, wearily scatter items on the shelves.You recall memories of Al-Duqqi and Merryland,and those secret thoughts,whilst the garden guard blind of one eyewatched the lovers snatching kisses,to extort from them a few dirhams.Enveloped in the fragrance of the storyand its endless exuberance-despite the bad weather-when the kettle overflowed on the firejust as the years suddenly overflowedand drowned the faces and places.

TeaSaif Ar-Rahbi - Oman

36


O mother! The sad tender emotions of yesterdayweigh down on my shoulders.So do the echoes of past events and expatriation,of an endless night,of matters forgotten and goodbyes,of the plantations of yesterday and the earth.The dreams at night are a nightmarethat envelope my yesterday.I have become alone o mother !!my yesterday weighing down on my shoulder.I had thought that we were going to nurture it together.I have become a stranger o mother!All my roads are full of darkness.My sorrows are matured,I have mixed my drink in their cupand all that is left for meis a prayer that I remembered,the echo of whichkeeps me company in my solitude.

The Writing on the Wall of SilenceHilal Al-Amiri - Oman


37


If distance knew it was like my heartA feather in the airA difficult errand for two eyes in the darkIn the empty street I dance with waterA full stature of memories.I think a lot about the importance of history to nationsAnd in wars for survivalAnd in a poet who is searching For new keys for wordsAnd his voice takes me by surprise as he wanders aloneIn the emptiness of airAnd because I was born on a rainy dayI have always lived like one drowned.A wayward cloud hiding In a stretcher for waitingLooking over this drynessThat grows on lipsAs if the murderous opportunityIs an opportunity for this heart aloneWe roam the squares like the shadows of cursesAlone we cross the paths that have escapedThe unemployed and friendsAnd the jugglery of the centuriesSpent lavishly on the curtains of fancyAnd the last gasp of a fighterPlaying roulette The guide to strangers is a madmanAnd Time is bankrupt looking for a cigarette stump

To the Health of StrangersAbdulla Ar-Riyami - Oman

38


In the ashtray of the dumb earthI am ready to exchange this countryFor a grave that is big enough only for meOr for a feeble light that emanates from a reception roomIn a galaxyWhich is kinderThan a stretcher.


39


Nothing but ashesmoving rapidly towards half-closed windows,hiding among steel handle,in the cracks of a case,inside empty perfume bottles.The ashes rising from a small silken window,woven by thousands of butterfliesthat ran aside.The ashes that spread in savage colours,I will fetch today some boxesand fill as much as I want.It may be of use to me in a cold night.

RoofsZakia Mal-Allah - Qatar

40


Before we go far,leaving the door openfor robbers,we shall cryand sing in secrecyAnd we shall call the trees of the nightto throw the house furnitureinto the wound of space.Before you set ablazethe waves of farewellI shall lie down on a small shelfwhilstmy life withersin dark corners.

The JourneySuad Al-Kawwari - Qatar


41


From the darkness of oblivionFrom the curtains of fogYou came to my doorBreaking the rusted lockScratching the newly heeled woundIn the wilderness of my expatriationCalling behind my doorAll the dreams imprisoned between my eyesMiscarried due to the birth of the buried memoryLiving in my bookWhere I painted a picture of your featuresAnd an echo singing with my wordsYour enchanting whispersMy pain remainsMy larger selfAnd I remain part of youO my pain! .. O my pain!Each year of my life and yoursThat passed before you had forsaken meI used to breathe from the darkness of my despairThe fragrance of your dawnI used to embrace grief as a smiling childTo whom the soul whispers through the gentleness of your lipsThen my expatriation extendedAnd then you came crying behind my doorAfter my long waitingMy address was the road,and my land..

The Visiting PoetryMuhammad Khalifah Al-Atiyyah - Qatar

42


Your loud shadow is in the silence of the fireBut I had forgottenThat you were the one coming from the same roadNow you knock on my doorAfter the light in my lamp had grown oldAnd the feel of you had withered in the strings of my voiceAnd silence had become nothingnessWhere your trace is a deep tattoo on my lipsWhich I keep wiping outYet I see it like a fingerprint in my notebookMade of letters planted in my eyesLike stars in the skyAnd holes in my doorDo you see reality like a huge crack Separating usIt bleeds light onto my old faceAnd asks yesterday where are youfrom my book..That cracked frameWhere your picture isAnd will always remainFor I have not forgotten That your address is my door And my book.


43


I say: “I love you”in times when people are ashamed of love..They are not ashamed of rancour, arrogance and violenceYet love wounds their manliness,embarrasses them ...They stammer when they mention loveBut I without a moment of doubtor a glimpse of fear,say “I love you.”I write it in note booksI announce it from platforms ...I weave it in the cloudsI draw it on the sandsI say “I love you” ... without any reservationsor hesitations ... or retractions ...I write my love for you in poetry and prose..a history of passionan epoch of longing.. and a century of ardent love.I carry your love between my eyes and on my foreheadand under my nails ...I carry your love wherever I come and goAnd if a thousand Judases repudiate itI never disown itAnd when others travel in the cities of gloryI sail in your eyes ...And when others seek wealthI search for your features

Words from the Epic of PassionGhazi Al-Gosaibi - Saudi Arabia

44


And when they reflect how they could become great and famousI deliberate on how I could deserve your loveThis morningI woke up and noticed that the sky was brighterbecause I love you ...That the roses were more redbecause I love you ...That the clouds were drizzlingbecause I love you ...I said your morning is light, roses, clouds and love.


45


Glory in life is to him who purchases lifeWith all that he ownsWith foodWith happinessWith bloodTo him who distributes the dewAnd pours perfumeFrom his soulFrom the drops in his heartFrom the heat of sufferingGlory in life, pure, is to him who diesFor a principleFor an opinionFor a grain of sandFor the singing of a bird in the homeland treeFor a damsel whose face is washed by tearsFor a smile drawn on an old father’s faceFor the lisp from the lips of a childFor the laughter of a riverFor a tent tugged by the evening windsFor a plant sprouting at the edge of a mountain.

For Whom is GloryHasan Abdullah Al-Qurashi – Saudi Arabia

46


O Companion of my life!Such tender dreamsBring me closeYet keep me apartA heart crushed by exile.O Companion of my life!Who else but youBrings me news of my mother ---How often I think of her!I picture herOn her prayer mat Beseeching Allah, pouring out goodness ---And you, my love, mother of my childrenWhom they adore;You are her helpmate and her eyes.O Companion of my life!What pains are you silently bearing?What does fate have in store?What news, my beloved one?Ah! The children will be back at school,Each with his own small problems.The homework will be written,And I see them bringing to you their work-books.I see them playing all around our home,Quarrelling with each other,Refusing to forgive one another!O Companion of my life!My deep longing hurts

Expatriation MonologueAhmed Saleh Al-Saleh – Saudi Arabia


47


Burning in my chest!My little Reem, alive in my memoryO Companion of my life!Such tender dreamsBring me closeYet keep me apartA heart crushed by exile.O Companion of my life!Who else but youBrings me news of my mother ---How often I think of her!I picture herOn her prayer mat Beseeching Allah, pouring out goodness ---And you, my love, mother of my childrenWhom they adore;You are her helpmate and her eyes.O Companion of my life!What pains are you silently bearing?What does fate have in store?What news, my beloved one?Ah! The children will be back at school,Each with his own small problems.The homework will be written,And I see them bringing to you their work-books.I see them playing all around our home,Quarrelling with each other,Refusing to forgive one another!

48


O Companion of my life!My deep longing hurtsBurning in my chest!My little Reem, alive in my memoryAnd in my heart,I see her like a moon amongst her dollsAs she pulls off one of their bonnetsAnd rips the dress of another.As she smashes a toy carAnd tears a family photo in half!Oh! How I yearn to hear her laugh,To hear her childish talk.My beloved children ---What thoughts float across their minds?What hopes kindle in their hearts?I can almost live faster than the days!And I keep asking myself when shall I meet them again?Ah! My fortitude is fadingBut you are the shade to my heartYou are the pulse in my arteriesAnd only with you is life prosperous and flourishing.


49


I enjoy the rancour of the pensFor I stole their gloryAnd I appropriated the tenderness of fingersAnd their longingWith all their harshness and gentlenessWith all their cunning and brokennessYet I harbour misgivingsOf new changesThat in their turn Will betray me.

The Keyboard of the ComputerFawziyya Abu Khaled – Saudi Arabia

50


Things are created from somethingFilling the earth, the sea, and the sky.The atom, and part of the atomFertilize like the fruitSomething living emanating from something livingIf branches wither or bodies dieNo sooner than they would grow under the sunAnd under the shadeHowever much they decay the picture of something remainsAnd however much this mind sailsFrom the known to the unknownAnd behind the paths of darknessIt will not find in nothingnessexcept something.

NothingnessAbdulla Basharaheel - Saudi Arabia


51


All of these faces are..meIn whose depth dreams do not die And who buried her dreams in the housesAnd who swingsBetween reality and imagination Without timeAll these faces are me They besiege me wherever I goWith their dreams.. their plaits..With their eyesWhich are lined by grief like kohl each mornAnd which are wrapped with despair each eveningWho reproaches whom?Who fights whom?All of them are..meIn my embroidered dresses their pains pulsateTheir moans pantWith my voice.. all of themFaces distorted in old mirrors Besieged between fear and suspicion All these faces are meIn whose eyes dreams have burnt a fireAnd who still is Drowned in her labyrinthAll these faces are meThey chase meOn old roadsFor the sad eyes to divulge to me

All of Them Are MeThoraya Al-Urayyed -Saudi Arabia

52


Their secretsThey demand from me to rebelThey force me to bear their shameAnd their vengeanceWho reckons with whom?Who punishes whom?And for what crime..?Screaming..?Silence..?Accepting defeat..?Contradicting oneself at painful moments..?Holding on to deep desires..?That spread in our depths fire across epochsThat search in our subconsciousThat face us with the truthAnd open the gate of time.Who demands from whom?I am every female child buried alive and not allowed to beEvery soul that asks not to dieAnd tears the death shroudWho demands from whom?All of them are me.... and I am all of themCould their sorrows then producefrom my weakness an edifice of strength?And could I with their fingernails of hopeCarve a hole in the rock of death?And with their shining dreams


53


Light in the darkness of despair a small flame?And make burst in the channels of draught in their eyessprings of elation..?In my throat their shouts are throttledAnd I imprison their echoes in my arteriesUntil I nearly die.Will I then tear up this silenceWith my bare teethAnd let out a resounding shriekWhose echo will shake up the houseCrack all the bad mirrorsUndress hidden intentionsUproot spider websAnd wipe out from foreheads distorting scarsLiberate my faceAnd all innocent facesFrom the stigmas of disgrace and suspicionAnd old complexes..?

54


On my tender branch there are many fondled leavesGreen, , reddish, brown … a vivid spectrumIn whose love, crowds of lovers have fallenAnd suffered the agony of passionNot even Qais is scorched by the love for LailaAs much as the addicts are swept by the love for qatCircling at noon around the qat dealerAs he displays it to them in the “pen”With their necks extendingLike the necks of hungry camelsWith their eyes looking with desireTheir short arms extending longTheir hands giving out bank notes generously,For when love dictates, hands give without hesitationWho says that they did not remember their young onesleft at the bottom of the nest to starve?Who says that this love has blinded a nationWho would have otherwise progressed?Who says that we have not achieved great steps towards glory?Are those brownish moist leaves on their trembling tender branchesA cause more worthy than a nations dreams?

An extract from: My Leaves Muhammad Abduh Ghanem


55


It is terrible not to know what is going on,but more terrible to know.And do you know O Sana’a!Who these invisible colonists are?Invaders whom I cannot seeThough their swords pierce my chest?They come in the shape of tobaccoin attractive cigarettes ..In the form of a barbarian’s giftsHumanising his vulgar face ..In the eyelashes of a women ..In the scarves of seduction ..In the trousers of a teacher ..In contraception pills ..In ink tubes ..In the freedom of retching!In the absurdity of life ..In the return of the occupiers of yesterdayin modern disguise ..In the bottle of whisky ..Or the bottle of perfume ..They disguise themselves under my skin ..They slide out of my hair ..And above their faces is my faceAnd under their horses lies my back.The invaders are like the plague:It hides whilst it spreadsIt freezes the growth of the years ahead

An extract from: Invasion from Within Abdulla Al-Baradooni - Yemen

56


And gilds the dreadful today.It is terrible not to know But more terrible is to know.We are exiled from our Yemen And exiled too within it“Southerners” in Sana’aAnd “Northerners” in AdenWe are like paternal and maternal uncles,Both in our insistence and weakness.The struggles of that OctoberBecause the death-shrouds of that June.Shame has progressed;From selling us for a priceTo giving us away for nothingAnd from a foreign invaderTo a national colonist!O! Homeland and exile why are we homelessWithout a dreamWithout a memoryWithout a solaceShorn even of grief!We are YemenisO! Arwa!O! Saif Bin Dhi YazanDespite all your greatnessWe are left without a past, without a futureWithout secrets, without declared facts,Without fortune, without a Yemen!


57


Your voice, coming with the evening, crushes me -It robs the remains of light from my eyesIt prevents tranquility and sleepAnd you, who are so far awayLike a blind prisonerStand crying in the dark:I have prepared food for my childrenBut you have not come back, while all birds have returned to their nestsAnd the day is goneI fear being alone in the houseWith nothing but longing and memoriesAnd a picture on the wall,Crying,Broken on the rocks of waiting. Mother, you were kneelingFor the thousandth time, kneeling in prayersPleading for the absent faceFor the faraway smilesFor the wanderers whose feet have been burnt on the shores of lifeBeseeching the Lord“O! Maker of soulsO! Builder of mountains, seas, and plainsO! Creator of peoples!Return my children to meReturn the caravans of the wanderersThe stragglers on the roads”.And like a dagger plunged into bloodThe melancholy voice flows into the depths

To My Mother Abdul Aziz Al-Maqaleh - Yemen

58


Drawing a cloud of tears and criesOver the stars and horizons.The snows rise in the dark of winterAnd the sails of sleep capsize, drowned in their tearsSo Mother, smother your nightly wailing, your evening griefThe glow of the stars is blurred by your sadnessAnd the flames of woe burn like the fires of hellYour voice coming in the evening slaughters meIt crushes meIt scatters me like fine dustWhen you appear in the distance, mournful, and neglectedYour face torn by thorns and rocks,When the houses appear,Their gloomy walls swallowing tears and cries.


59


I opened the bundle of my soul ..and gathered what is scattered in me ..and my dreams that had remained small,and fruits of old exhaustion ..and a face, dried and lonely.I wrapped them all with the rope of my stride that remained long …tying up with two tears.

Bundle Huda Ablan – Yemen

60


I wish he had remained a dreamkeeping me company in the sleepless nights.I wish I never sensed himwhen he came to the door of my heart and knocked.I wish I had suspected him.I wish that among his lieshe never told a truthI would have then answered him well.O prince of punishment!Here I am a heap of suffering,and the one who would have been my sweetheart,vanished like a mirage.I wish he had remained a dream And that time never uttered him !He looked handsomeglory to the Sole Creator-He came on the horseback of dawnwearing his radianceI rushed to him, and when I embraced him,my heart sped away with wishes..I thought that time had burnt down..These ashes filling my chestare my sweetheart, that was nothing but a figment of the imagination,nothing but a man made of paper.

A Man Made of Paper Fatimah Al-Ashbi – Yemen

64


Položil som mincu do stredu dlanefúkol som na ňu,zakryl druhou dlaňoua vyzval som ju: „Povedz bachbúch!“„Bahbúh“, šepla.Dlane som roztvoril.A kde je minca?Zmizla.Zasmiala sa. V jej očiach sa zračil údiv.Mala necelé dva roky, nech ju ochraňuje Boh.„Bachbúch“a naša odfúknutá minca zmizla ako gáfor.Priniesla mi svoju veľkú bábiku,v zamatových šatách.Položila mi ju do ruky a povedala bahbúh.Odpovedal som zastretým hlasom a trochu vyhýbavo:„Táto bábika je priveľmi krásna nato, aby zmizla,ach, duša mojej duše!“

*Bachbúch je zaklínacia formula, ktorá sa používa v niektorých arabských krajinách pri kúzelníckych trikoch, podobne ako čáry-máry fuk, alebo abrakadabra

Bachbúch*Šiháb Gánim - Spojené arabské emiráty

(Mojej vnúčke Hanúf)


65


Jama životaje hlboká a temná.Zostupujem do nejkrok za krokomaby som sa nepotkola nezložil ma na chrbátmôj hrozitánsky smiech.

Aby nieHabíb as-Sájig - Spojené arabské emiráty

66


Keď si vyšlaz horúceho kúpeľapara ešte z teba sálala.Išla si pripraviť kadidloa potkla si sanazerajúc do okna.Viem, myslela si práve na tie kamene, ktoré sinazbierala v korytestudenej rieky kdesi v Tennesseea pri odchode si ich muselanechať tam.

KameneChálid Badr - Spojené arabské emiráty


67


Môj otec mal kľúče k pokladnici tajomstiev.Prichádza premenený na palmučo stojí nad jeho prachom.Býval vrúcny ako milión jeho susedov.Jeho sny miznú z našich záznamov.Relaxujeme a vstupujeme do budovyv ktorej je naše detstvo celkom stratené.Mládež kráča k veľkolepostiv nekonečnom zástupe.Stará generácia mala svoje palice rozožieranéčervotočom.Vždy keď sme vymeškali niekoľko nočných hodínboli treťou časťou tria:My, hmyza strážcovia!

Stará generáciaÁdil Chuzám - Spojené arabské emiráty

68


Sedí si na svojich dejináchsedí a čaká na nebesá.Do vrecka siaha hlboko.Pod ním bohatstvojeho srdce jezadupané do prázdnoty.Sedí a sedí.Ani sa nepohne.

Nás občanAhmad Rášid Sání - Spojené arabské emiráty


69


Celý oheňten prostý,ktorý preniká do jadra vecíŽiara ktorá vždy tancujena povrchu vodypre násMy,ktorých soľ sa perlíako číročistý cukor

Tancujúca žiaraMuná Matar - Spojené arabské emiráty

70


Viem, že noc sa menína útulokpre tých, čo milujú,a ráno na potok, ktorý nevie,kam prepašovať svoju vodu.Viem, že more je pre smädnýcha piesok je pašou pre nomádov.Viem... áno viem to.No neviem čo hľadá posledná hviezdav tme, keď ju prekrýva mrak.Počujem kvílenie vetraa nedokážem zachytiť meno, ktorým vzývajú mesiac,keď sa v búrke schová.Kdesi na pobrežírybári úbohísledujú obzor v očakávaníČo je vlastne obzor? - pýtam sa.O čom hovorí rozbúrené moreak nie o konci smiechu,o putovaní bludných duší vo výškachbosých a bez plášťa?Čo očakávajú lesyod rojkov pod ich stromamiokrem rehotu opilcov?Zvuky, ktoré zjemňujú tichoa napĺňajú pokoj?Prichádzame a odchádzame,

Polnočný mesiacNudžúm al-Ghánim - Spojené arabské emiráty


71


osedlávame časy,pretekáme sa s dobou, šepkáme si:je to v poriadku, v pohodezatiaľ čo sa naše vnútro spaľuje a naše duše vystupujú po schodochako keby už nikdy nemuseli zostúpiť.

72


Prikvitlo more a sním všetky ryby a riasy,mušle a vlny,so záplavou soli:večera bola hotová.Pozval už niekto more na večeru?Musel som to spraviť ja -moja drahá milovala more,žiarlila naň.V záchvate hnevumi sľúbila, že ho nechá plávaťak more pozvem na večeru.Aspoň raz.A more prišlo v plnej krásenáš príbytok sa zmenil na pláža ja som zapíjal žiarlivosť,pohár za poháromkým more učilo moju drahú plávaťa ona zakaždým predstierala, že sa utopí.Keď sa už malo spustiť peklo v mojej hlavezaklopal niekto na dvere:„More hneď musí odísťlode už viaznu na plytčine“.Uvolnene som sa lúčil s morom pri dverách.„Skvelá večera!“šeplo a už ho nebolo.Idem ku svojej drahej,veď mi dala sľub.A veru:kvôli moruma nechala.

Hostina moraKásim Haddád - Bahrajn


73


Priatelia,prinášam vám ženskú múdrosťtajomstvá siatia,inžinierstva detí,ročných období,myšlienoka dažďa,plánovania sezón objatia.V mojom tele sú dobré zvesti životav mojich prstoch ich formujem.Tu som,bez sfalšovaných dejínchráni ma to, čo dokážem.To mocné v mojej dušije pevne zakotvené v tebe.Odkladám priehľadné šaty lovenia,odveké ženské siete a pridávam sa k vám;bytosť z mlieka a jasu.Oceľ a hodváb.Získam len to, čo dosiahnete vy,nie som nad vami ani pod vami.Brány rána užsnujú schôdzky pre nás,Ani jeden z nás nekráča pred druhým.Akú cenu má ránobez ženy a bez muža?

RovnosťHamda Chamís - Bahrajn

74


Pamätáš si toalebo si na to zabudla?Prechádzali sme sa v ozvene nocia bol tam dážď.Modrý ako chuť nocipadaldo mojej krvi a do srdca stromov.Povedala si:Kam ma vedieš?Povedal som ti:Práve opúšťame naše chodidláach, už to vystreľuje nad sopkami,spoločník mojej duše,cesta, ktorá vedie k láskeje sladká.Kráčali smetvoje prsty v mojej dlaniako oheň.Dážď teplo padalna kadere vľúdnej cestypokrýval násako deti vybiehajúce sa ochladiť.Objavil som lásku ako oheňa ty si bola moja rukaDážď nás nosil ako šatypremenil nás na hviezdy v oblakoch vidiace svoje sny v riekeKráčali smedážď sa prevalil cez naše nohy

DážďAlí aš-Šarkáwí - Bahrajn


75


mladistvé ráno vystúpilo na násdážď nás mučiltak ako sa nektár mámi opojnou vôňou včiel oheň na nás útočil cez rebráboli sme vzdorovité vzlietnutieDážď padal na obzore našich očístúpal po chrbte ako horúčka a padal do výskania srdcaBol tam dážď.Možno si naň spomínašach,aleja si ho budem vždy pamätať

76


Mohla som tráviť časako ostatné ženy na svetepred zrkadlom obdivujúc svoj odrazmohla som popíjať kávuv teple svojej posteleštebotať cez telefónnedbajúc o to, že čas letímohla som sa sústrediť na make-upnanášať kohlkoketovaťležať na slnku a chytať bronzvznášať sa na vlnách ako nymfyMohla som sa zamestnaťvýberom šperkov z tyrkysu a rubínuvykračovať si ako kráľovnáMohla som tráviť čas ničímnepísaťnečítaťvenovať sa hľadaniu svetiel rámpposlednej módecestovaniu po sveteMohla som sa vyhnúť odmietaniuzáchvatom zlostivykrikovaniu do tváre tragédieMohla som prehltnúť slzyzmieriť sa s násilíma uväznenímMohla so sa vyhnúť otázkam dejín

Žena 2000Su´ád as-Sabbá - Kuvajt


77


utiecť pred sebatrýznenímMohla som sa vyhnúťvzdychom všetkých utláčanýchvýkrikom porazenýchvzbure tisíc mŕtvychAle ja som zradila zákon ženyPúšťam sa do zápasu so slovami.

78


Bolí ma pomyslieť na tých námorníkov,ktorí sú takmer utopeníich veslá zlomenéich plachetnice polámané na šírom moriMoje lode sú stratené v temnej nociči sa vydajú na východ alebo západ,Ich kormidelník zablúdilStratil saa mňa už unavila navigáciaaj zápas s prekážkami od útlej mladostiPremáhal som ich vervouna každom rohu vzbĺkal oheňpálil ma každý krokNikdy som sa nenechal zastrašiť tyranomjeho múry nikdy nepremohli spravodlivosť v mojich očiachA keď som sa vrátilmoja myseľ a jazyk boli ťažkézaťažené tým čo som nemohol vysloviťpre tú mohutnosťKeby som prehovoril každí by sa na mňa oboril s urážkouAch, koľkí sme ešte v hĺbke srdca otrokmiTúžim uzrieť svetielkolepšieho sveta medzi hviezdamiKam sa len pozrieš spieva vtákšíriaci lásku jemným prúdoma človek obrábajúci pôduzdolávajúci ťažký terénzasievajúci pole s nehou a zbierajúci jeho úrodu

Tí, ktorí sa plavia s vetromChalífa al-Wúkjján - Kuvajt


79


Krivda a smútok ho už negniavia.Netrápi ho zlo tých, ktorých kalich horkosti musí vypiť.Vždy keď sa nad životom zamračípredieram sa ďalej.Uhrančivé sny mi neotupia myseľ, neoklamú maaj keď pri tom trpímšťastný napĺňam lampáš karaványdušou roztavenou na plameň

80


Budem žiť ako sa mi zachcenie tak ako si to želajú.Budem žiť rozhodnutý ako chcemhrdý ako chcem.Kráčam vytrvalo po ceste hoci je dlháani skaly nespravodlivosti či zastrašovanie ma neunaviaani falošný jas pokušenia ma neoslepí.Zotrvám v tom čo chcemnie tak ako si to želajúzlo bude pre mňa vždy zloma dobro dobrom.Zakaždým keď prehovorí pokrytectvo a podvodpoviem pravdunedopustím aby sa moja viera zohavilapre svetské ziskya moju vôľu neobmäkčí útlak ktorým trpím.Tak budem postupovaťnie tak ako si to želajú.Nie som slepec tápajúci v tmevidím jasnevedú ma môj rozum cit a svedomiev mojej duši je lampa horiaca nádhernou nádejou.Chcem aby môj život bol takýa taký aj bude.

Nie tak ako si to želajúMuhammad Ahmad al-Mašárí - Kuvajt


81


Raz večer na balkónekým moja izba bola v tmeulica plná svetiel bola roztancovanáFiras sa ma opýtal: Ockoprečo sedíš sám v tme?Ja som bol ponorený do svojho sna,hviezdy sa objavili ako vodopád svetiel,rozprávali sme sa a spýtal som sa:Firas, máš už napísané úlohy?Som predsa tvoj syn, nie som ako ostatní chlapciučím sa a učím svojich spolužiakov,som dieťa dnešných čias!Tak ako tymám zmysel pre zodpovednosť.Cítim, že by som od radosti dokázal lietať,pobozkám ho.Ach, aké to potešeniemám syna takého aký som ja! Skvelá nádej!Aké je nádherné vidieť veci dozrievať,keď človek vidí svoj účelako rastie, rebeluje ... krásna plynulosť,aká to nesmrteľnosť pre básnika!Poetické sny sa mi vracajú:ideály, ktoré živím, mám rád a prijímam,všetci ľudia sú si rovní,prečo by mal čo iba jeden človek žízniťkým všade okolo prúdia rieky?Prečo by mal hasnúť dych slabých

Sláva básnikomAlí as-Sabtí - Kuvajt

82


keď ruže rozvoniavajú vo všetkých kútoch sveta?Ach dieťa! To pre teba som vzal na seba všetky bremenáv záujme jednoduchých čestných ľudísi ničím nervy,rozpúšťam roky svojej mladosti,aby som otvoril cestu pre všetkých čo živoria.Sláva nám básnikomsláva tým, ktorí milujú pravdivé slovákeď v tmechrlia svetielka snehobielych myšlienok.


83


Básnik, moja drahá,písaval to, čo vietor spievala maľoval to, čo kreslil tieňSledoval kŕdle vtákov,ktoré sa pri sťahovaní vracali.Básnik bol na počiatku slov,ozvena vecí, ktoré dávno zmizliKeď človek pristál na zaplnených námestiachbásnik im zavše zarecitovala oznamoval posolstvá vetrapohreb lastovičky mu svietil v očiacha vzduch tejto zeme boli klince,ktoré bodali jeho pľúcaPotom prišlo Dvadsiate storočiea s ním iný človekA prečo sa, moja drahátúžby básnika nemenia?Prvé slováboli pieseň spievaná Dávidoma písmená ozveny tej prvej piesneešte stále prenikajú do srdca zeme.Tam môžeš uzrieť, moja drahá, básnikaako sa poneviera pri bránach porazených miestmiest postihnutých katastrofouUž nemá koho velebiť chválospevomuž nemá ani mečani štítVlečie sa medzi dvomi epochami

Čítanie vecí, ktoré zmizliMuhammad al-Fájiz - Kuvajt

84


krváca medzi dvomi éramiStala sa z neho vodaa oheňa to medziTen, kto kopne básnika do bokupocíti dve srdcia.


85


Dnes mi robíš ranný čaj.Pred dvadsiatimi rokmi si mi varievala kávu,ktorej som sa nedávno vzdal,tými istými prstamia tým istým strachom, v tieni ktorého rozkvitol náš život.Ideš rovno do kuchyneotvoríš zásuvkypoložíš kanvicusledujem scénu bez slov,predieram sa hmlou rokov.Ale ty, chvejúca sa, unavene usporadúvaš veci na policiach.Vyvolávaš si spomienky na al-Duqqi, a Merryland,aj tie tajné myšlienky, v ktorýchkým záhradník slepý na jedno okopozoroval milencov ako si kradmo vymieňajú bozky,aby z nich vymámil nejaké výkupné.Sedím tu zababušený do vône príhodya do jej nekonečnej neviazanosti-napriek zlému počasiu-keď z kanvice na ohni pretieklo tak isto ako roky zrazu pretieklia zaplavili tváre a miesta.

ČajSajf al-Rahbí - Omán

86


Ó matka! Smutno-nežné city včerajškaťažia moje ramená.Tak ako ozveny minulosti a vyhnanstva,tej nekonečnej noci,zabudnutých vecí a lúčenia,plantáži včerajška a zeme.Sny v noci sú nočné mory,ktoré zahaľujú môj včerajšok.Zostal som sám ó matka,s tiažou včerajška na ramenách.Myslel som si, že sa budeme venovať jeden druhému.Ale stal sa zo mňa cudzinec!Všetky moje cesty sú plné temna.Môj smútok dozrel,namiešal som si nápoj v jeho čašijediné, čo mi zostaloje modlitba, ktorú si zapamätám,Jej echomi robí spoločnosť v samote.

Písanie na stenu tichaHilál al-´Amirí - Omán


87


Keby diaľka vedela, že ako moje srdceje pierkom vo vzduchuťažká pochôdzka pre dve oči v tmeNa prázdnej ulici tancujem s vodouplnou veľkolepých spomienok.Rozmýšľam často o význame dejín pre národy,o vojnách čo vedú neustále za svoje prežitieo básnikovi, ktorý hľadánové kľúče pre slováJeho hlas ma prekvapuje keď blúdi sámv prázdnote vzduchupretože som sa narodil v daždivý deň,vždy som žil ako utopenec.Nevyspytateľný oblak sa skrývana nosidlách,obzerá si sucho,ktoré rastie na peráchakoby vražedná príležitosťbola iba pre toto srdcePotulujeme sa po námestiach ako tiene prekliatísami prechádzame cez cesty, ktoré uniklinezamestnaným a priateľomaj žonglérstvu stáročí,ktoré boli utrácané na záclony fantázie,na posledný vzdych bojovníkahrajúceho ruletu.Sprievodca cudzincov je šialenecČas je v bankrote a zbiera ohorky cigariet

Na zdravie cudzincomAbdalláh al-Rijámí - Omán

88


v popolníku nemej zeme.Som pripravený vymeniť túto krajinuza hrob dostatočne veľký iba pre mňaAlebo za slabé svetlo vyžarujúce z recepčnej halygalaxie,vľúdnejšieako nosidlá.


89


Nič iba popolpohybujúci sa rýchlo smerom k pootvoreným oknámschovávajúci sa medzi oceľovými držadlami,v trhlinách peňaženky,vo vnútri parfumových fľaštičiek.Popol vystupuje z hodvábneho okienkautkaný tisíckami motýľov,ktoré sa vyrojili na všetky strany.Popol sa šíri v divokých farbáchZoženiem si dnes nejaké škatulea naberiem si z neho dosýta.Môže sa mi zísť, keď bude noc studená.

StrechyZakíja Málalláh - Katar

90


Skôr ako sa vydáme do diaľkya necháme dvere otvorenépre zlodejov,poplačeme sizaspievame si potajomkya zavoláme nočné stromy,aby vrhli nábytok celého domudo rany vesmíru.Skôr ako zažnešvlny lúčeniaľahnem sina malý šelf,zatiaľ čomôj život bude vädnúťkdesi v kútoch tmy

CestaSu´ád al-Kawwárí - Katar


91


Z tmy zabudnutiazo závesu hmlyprišla si k mojím dverámrozbila si zahrdzavený zámokdotýkala sa čerstvo zahojenej ranyv pustatine môjho vyhnanstvavolajúc za mojimi dveramina všetky uväznené sny medzi mojimi očaminedonosené pre zrod uväznenej pamäti,ktorá žije v mojej knihekde som namaľoval obraz tvojich čŕta ozvenu čo spieva moje slováo tvojom čarovnom šepote.Moja bolesť je ďalejmojím väčším jaZostávam tvojou súčasťouAch bolesť, ach moja bolesťKaždý rok tvojho a môjho života,ktorý uplynul od času, keď si mi odišladýchal som z tmy beznádejevôňu tvojho úsvituobjímal smútok ako usmievajúce sa dieťa,ktorému duša našepkáva nehou tvojich perímoje vyhnanstvo sa predlžovaloa po dlhom čakaníty si prišla a zaplakala za mojimi dveramiMojou adresou sa stala cestaa moja krajina

Poézia na návšteveMuhammad Chalífa al-´Atíja - Katar

92


Tvoj hlučný tieň je v tichu ohňaale ja som zabudolže ty si prišla po tej istej cesteKlopeš na dvere, terazkeď už bledne svetlo môjho lampáša a tvoj hmat na strunách môjho hlasu slabnea ticho sa vyprázdňujetvoja stopa je hlboké tetovanie na mojich peráchdarmo sa ho snažím vymazaťpredsa ho vidím ako odtlačky prstov v mojom zápisníku,písmená sadené do mojich očíako hviezdy na nebia diery v mojich dveráchVidíš skutočnosť ako obrovskú trhlinučo nás delíTo svetlo do mojej starej tváre krvácaA volá ma včerajšok z mojej knihyV tom popraskanom rámeje tvoj obrazA tam aj zostanenezabúdamže moje dvere a moja knihasú tvojou adresou.


93


Hovorím: „Milujem ťa“v časoch keď sa ľudia hanbia za láskuza zlobu, nadutosť a násilie sa nehanbiaa predsa láska uráža ich mužnosťuvádza ich do rozpakovzajakávajú sa keď lásku spomenú Bez zrnka pochybnostiaj bez náznaku strachuhovorím „milujem ťa.“Píšem to na displejevyhlásim to z pódiízamávam tým v oblakochkreslím si to do pieskuHovorím „mám ťa rád“ bez výhradbez zaváhania bez odvolania Píšem tvoju lásku v poézii a v prózeHistóriu vášneepochu túžby, storočie náruživostinosím tvoju lásku medzi očami a na čelea pod nechtamiNosím ju aj keď prichádzam aj keď odchádzama keby ju poprelo tisíc zradcovja ju nikdy nezapriemA keď iní putujú do miest slávyja sa plavím v tvojich očiachKeď iní hľadajú hojnosťja pátram po tvojich črtách

Slová z epickej básne vášneGází al-Kusajbí - Saudská Arábia

94


a keď rozjímajú o veľkosti a uznaníja sa usilujem zaslúžiť si tvoju láskuDnes ránosom sa zobudil a všimol som si že nebo bolo jasnejšiepretože ťa milujemRuže sú červenšielebo ťa mám rádOblaky nás orosilia ja som ti povedal,že tvoje ráno je to všetko spolu


95


Sláva patrí tomu, kto získa života dá do toho všetko čo májedlo šťastiekrvTomu, kto rozdeľuje rosua rozlieva parfumsvojej dušez kvapiek svojho srdcazo žeravého utrpeniaČíra sláva v živote tomu, kto zomriepre zásadupre názorpre zrnko pieskupre spev vtáka na našom strome pre dievča so zaslzenou tvároupre úsmev starca vylúdený na jeho tvári pre šušlavé pery dieťaťapre smiech rieky pre stan, ktorým večerný vietor lomcujepre rastlinu, čo vyháňa puky na upätí hory.

Pre koho je slávaHasan Abdalláh al-Kurajší - Saudská Arábia

96


Ach družka môjho života!Nežné snypribližujúa predsa oddeľujúsrdce týrané exilom.Ach družka môjho života!Kto iný ako tyzvesti o mojej matke prinášamyslím na ňu tak častopredstavujem si juna modlitebnom koberčekuprosí Boha, rozlieva dobrotu.A ty moja láska, matka mojich detí,ktorú oni zbožňujú,ty si jej pomocníčka a svetlo jej očí.Ach družka môjho života!Akú bolesť nosíš v tichosti?Aký osud ťa čaká?Aké správy, moja milovaná?Deti sa vracajú zo školy,každé z nich má svoje drobné starosti.Budú sa písať domáce úlohyvidím ich ako ti nosia svoje zošity.Vidím ich ako sa hrajú okolo domu,hádajú sa,nechcú jeden druhému odpustiť.Ach družka môjho života!Moja túžba bolí,

Myšlienky vo vyhnanstveAhmad Sálih as-Sálih - Saudská Arábia


97


spaľuje moju hruď.Malá Rím, živá v mojej pamätia v mojom srdci.Vidím ju ako lunu medzi bábikamiako jednej sťahuje čepčeka druhej pára šaty.Rozbíja hračkárske autoa roztrhne na kusy rodinnú fotku.Ako len túžim počuť jej smiech,počuť jej detský džavot.Deti moje milované,na čo asi práve myslíte?Aká nádej sa vám roznecuje v srdci?Kiežby dni plynuli rýchlejšie.Pýtam sa sám seba kedy ich uvidím.Síl mi ubúda,ale vy ste zátišie môjho srdca,pulz mojich tepien,iba s vami je môj život osožný.

98


Mám pôžitok zo zarytosti pierveru, kradnem im slávu,zmocnila som sa nehy prstovaj ich túžobNapriek jej tvrdosti jemnostiprefíkanosti a zraniteľnostije tu predsa zlá predtuchaObava z nových zmien,ktoré ma v pravý časzradia.

Klávesnica počítačaFawzíja Abú Chálid - Saudská Arábia


99


Veci sú stvorené z niečohozapĺňajú zem, more a neboatóm a časť atómuako ovocie zúrodňujúniečo živé z niečoho živéhoSotva konáre zvädnú alebo telo odumrieuž rastú pod slnkomalebo v tieninech už sa rozkladajú obraz čohosi zostávanech už sa myseľ vznášaod známeho k neznámemuaž za cesty tmynenájde v ničote ničiba niečo

NičotaAbdalláh Bášaráhíl - Saudská Arábia

100


Všetky tie tváre ... to som jav ich hĺbke sny neumierajúto ony pochovali svoje sny doma,to ony kolíšu medzi skutočnosťou a fantázioubez časuVšetky tie tváre to som janeúnavne ma obliehajú všadesvojimi snami a vrkočmiočami pod ktorýmimajú kruhy smútku ako kohl každé ránoa sú utopené v zúfalstve každý večerKto tu vyslovuje výčitky komu?Kto s kým tu bojuje?Všetky sú jaV mojich vyšívaných šatách pulzuje ich bolesť,Všetky ich nárekytepú mojim hlasom.Tváre znetvorené v starých zrkadláchobkľúčené strachom a upodozrievanímVšetky tie tváre to som jav tých očiach sny založili oheň,ktorý zaplavuje ich bludiskoVšetky tie tváre som jaPrenasledujú mapo starých cestáchsmutné oči mi prezrádzajúsvoje tajomstvá

Všetky sú jaSurajá al-´Urajjid - Saudská Arábia


101


vyžadujú vzburu odo mňanútia ma, aby som znášala ich hanbua ich pomstuKto si tu vyrovnáva účty s kým?Kto trestá koho?Pre aké hriechy?Vresk?Ticho?Priznať porážku?Protirečiť sama sebe v ťažkej chvíli?Zostať verná hlbokým túžbam?šíriacim oheň vnútri nás od nepamäti,ten oheň, ktorý spytuje naše podvedomie,predkladá pravduotvára bránu času.Čo tu požadujú od koho?Som každé dievča pochované zaživa a odsúdené nebyť,každá duša, ktorá prosí o života trhá rubáš mŕtvych na kúskyKto sa tu čoho domáha?Všetky sú jaa ja som ony všetkyDokázal by ich smútok vytvoriťz mojej slabosti budovu sily?Dokázala by som ich nechtami nádejepresekať dieru v skale smrti?Pomocou ich plápolajúceho sna osvetliť tmu beznádeje malým plamienkom?

102


Vtrhnúť do kanálov ich vyprahnutých očíprameňmi eufórie?V hrdle ma škrtia ich výkriky,ich ozveny sú uväznené v mojich tepnáchaž ma zahlušia.Dokážem roztrhnúť toto tichoholými zubamia vydať prenikavé vitie,ktorého ozvena otrasie domaž popukajú všetky zlé zrkadláobnažia všetky bočné úmyslyzbavia nás pavučinya zotrú z čela znetvorujúce jazvya oslobodia moju tvár,všetky moje nevinné tváreod stigiem hanby nedôverya starých komplexov?


103


Krehká vetva je plná milovaného lístiazelené, červenkasté, hnedé … pestré spektrumdo neho sa zaľúbili davy milencovtrpeli agóniou vášnetakú nepoznal ani Qais zožieraný láskou k Laileaká opantá len závislých od lásky ku qatuOd poludnia krúžia okolo predavačaktorý vystavuje svoj tovar na plantážiŠije majú vystreté,ako šije hladných tiavv ich očiach planie túžbakrátkymi rukami sa načahujú do diaľkya štedro rozdávajú bankovky,keď láska káže, ruka dáva bez váhaniaKto tvrdí že si nepamätajú svoje ratolestiktoré nechali bez jedla na dne rodinného hniezda?Kto hovorí že táto láska oslepila národktorý by ináč napredoval?Kto tvrdí že sme nedosiahli pokrok na ceste ku sláve?Sú tie hnedasté listy chvejúce sa na krehkej vetveniečím čo je cennejšie ako sny národa?

QatMuhammad Abduh Gánim - Jemen

104


Je hrozné nevedieť, čo sa deje,ale ešte horšie je vedieť to.A vieš ó Saná,kto sú títo nenápadní kolonisti?Votrelci, ktorých nevidímhoci ich meč mi prepichol hruď?Prichádzajú v podobe tabakuako príťažlivé cigaretyvo forme darov barbarapoľudšťujúc jeho mrzkú tvárna mihalniciach žienšatkami zvádzaniav oblečení učiteľav antikoncepčných tabletkáchv atramentových tubáchv slobode dáviť!V absurdnosti životav návrate okupantov včerajškav modernom prestrojenívo fľaške whiskyalebo fľaštičke parfumuSú preoblečení až pod moju kožulezú mi von z vlasova na ich tvári je moja tvárpod ich koňmi je môj chrbát.Votrelci sú ako pliaga:schováva sa kým sa šíria zabráni rastu na roky dopredu!

Invázia zvnútraAbdalláh al-Baradúní - Jemen


105


A pozlacujú hrozivú prítomnosť.Je strašné nevedieť,ale ešte horšie vedieť.Sme vypovedaní z JemenuA vo vyhnanstve v rámci neho„južania“ v Sanáa „severania“ v Adenesme ako strýkovia z oboch strán,tak v nástojčivosti ako i slabosti.Boje toho októbrakvôli smrteľnému rubášu júna.Hanba robí pokroky,predtým nás predali za cenuteraz sa nás zbavujú,predtým to bol cudzí okupant,teraz je to národný kolonista!Ó moja krajina, ó spoluvyhnanecprečo sme bezdomovcibez snabez pamätebez úľavydokonca aj bez žiaľu?Sme JemenciÓ ArwaÓ Saif bin Di Jazannapriek všetkej veľkostizostali sme bez minulosti, bez budúcnostibez tajomstiev, bez identitybez šťastia, bez Jemenu!

106


Tvoj hlas prichádzajúci večer ma sužujevykráda zvyšky svetla z mojich očíbráni pokoju a spánkua ty, ktorá si tak ďalekotak ako slepý zajatecstojíš v tme a plačešPripravila som jedlo pre svoje detiale neprišli ste, hoci vtáky sa vrátili do hniezdaaj tento deň sa minulBojím sa byť doma samanie je tu nič len smútok a spomienkyobraz na stene,plač,som zdrvená na skale čakania.Matka, kľačala sitisíc ráz kľačiačky pri modlitbáchprosila si o vzdialenú tváro ďaleké úsmevyo tulákov, ktorých nohy sa popálili na brehoch životadoprosovala si sa Pána„ach Tvorca dušíach Staviteľ hôr, morí a rovínó Stvoriteľ ľudíVráť mi moje detivráť mi karavány tulákovmeškajúcich na cestách“.Ako dýka vrazená do krvihlas skľúčenosti preráža do hĺbky

MatkeAbdal´azíz al-Makálih - Jemen


107


vlečúc mrak sĺz a výkrikovnad hviezdami a obzormi.Sneh rastie v tme zimya plavby spánku sa prevracajú, topia sa v slzáchMatka, premôž svoje nočné náreky a bôľtvoj smútok rozmazáva jas hviezdplamene trápenia nás pália ako pekloTvoj hlas prichádzajúci večer ma ničísužuje ma drví ma na jemný prachkeď sa objavuješ v diaľke, trúchlivá a zanedbávanátvoja tvár doráňaná tŕňmi a skalamiHľa, náš rodný dom sa vynárajeho bezútešné steny prehĺtajú slzy a žiaľ

108


Rozviazala som batoh duše,pozbierala som všetko roztrúsené,sny, ktoré nedorástli,ovocie starej vyčerpanostia suchú osamelú tvár.Všetko som previazala stuhou mojich krokov,ktoré narástlia spečatila dvomi kvapkami sĺz.

BatohHudá Ablán - Jemen


109


Kiežby bol zostal iba snomrobil by mi spoločnosť za bezsenných nocí.Kiežby som ho nebola nikdy zazrela,keď prišiel k môjmu srdcua zaklopal.Kiežby som ho bola upodozrievala,že medzi toľkými klamstvamimi pravdu nepovie ani razpotom by som mu bola dala správnu odpoveď.Ach princ trestu!Tu som hľa ako klbko utrpeniaa ten kto mal byť mojím drahým,zmizol ako fatamorgána.Kiežby bol zostal iba snom,kiežby ho čas nebol nikdy priniesol!Bol pekný-sláva Jedinému Stvoriteľovi-prišiel na osedlanom úsviteodetý do jeho jasuRútila som sa k nemua keď ma objalsrdce mi uháňalo ešte rýchlejšie.Myslela som si že čas zhorel do tlaa tento popol napĺňajúci moju hruďto je môj drahý,ktorý bol iba výplod mojej predstavivosti,nič iné len muž z papiera.

Muž z papieraFátima al-´Ašbí - Jemen

/ColorImageDict > /JPEG2000ColorACSImageDict > /JPEG2000ColorImageDict > /AntiAliasGrayImages false /DownsampleGrayImages true /GrayImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /GrayImageResolution 300 /GrayImageDepth -1 /GrayImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeGrayImages true /GrayImageFilter /DCTEncode /AutoFilterGrayImages true /GrayImageAutoFilterStrategy /JPEG /GrayACSImageDict > /GrayImageDict > /JPEG2000GrayACSImageDict > /JPEG2000GrayImageDict > /AntiAliasMonoImages false /DownsampleMonoImages true /MonoImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /MonoImageResolution 1200 /MonoImageDepth -1 /MonoImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeMonoImages true /MonoImageFilter /CCITTFaxEncode /MonoImageDict > /AllowPSXObjects false /PDFX1aCheck false /PDFX3Check false /PDFXCompliantPDFOnly false /PDFXNoTrimBoxError true /PDFXTrimBoxToMediaBoxOffset [ 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 ] /PDFXSetBleedBoxToMediaBox true /PDFXBleedBoxToTrimBoxOffset [ 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 ] /PDFXOutputIntentProfile (None) /PDFXOutputCondition () /PDFXRegistryName (http://www.color.org) /PDFXTrapped /Unknown

/Description >>> setdistillerparams> setpagedevice

contemporary poems from the arabian peninsulaivan strpka for giving the slovak translation a poetic...

Documents