Darweesh - Sand Other Poems

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SAND

AND OTHER POEMS

SAND

AND OTHER POEMS

MAHMOUD DARWEESH

Selected and translated from the Arabic by

RANA KABBANI

LONDON AND NEW YORK

First published in 1986 by
Kegan Paul International

This edition first published in 2009 by
Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN

Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada
by Routledge
270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

this translation Rana Kabbani 1986

Printed and bound in Great Britain

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or
utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publishers.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 10: 0-7103-0062-X (hbk)

ISBN 13: 978-0-7103-0062-1 (hbk)

Publisher's Note

The publisher has gone to great lengths to ensure the quality of this reprint
but points out that some imperfections in the original copies may be
apparent. The publisher has made every effort to contact original copyright
holders and would welcome correspondence from those they have been
unable to trace.

Mahmoud Darwcesh was born in Palestine in 1942. As a child of six, he recalls how his native village of Al-Birwa was destroyed by the Israeli army. A refugee in his own country, he moved to the Galilee where he began writing. He worked as a journalist in Haifa, but as his poetry became more popular, he became a victim of Israeli military harassment. He was jailed many times, and finally put under house arrest.

In 1970, Darweesh was forced to leave his country, and resided in Beirut where he edited Shu'un Filastiniyya. In 1982, after the Israeli invasion of Lebanon, he was forced out again, and now lives in exile in Europe, where he edits the literary periodical Al-Karmel He is considered the most influential poet writing in Arabic today. He has published eleven volumes of poetry and three of prose. He is the winner of the Lotus Prize, 1969, the Mediterranean Prize, 1980, and the Lenin Prize, 1982.

Contents

If I could choose again from the beginning

If I could choose again from the beginning
I would still choose the things that I have chosen,
The roses curling on the same brown fences,
The paths that may or may not lead me to Cordoba

Again I'd link my shadow to the dry rocks
That homeless birds might make their small nests there,
I'd break my shadow for a scent of almonds
Descended from a cloud.
Come near to me and listen,
Come share this bread and wine.
I love those lands untainted by departure,
I love those women hiding passions
Like the death of stallions
In their hearts.
I would return once more,
Could I return,
To my same rose
To my same steps
But never to Cordoba.

We walk towards a land

We walk towards a land not of our flesh,
Not of our bones its chestnut trees,
Its stones unlike the curly goats
Of the Song of Songs.
We walk towards a land
That does not hang a special sun for us.
Mythic women clap:
A sea around us,
A sea upon us.
If wheat and water do not reach you,
Eat our love and drink our tears.
Black veils of mourning for the poets.
You have your victories and we have ours,
We have a country where we see
Only the invisible.

Earth narrows before us

Earth narrows before us,
Traps us in the final passage.
We pull our limbs off
So that we might pass through,
If only we could be earth's wheat
That we might die to live.
If only we could be earth's children
That she might pity us.

Where can we go on crossing this last border?
Where do birds fly after the final sky?
Where do plants sleep when all the winds have passed?
We write our names in coloured smoke
And we die in this final passage
That olive trees might grow
To mark our place.

The flute speaks

The flute speaks.
If I could only pass
Into Damascus like the echo.

Silk sleeps at her shore,
Curves in cries
That die before I reach them
Distance falls
Like tears.

The flute calls.
It turns the sky
Into a woman and a woman
It parts a road
To make us part.

Did I suffer all in vain,
Did I break the mountain rocks
And love's first apple.
A sword of distance calls
Damascus
My woman
I want to love and stay.

If I could only pass
Into Damascus like the echo.
Flute,
Be yet more gentle with me.
If I could speak your tears
I would possess Damascus.

Sand

Endless place of thought,
And woman,
Shall we seek you to the grave?

Trees, at first, were female,
Made from words and water.
Does earth die like man,
Does the bird carry it
To seed a secret space?

I am the beginning and the end.

Sand
A shape and an idea of shape
Sand
Oblivion killing blossom
Everything miraculous
Sand
A country made of sand
I lost my woman and my mind
In sand.

Shape of every tree to come,
Clouds that look like houses,
One colour merely for all oceans
And for sleep.
I see kingdoms of sand,
And yet I'm torn apart by torrents
Like a foolish bird.
I think the arrow is my rib,
As I choke on sand.
I lost my words, my woman
In the sand.

Two lovers find their way
Despite this sand.
They find a secret river
And they say to one another
How brief this stretch of sand.

Sand.
I am the beginning and the end.

Al-Mutanabbi's Voyage into Egypt

The Nile has its habits
And I am leaving.

I pass quickly through these lands
Which steal my names from me.
I've come from Aleppo
But will not go back to Baghdad.
The North has fallen
And I've found no path
To lead me to myself
Or Egypt.

I heard the distant neighing
But saw neither horse nor horseman
Each voyage leads me to another
I've found no country here
I've found no countrymen.

The earth is slimmer
Than the passing of a sword
Through a narrow waist.
The earth is wider.
Than a prophet's tent.
I see no one behind me,
I see no one before me.
I feel a solitude in crowds.

My country is my latest poem.
When I walk toward myself
The villages expel me
I break mirrors and I shatter.
I see nations being handed out
Like tokens,
I see slaves in slavish wars
Eating other slaves.
I see the bend in every bend.
My country is my latest poem.
The night is mine, and longing.
And yet no ebony lover
Tears me into shreds,
No cluster of frail trees
Lures me into sleep
Beside this Nile.
When I walk toward myself
The villages expel me.

Egypt is not in Egypt.
I find only emptiness
When I seek her there.
The Nile has its habits,
And I am leaving.

Stone am I.
Egypt,
Will my regret reach you

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