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État de siège

Garrett List
Language: French

List of versions


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[2002]
شعر / Poesia / A Poem by / Poésie / שירה/ Runo :
محمود درويش / Mahmoud Darwish
موسيقى / Musica / Music / Musique / מוזיקה / Sävel:
Garrett List
مترجمين / Interpreti / Performed by / Interprétée par / מתורגמן / Laulavat:
Aquarius - Dir. Marc Michael De Smet

Campo-Profughi di Shatila, 2017 foto di Iveta Polochová/ MSF
Campo-Profughi di Shatila, 2017 foto di Iveta Polochová/ MSF


Vittime delle vittime

“Vittime delle vittime”: così Edward Said definiva la situazione dei Palestinesi , come ricordava Christopher Hitchens.Le formule del linguaggio non riescono ad esaurire una problematica, non hanno la rappresentatività delle formule chimiche né l’universalità delle equazioni. Non c’è dubbio però che espressioni come quella citata fanno riflettere, non si liquidano con argomentazioni di risulta e di parte. Potrebbero invece contribuire a mitigare le conflittualità e accettare delle limitazioni alle aspettative pur legittime di ciascuna parte. Una condizione necessaria è di coltivare una difficile ed onesta inclinazione a trovare ragioni per porre fine al conflitto più che per esasperarlo prefigurando vittorie di Pirro basate su disequilibri e instabilità crescenti nel tempo.
Non troviamo parole sufficienti per rinnovare lo sgomento dell’Olocausto. Non è tragedia commensurabile. Non deve però indurci a distogliere l’attenzione da altre tragedie basandoci su numeri e proporzioni: cadremmo in un abisso, quello di dare valore alla vita in funzione della conta dei morti. Tanto squallore necrofilo lo lasciamo agli strateghi e agli statisti quando negoziano le chiusure, o meglio le sospensioni, delle guerre.

“Considerate se questo è un popolo”

Nel 2019 la popolazione palestinese risultava approssimativamente così distribuita:
Tra la Cisgiordania e Gerusalemme Est: 3 milioni, densità: 510 ab/kmq
Striscia di Gaza: 2 milioni , densità: 5.470 ab/kmq (Israele 402, Italia 206)
Israele: 1,6 milioni
Rifugiati in Giordania: 2,2 milioni
Rifugiati in Siria: 440.000
Rifugiati in Libano: 470.000

In totale: 6,6 milioni nei Territori Occupati e Israele, 3,1 milioni profughi nei Paesi confinanti.

Campi-profughi palestinesi
Le cifre che seguono si riferiscono ai campi ufficiali e alle persone censite dall’Unrwa. In realtà sia il numero dei campi che quello dei rifugiati sono certamente più elevati ma non abbiamo idea di quanto.
Non sono inclusi i campi-profughi a Gaza e Cisgiordania per evitare sovrapposizioni con le cifre menzionate prima, ma è bene specificare che l’Unrwa si fa carico dell’assistenza anche a 2,1 milioni di rifugiati nei campi di Cisgiordania e Gaza :

10 campi per 370.000 rifugiati in Giordania
9 campi per 438.000 rifugiati in Siria Siria
12 campi per 475.000 rifugiati in Libano Libano
Sono i profughi dell’analogico, di quando cioè le informazioni non erano veicolate attraverso le tecnologie digitali ed il villaggio non era ancora globale, unica magra consolazione dei profughi dei nostri giorni.

La musica

Il compositore Garrett List fu un grande ammiratore della poesia di Darwish. Traspose in musica un passo del poema Stato d’assedio per coro SATB [Soprano, Alto, Tenore, Basso] “a cappella”, cioè senza l’impiego di strumenti. Dal testo originale sono state prese soltanto due strofe ripetute.
Garrett List compose anche due altre versioni, di cui una copriva tutte le 34 strofe in francese del poema. L’esecuzione di 45 minuti alternava canto corale e scene mimate.

Il poema

La prima pubblicazione del poema non fu in arabo ma in francese. Apparve su Le Monde diplomatique nel numero di Aprile 2002 alle pagine 24 e 25. Recava il titolo : Un poème inédit de Mahmoud Darwich. Ramallah, janvier 2002. E’ la versione che circola in Europa da cui sono state effettuate le traduzioni compresa quella in italiano.
Ci siamo accorti però, dopo riscontri incrociati, che il testo arabo è sensibilmente più lungo, cioè delle parti cospicue non sono state rese in francese. Non sapremmo dire se al poema furono apportate delle integrazioni dopo il 2002 da Darwish o se quella de Le Monde fu una scelta su un’opera in fieri. Propendiamo per la prima ipotesi. Ad ogni modo la versione che ci ha lasciato Mahmoud Darwish è certamente quella del testo arabo che presenteremo in seguito.
Abbiamo avuto la fortuna di disporre della traduzione inglese del testo arabo, probabilmente è l’unica disponibile in rete. Invece il testo francese e la traduzione in italiano che inseriremo sono basati sulla versione pubblicata da Le Monde. Le parti mancanti nella versione francese saranno evidenziate in corsivo nella traduzione inglese.
État de siège [Au bord de la mort , Partition pour chorales]

Au bord de la mort, il dit :
Il ne me reste plus de trace à perdre :
Libre je suis tout près de ma liberté.
Mon futur est dans ma main.
Bientôt je pénètrerai ma vie,
Je naîtrai libre, sans parents,
Et je choisirai pour mon nom
pour mon nom des lettres d’azur...

Ici, aux montées de la fumée, sur les marches de la maison,
Pas de temps pour le temps.
Nous faisons comme ceux qui s’élèvent ,
ceux qui s’élèvent vers Dieu
Nous oublions la douleur
Nous oublions la douleur.

Au bord de la mort, il dit :
Il ne me reste plus de trace à perdre :
Libre je suis tout près de ma liberté. Mon futur est dans ma main.
Bientôt je pénètrerai ma vie,
Je naîtrai libre, sans parents,
Et je choisirai pour mon nom
pour mon nom des lettres d’azur...

Ici, aux montées de la fumée, sur les marches de la maison,
Pas de temps pour le temps.
Nous faisons comme ceux qui s’élèvent vers Dieu
ceux qui s’élèvent vers Dieu
Nous oublions la douleur
Nous oublions la douleur.

Contributed by Riccardo Gullotta - 2020/3/9 - 21:26




Language: Italian

Traduction italienne / Traduzione italiana / الترجمة الإيطالية / Italian translation / תרגום לאיטלקית / Italiankielinen käännös:
Casa della Poesia
STATO D’ASSEDIO [In punto di morte. Riduzione per coro]

In punto di morte, dice:
Non posso più smarrire il sentiero:
Libero sono a un passo dalla mia libertà.
Il mio futuro è nella mia mano.
Ben presto penetrerò nella mia vita,
Nascerò libero, senza madre né padre,
E mi sceglierò un nome di lettere d’azzurro…

Qui, fra spirali di fumo, sui gradini di casa,
Non c’è tempo per il tempo.
Come chi s’innalza
chi s’innalza verso Dio,
Dimentichiamo il dolore
Dimentichiamo il dolore…

In punto di morte, dice:
Non posso più smarrire il sentiero:
Libero sono a un passo dalla mia libertà.
Il mio futuro è nella mia mano.
Ben presto penetrerò nella mia vita,
Nascerò libero, senza madre né padre,
E mi sceglierò un nome di lettere d’azzurro…

Qui, fra spirali di fumo, sui gradini di casa,
Non c’è tempo per il tempo.
Come chi s’innalza
chi s’innalza verso Dio,
Dimentichiamo il dolore
Dimentichiamo il dolore…

Contributed by Riccardo Gullotta - 2020/3/9 - 21:32




Language: Arabic

La poesia integrale in arabo
حــــالة حصـــار [1]
محمود درويش - فلسطين

هنا، عند مُنْحَدَرات التلال، أمام الغروب وفُوَّهَة الوقت
قُرْبَ بساتينَ مقطوعةِ الظلِ،
نفعلُ ما يفعلُ السجناءُ،
وما يفعل العاطلون عن العمل:
نُرَبِّي الأملْ!

بلادٌ علي أُهْبَةِ الفجر. صرنا أَقلَّ ذكاءً
لأَنَّا نُحَمْلِقُ في ساعة النصر:
لا لَيْلَ في ليلنا المتلألئ بالمدفعيَّة
أَعداؤنا يسهرون وأَعداؤنا يُشْعِلون لنا النورَ
في حلكة الأَقبية

هنا، بعد أَشعار أَيّوبَ لم ننتظر أَحداً

سيمتدُّ هذا الحصارُ إلي أن نعلِّم أَعداءنا
نماذجَ من شِعْرنا الجاهليّ

السَّماءُ رصاصيّةٌ في الضُحى
بُرْتقاليَّةٌ في الليالي. وأَمَّا القلوبُ
فظلَّتْ حياديَّةً مثلَ ورد السياجْ

هنا، لا أَنا
هنا، يتذكَّرُ آدَمُ صَلْصَالَهُ...

يقولُ على حافَّة الموت:
لم يَبْقَ بي مَوْطِئٌ للخسارةِ:
حُرٌّ أَنا قرب حريتي. وغدي في يدي.
سوف أَدخُلُ عمَّا قليلٍ حياتي،
وأولَدُ حُرّاً بلا أَبَوَيْن،
وأختارُ لاسمي حروفاً من اللازوردْ...

في الحصار، تكونُ الحياةُ هِيَ الوقتُ
بين تذكُّرِ أَوَّلها.
ونسيانِ آخرِها.

هنا، عند مُرْتَفَعات الدُخان، على دَرَج البيت،
لا وَقْتَ للوقت.
نفعلُ ما يفعلُ الصاعدون إلى الله:
ننسي الأَلمْ.

الألمْ
هُوَ: أن لا تعلِّق سيِّدةُ البيت حَبْلَ الغسيل
صباحاً، وأنْ تكتفي بنظافة هذا العَلَمْ.

لا صدىً هوميريٌّ لشيءٍ هنا.
فالأساطيرُ تطرق أبوابنا حين نحتاجها.
لا صدىً هوميريّ لشيء. هنا جنرالٌ
يُنَقِّبُ عن دَوْلَةٍ نائمةْ
تحت أَنقاض طُرْوَادَةَ القادمةْ

يقيسُ الجنودُ المسافةَ بين الوجود وبين العَدَمْ
بمنظار دبّابةٍ...

نقيسُ المسافَةَ ما بين أَجسادنا والقذائفِ بالحاسّة السادسةْ.

أَيُّها الواقفون على العَتَبات ادخُلُوا،
واشربوا معنا القهوةَ العربيَّةَ
فقد تشعرون بأنكمُ بَشَرٌ مثلنا.
أَيها الواقفون على عتبات البيوت!
اُخرجوا من صباحاتنا،
نطمئنَّ إلى أَننا
بَشَرٌ مثلكُمْ!

نَجِدُ الوقتَ للتسليةْ:
نلعبُ النردَ، أَو نَتَصَفّح أَخبارَنا
في جرائدِ أَمسِ الجريحِ،
ونقرأ زاويةَ الحظِّ: في عامِ
أَلفينِ واثنينِ تبتسم الكاميرا
لمواليد بُرْجِ الحصار.

كُلَّما جاءني الأمسُ، قلت له:
ليس موعدُنا اليومَ، فلتبتعدْ
وتعالَ غداً !

أُفكِّر، من دون جدوى:
بماذا يُفَكِّر مَنْ هُوَ مثلي، هُنَاكَ
على قمَّة التلّ، منذ ثلاثةِ آلافِ عامٍ،
وفي هذه اللحظة العابرةْ؟
فتوجعنُي الخاطرةْ
وتنتعشُ الذاكرةْ

عندما تختفي الطائراتُ تطيرُ الحماماتُ،
بيضاءَ بيضاءَ، تغسِلُ خَدَّ السماء
بأجنحةٍ حُرَّةٍ، تستعيدُ البهاءَ وملكيَّةَ
الجوِّ واللَهْو. أَعلى وأَعلى تطيرُ
الحماماتُ، بيضاءَ بيضاءَ. ليت السماءَ
حقيقيّةٌ قال لي رَجَلٌ عابرٌ بين قنبلتين

الوميضُ، البصيرةُ، والبرقُ
قَيْدَ التَشَابُهِ...
عمَّا قليلٍ سأعرفُ إن كان هذا
هو الوحيُ...
أو يعرف الأصدقاءُ الحميمون أنَّ القصيدةَ
مَرَّتْ، وأَوْدَتْ بشاعرها

إلي ناقدٍ: لا تُفسِّر كلامي
بملعَقةِ الشايِ أَو بفخِاخ الطيور!
يحاصرني في المنام كلامي
كلامي الذي لم أَقُلْهُ،
ويكتبني ثم يتركني باحثاً عن بقايا منامي

شَجَرُ السرو، خلف الجنود، مآذنُ تحمي
السماءَ من الانحدار. وخلف سياج الحديد
جنودٌ يبولون ـ تحت حراسة دبَّابة ـ
والنهارُ الخريفيُّ يُكْملُ نُزْهَتَهُ الذهبيَّةَ في
شارعٍ واسعٍ كالكنيسة بعد صلاة الأَحد...

نحبُّ الحياةَ غداً
عندما يَصِلُ الغَدُ سوف نحبُّ الحياة
كما هي، عاديّةً ماكرةْ
رماديّة أَو مُلوَّنةً.. لا قيامةَ فيها ولا آخِرَةْ
وإن كان لا بُدَّ من فَرَحٍ
فليكن
خفيفاً على القلب والخاصرةْ
فلا يُلْدَغُ المُؤْمنُ المتمرِّنُ
من فَرَحٍ ... مَرَّتَينْ!

قال لي كاتبٌ ساخرٌ:
لو عرفتُ النهاية، منذ البدايةَ،
لم يَبْقَ لي عَمَلٌ في اللٌّغَةْ

إلي قاتلٍ: لو تأمَّلْتَ وَجْهَ الضحيّةْ
وفكَّرتَ، كُنْتَ تذكَّرْتَ أُمَّك في غُرْفَةِ
الغازِ، كُنْتَ تحرَّرتَ من حكمة البندقيَّةْ
وغيَّرتَ رأيك: ما هكذا تُسْتَعادُ الهُويَّةْ

إلى قاتلٍ آخر: لو تَرَكْتَ الجنينَ ثلاثين يوماً،
إِذَاً لتغيَّرتِ الاحتمالاتُ:
قد ينتهي الاحتلالُ ولا يتذكَّرُ ذاك الرضيعُ زمانَ الحصار،
فيكبر طفلاً معافي،
ويدرُسُ في معهدٍ واحد مع إحدى بناتكَ
تارِيخَ آسيا القديمَ.
وقد يقعان معاً في شِباك الغرام.
وقد يُنْجبان اُبنةً (وتكونُ يهوديَّةً بالولادةِ).
ماذا فَعَلْتَ إذاً ؟
صارت ابنتُكَ الآن أَرملةً،
والحفيدةُ صارت يتيمةْ ؟
فماذا فَعَلْتَ بأُسرتكَ الشاردةْ
وكيف أَصَبْتَ ثلاثَ حمائمَ بالطلقة الواحدةْ ؟

لم تكن هذه القافيةْ
ضَرُوريَّةً، لا لضْبطِ النَغَمْ
ولا لاقتصاد الأَلمْ
إنها زائدةْ
كذبابٍ على المائدةْ

الضبابُ ظلامٌ، ظلامٌ كثيفُ البياض
تقشِّرُهُ البرتقالةُ والمرأةُ الواعدة.

الحصارُ هُوَ الانتظار
هُوَ الانتظارُ على سُلَّمٍ مائلٍ وَسَطَ العاصفةْ

وَحيدونَ، نحن وحيدون حتى الثُمالةِ
لولا زياراتُ قَوْسِ قُزَحْ

لنا اخوةٌ خلف هذا المدى.
اخوةٌ طيّبون. يُحبُّوننا. ينظرون إلينا ويبكون.
ثم يقولون في سرِّهم:
ليت هذا الحصارَ هنا علنيٌّ.. ولا يكملون العبارةَ:
لا تتركونا وحيدين، لا تتركونا.

خسائرُنا: من شهيدين حتى ثمانيةٍ كُلَّ يومٍ.
وعَشْرَةُ جرحى.
وعشرون بيتاً.
وخمسون زيتونةً...
بالإضافة للخَلَل البُنْيويّ الذي
سيصيب القصيدةَ والمسرحيَّةَ واللوحة الناقصةْ

في الطريق المُضَاء بقنديل منفي
أَرى خيمةً في مهبِّ الجهاتْ:
الجنوبُ عَصِيٌّ على الريح،
والشرقُ غَرْبٌ تَصوَّفَ،
والغربُ هُدْنَةُ قتلي يَسُكُّون نَقْدَ السلام،
وأَمَّا الشمال، الشمال البعيد
فليس بجغرافيا أَو جِهَةْ
إنه مَجْمَعُ الآلهةْ

قالت امرأة للسحابة: غطِّي حبيبي
فإنَّ ثيابي مُبَلَّلةٌ بدَمِهْ

إذا لم تَكُنْ مَطَراً يا حبيبي
فكُنْ شجراً
مُشْبَعاً بالخُصُوبةِ، كُنْ شَجَرا
وإنْ لم تَكُنْ شجراً يا حبيبي
فكُنْ حجراً
مُشْبعاً بالرُطُوبةِ، كُنْ حَجَرا
وإن لم تَكُنْ حجراً يا حبيبي
فكن قمراً
في منام الحبيبة، كُنْ قَمرا
هكذا قالت امرأةٌ
لابنها في جنازته

أيَّها الساهرون ! أَلم تتعبوا
من مُرَاقبةِ الضوءِ في ملحنا
ومن وَهَج الوَرْدِ في جُرْحنا
أَلم تتعبوا أَيُّها الساهرون ؟

واقفون هنا. قاعدون هنا. دائمون هنا. خالدون هنا.
ولنا هدف واحدٌ واحدٌ واحدٌ: أن نكون.
ومن بعده نحن مُخْتَلِفُونَ على كُلِّ شيء:
علي صُورة العَلَم الوطنيّ (ستُحْسِنُ صُنْعاً لو اخترتَ يا شعبيَ الحيَّ رَمْزَ الحمار البسيط).
ومختلفون علي كلمات النشيد الجديد
(ستُحْسِنُ صُنْعاً لو اخترتَ أُغنيَّةً عن زواج الحمام).
ومختلفون علي واجبات النساء
(ستُحْسِنُ صُنْعاً لو اخْتَرْتَ سيّدةً لرئاسة أَجهزة الأمنِ).
مختلفون على النسبة المئوية، والعامّ والخاص،
مختلفون على كل شيء. لنا هدف واحد: أَن نكون ...
ومن بعده يجدُ الفَرْدُ مُتّسعاً لاختيار الهدفْ.

قال لي في الطريق إلى سجنه:
عندما أَتحرّرُ أَعرفُ أنَّ مديحَ الوطنْ
كهجاء الوطنْ
مِهْنَةٌ مثل باقي المِهَنْ !

قَليلٌ من المُطْلَق الأزرقِ اللا نهائيِّ
يكفي
لتخفيف وَطْأَة هذا الزمانْ
وتنظيف حَمأةِ هذا المكان

على الروح أَن تترجَّلْ
وتمشي على قَدَمَيْها الحريريّتينِ
إلى جانبي، ويداً بيد، هكذا صاحِبَيْن
قديمين يقتسمانِ الرغيفَ القديم
وكأسَ النبيذِ القديم
لنقطع هذا الطريق معاً
ثم تذهب أَيَّامُنا في اتجاهَيْنِ مُخْتَلِفَينْ:
أَنا ما وراءَ الطبيعةِ. أَمَّا هِيَ
فتختار أَن تجلس القرفصاء على صخرة عاليةْ

إلى شاعرٍ: كُلَّما غابَ عنك الغيابْ
تورَّطتَ في عُزْلَة الآلهةْ
فكن ذاتَ موضوعك التائهةْ
و موضوع ذاتكَ. كُنْ حاضراً في الغيابْ

:يَجِدُ الوقتَ للسُخْرِيَةْ
هاتفي لا يرنُّ
ولا جَرَسُ الباب أيضاً يرنُّ
فكيف تيقَّنتِ من أَنني
!لم أكن ههنا

:يَجدُ الوَقْتَ للأغْنيَةْ
في انتظارِكِ، لا أستطيعُ انتظارَكِ
لا أَستطيعُ قراءةَ دوستويفسكي
ولا الاستماعَ إلى أُمِّ كلثوم أَو ماريّا كالاس وغيرهما
في انتظارك تمشي العقاربُ في ساعةِ اليد نحو اليسار...
إلي زَمَنٍ لا مكانَ لَهُ
في انتظارك لم أنتظرك، انتظرتُ الأزَلْ

يَقُولُ لها: أَيّ زهرٍ تُحبِّينَهُ
فتقولُ: القُرُنْفُلُ .. أَسودْ
يقول: إلى أَين تمضين بي، والقرنفل أَسودْ ؟
تقول: إلى بُؤرة الضوءِ في داخلي
وتقولُ: وأَبْعَدَ ... أَبْعدَ ... أَبْعَدْ

سيمتدُّ هذا الحصار إلى أَن يُحِسَّ المحاصِرُ، مثل المُحَاصَر،
أَن الضَجَرْ
صِفَةٌ من صفات البشرْ

لا أُحبُّكَ، لا أكرهُكْ ـ
قال مُعْتَقَلٌ للمحقّق: قلبي مليء
بما ليس يَعْنيك. قلبي يفيض برائحة المَرْيَميّةِ
قلبي بريء مضيء مليء،
ولا وقت في القلب للامتحان. بلى،
لا أُحبُّكَ. مَنْ أَنت حتَّى أُحبَّك؟
هل أَنت بعضُ أَنايَ، وموعدُ شاي،
وبُحَّة ناي، وأُغنيّةٌ كي أُحبَّك؟
لكنني أكرهُ الاعتقالَ ولا أَكرهُكْ
هكذا قال مُعْتَقَلٌ للمحقّقِ: عاطفتي لا تَخُصُّكَ.
عاطفتي هي ليلي الخُصُوصيُّ...
ليلي الذي يتحرَّكُ بين الوسائد حُرّاً من الوزن والقافيةْ

جَلَسْنَا بعيدينَ عن مصائرنا كطيورٍ
تؤثِّثُ أَعشاشها في ثُقُوب التماثيل
أَو في المداخن، أو في الخيام التي
نُصِبَتْ في طريق الأمير إلي رحلة الصَيّدْ...

على طَلَلي ينبتُ الظلُّ أَخضرَ
والذئبُ يغفو علي شَعْر شاتي
ويحلُمُ مثلي، ومثلَ الملاكْ
بأنَّ الحياةَ هنا ... لا هناكْ

الأساطير ترفُضُ تَعْديلَ حَبْكَتها
رُبَّما مَسَّها خَلَلٌ طارئٌ
ربما جَنَحَتْ سُفُنٌ نحو يابسةٍ
غيرِ مأهولةٍ،
فأصيبَ الخياليُّ بالواقعيِّ،
ولكنها لا تغيِّرُ حبكتها.
كُلَّما وَجَدَتْ واقعاً لا يُلائمها
عدَّلَتْهُ بجرَّافة.
فالحقيقةُ جاريةُ النصِّ، حَسْناءُ
بيضاءُ من غير سوء ...

إلي شبه مستشرق: ليكُنْ ما تَظُنُّ
لنَفْتَرِضِ الآن أَني غبيٌّ، غبيٌّ، غبيٌّ
ولا أَلعبُ الجولف
لا أَفهمُ التكنولوجيا،
ولا أَستطيعُ قيادةَ طيّارةٍ!
أَلهذا أَخَذْتَ حياتي لتصنَعَ منها حياتَكَ؟
لو كُنْتَ غيرَكَ، لو كنتُ غيري،
لكُنَّا صديقين يعترفان بحاجتنا للغباء.
أَما للغبيّ، كما لليهوديّ في تاجر البُنْدُقيَّة
قلبٌ، وخبزٌ، وعينان تغرورقان؟

في الحصار، يصير الزمانُ مكاناً
تحجَّرَ في أَبَدِهْ
في الحصار، يصير المكانُ زماناً
تخلَّف عن أَمسه وَغدِهْ

هذه الأرضُ واطئةٌ، عاليةْ
أَو مُقَدَّسَةٌ، زانيةْ
لا نُبالي كثيراً بسحر الصفات
فقد يُصْبِحُ الفرجُ، فَرْجُ السماواتِ،
جغْرافيةْ !

الشهيدُ يُحاصرُني كُلَّما عِشْتُ يوماً جديداً
ويسألني: أَين كُنْت ؟ أَعِدْ للقواميس كُلَّ الكلام الذي كُنْتَ أَهْدَيْتَنِيه،
وخفِّفْ عن النائمين طنين الصدى

الشهيدُ يُعَلِّمني: لا جماليَّ خارجَ حريتي.

الشهيدُ يُوَضِّحُ لي: لم أفتِّشْ وراء المدى
عن عذارى الخلود، فإني أُحبُّ الحياةَ
علي الأرض، بين الصُنَوْبرِ والتين،
لكنني ما استطعتُ إليها سبيلاً، ففتَّشْتُ
عنها بآخر ما أملكُ: الدمِ في جَسَدِ اللازوردْ.

الشهيدُ يُحاصِرُني: لا تَسِرْ في الجنازة
إلاّ إذا كُنْتَ تعرفني. لا أُريد مجاملةً
من أَحَدْ.

الشهيد يُحَذِّرُني: لا تُصَدِّقْ زغاريدهُنَّ.
وصدّق أَبي حين ينظر في صورتي باكياً:
كيف بدَّلْتَ أدوارنا يا بُنيّ، وسِرْتَ أَمامي.
أنا أوّلاً، وأنا أوّلاً !

الشهيدُ يُحَاصرني: لم أُغيِّرْ سوى موقعي وأَثاثي الفقيرِ.
وَضَعْتُ غزالاً على مخدعي،
وهلالاً على إصبعي،
كي أُخفِّف من وَجَعي !

سيمتدُّ هذا الحصار ليقنعنا باختيار عبوديّة لا تضرّ، ولكن بحريَّة كاملة!!.

أَن تُقَاوِم يعني: التأكُّدَ من صحّة
القلب والخُصْيَتَيْن، ومن دائكَ المتأصِّلِ:
داءِ الأملْ.

وفي ما تبقَّى من الفجر أَمشي إلى خارجي
وفي ما تبقّى من الليل أسمع وقع الخطي داخلي.

سلامٌ على مَنْ يُشَاطرُني الانتباهَ إلي
نشوة الضوءِ، ضوءِ الفراشةِ، في
ليل هذا النَفَقْ.

سلامٌ على مَنْ يُقَاسمُني قَدَحي
في كثافة ليلٍ يفيض من المقعدين:
سلامٌ على شَبَحي.

إلي قارئ: لا تَثِقْ بالقصيدةِ ـ
بنتِ الغياب. فلا هي حَدْسٌ، ولا
هي فِكْرٌ، ولكنَّها حاسَّةُ الهاويةْ.

إذا مرض الحبُّ عالجتُهُ
بالرياضة والسُخْريةْ
وَبفصْلِ المُغنِّي عن الأغنيةْ

أَصدقائي يُعدُّون لي دائماً حفلةً
للوداع، وقبراً مريحاً يُظَلِّلهُ السنديانُ
وشاهدةً من رخام الزمن
فأسبقهم دائماً في الجنازة:
مَنْ مات.. مَنْ ؟

الحصارُ يُحَوِّلني من مُغَنٍّ الى . . . وَتَرٍ سادس في الكمانْ!

الشهيدةُ بنتُ الشهيدةِ بنتُ الشهيد وأختُ الشهيدِ
وأختُ الشهيدةِ كنَّةُ أمِّ الشهيدِ حفيدةُ جدٍّ شهيد
وجارةُ عمِّ الشهيد الخ ... الخ ..
ولا نبأ يزعج العالَمَ المتمدِّن،
فالزَمَنُ البربريُّ انتهى.
والضحيَّةُ مجهولَةُ الاسم، عاديّةٌ،
والضحيَّةُ ـ مثل الحقيقة ـ نسبيَّةٌ الخ ... الخ ف

هدوءاً، هدوءاً، فإن الجنود يريدون
في هذه الساعة الاستماع إلي الأغنيات
التي استمع الشهداءُ إليها، وظلَّت كرائحة
البُنّ في دمهم، طازجة.

هدنة، هدنة لاختبار التعاليم: هل تصلُحُ الطائراتُ محاريثَ ؟
قلنا لهم: هدنة، هدنة لامتحان النوايا،
فقد يتسرَّبُ شيءٌ من السِلْم للنفس.
عندئذٍ نتباري على حُبِّ أشيائنا بوسائلَ شعريّةٍ.
فأجابوا: ألا تعلمون بأن السلام مع النَفْس
يفتح أبوابَ قلعتنا لِمقَامِ الحجاز أو النَهَوَنْد ؟
فقلنا: وماذا ؟ ... وَبعْد ؟

الكتابةُ جَرْوٌ صغيرٌ يَعَضُّ العَدَمْ
الكتابةُ تجرَحُ من دون دَمْ..

فناجينُ قهوتنا. والعصافيرُ والشَجَرُ الأخضرُ
الأزرقُ الظلِّ. والشمسُ تقفز من حائط
نحو آخرَ مثل الغزالة.
والماءُ في السُحُب اللانهائية الشكل في ما تبقَّي لنا
من سماء. وأشياءُ أخرى مؤجَّلَةُ الذكريات
تدلُّ على أن هذا الصباح قويّ بهيّ،
وأَنَّا ضيوف على الأبديّةْ
[1] Trascrizione / Transcription

halt hsar
mahmud drwysh – Filastin

huna, eind munhadarat altalalu, 'amam alghurub wfuwwahat alwaqt
qurb bsatyn mqtwet alzli,
nfel maa yfel alsjna'u,
wama yafeal aleatilun ean aleumal:
nurabbi alaml!

blad eali 'uhbat alfajr. sarna 'aqll dhka'an
l'anna nuhamliq fi saeat alnsr:
la layl fi lylna almutalaili balmdfeya
'aedawna yasharun w'aedawna yusheilwn lana alnwr
fi halakat al'aqby

huna, baed 'ashear 'aywb lm nantazir 'ahdaan

symtdd hdha alhsar 'iilaya 'an nellim 'aeda'na
nmadhj min shierna aljahly

alssama' rsasyt fi alduha
burtqalyat fi alliyali. w'amma alqlwb
fzllat hyadyatan mthl warad alsyaj

hna, la 'ana
huna, ytdhkkar adam salsalahu...

yqwl ealaa haffat almut:
lm yabq bi mawti llkhsarti:
hurr 'ana qurb huriyti. waghadi fi yadi.
sawf 'adkhul emma qlyl hayati,
wawlad hurraan bila 'abawayn,
wakhtar lasimii hrwfaan min allazwrd...

fi alhisari, tkwn alhyat hi alwqt
bayn tdhkkur 'awwalha.
wnsyan akhriha.

hana, eind murtafaeat aldukhan, ealaa daraj albayt,
la waqt lilwaqt.
nfel maa yfel alsaaeidun 'iilaa allh:
nansi al'alm.

alalm
hua: 'an la telliq syidt albayt habl alghasil
sbahaan, wan taktafi binazafat hdha alealam.

la sdaan hwmyry lshy' huna
falasatyr tataraq 'abwabuna hin nahtajuha.
la sdaan hwmyry lishay'. huna jnral
yunaqqib ean dawlat naym
taht 'anqad turwadat alqadm

yqys aljnwd almsaft bayn alwujud wabayn aleadam
biminzar dbbabtin...

nqys almsafat ma bayn 'ajsadna walqdhayf balhasst alsadst.

'ayuha alwaqifun ealaa aleatabat adkhuluu،
washrabuu maeana alqhwt alerbya
faqad tasheurun bankm bashar mithlana.
'ayha alwaqifun ealaa eatabat albuyut!
aukhrju min sibahatina,
ntmynn 'iilaa 'anna
bashar mthlkum!

najid alwqt lltslyt:
nleb alnrda, 'aw natasaffh 'akhbarana
fi jrayd 'ams aljryhi,
wanaqra zawyt alhzzi: fi eam
'alfyn wathnyn tabtasim alkamira
limawalid burj alhasari.

kullama ja'ani alamsu, qult laha:
lays mweduna alywma, fltbted
wteal ghdaan !

'ufkkir, min dun jadwaa:
bimadha yufakkir man hu mithliin, hunak
ealaa qmmat altll, mundh thlatht alaf eamin,
wafi hadhih allahzat aleabrt?
ftwjenuy alkhatr
wtntesh aldhakr

eindama takhtafi altayrat ttyr alhmamatu,
byda' byda'a, tghsil khadd alsama'
bajnht hurratin, tsteyd albha' wmlkya
aljww wallahw. 'aela w'aela ttyr
alhmamatu, byda' byda'a. layt alsma'
hqyqyt qal ly rajal eabr bayn qunbulatayn

alwmydu, albsyrtu, walbrq
qayd altashabuhi...
emma qlyl saerf 'iin kan hdha
hu alwhyu...
'aw yaerif alasdqa' alhamimun ann alqsyd
marrat, w'awdat bishaeiriha

'iilaya naqdin: la tufssir kulamiun
bmleaqt alshay 'aw bfkhiakh altywr!
yuhasiruni fi almanam kallamiin
kalami aldhy lm 'aqulhu,
wayaktabini thuma yatarakani bahthaan ean biqaya munami

shajar alsuruw, khalf aljunwad, madhn tahmi
alsma' min alanhidar. wakhalaf siaj alhadid
jnwd yabulun taht hirasat dbbabt
walnhar alkhryfy yukml nuzhatah aldhhbyat fi
share wase kalkanisat baed salat al'ahd...

nhbb alhyat ghdaan
eindama yasil alghad sawf nhbb alhaya
kama hi, eadytan makr
rmadyt 'aw mulwwantan.. la qyamt fiha wala akhira
wa'iin kan la budd min farah
falaykun
khfyfaan ealaa alqalb walkhasr
fala yuldagh almumn almtmrrin
min farah ... marratayn!

qal li katb sakhrun:
law erft alnihayat, mundh albdayta,
lm yabq li eamal fi alllungha

'iilaya qatlin: law tammalt wajh aldhy
wfkkarta, kunt tdhkkart 'ummak fi ghurfa
alghazi, kunt thrrart min hikmat albndqya
wghyart rayuk: ma hkdha tustaead alhuya

'iilaa qatl akhr: law tarakt aljnyn thlathyn ywmaan,
'iidhaan ltghyart alahtmalatu:
qad yantahi alahtlal wala ytdhkkar dhak alrdye zman alhisara,
fayukbur tflaan maeafia,
wydrus fi mehd wahid mae 'ihda bnatk
tarikh asia alqdyma.
waqad yaqean meaan fi shibak algharam.
waqad yunjban aubntan (wtkwn yhwdyatan balwladti).
madha faealt 'idhaan ?
sarat abntuk alan 'armltan,
walhfydt sarat ytym ?

famadha faealt b'usrtk alshard
wakayf 'asabt thlath hmaym bialtalaqat alwahd ?

lm takun hadhih alqafy
daruryatan, la ldbt alnagham
wala liaiqtisad al'alm
'iinaha zayd
kdhbab ealaa almayd

aldbab zlamun, zlam kthyf albiad
tqshshiruh albrtqalt walmrat alwaeidat.

alhsar hu alaintizar
hu alantzar ealaa sullam mayl wasat aleasf

wahydwna, nahn wahidun hataa althumal
lawla zyarat qaws quzah

lana akhwt khalf hdha almadaa.
akhwt tybwn. yuhbbunna. yanzurun 'iilayna wayabkun.
thuma yaqulun fi srrihm:
layt hdha alhsar huna elnyun.. wala yukmilun alebarta:
la tatrakuna wahidayna, la tatrakuna.

khsayruna: min shahidayn hataa thmanyt kull ywmin.
weashrat jarhaa.
waeishrun bytaan.
wakhamsun zytwntan...
bial'iidafat llkhalal albunywy aldhy
sayusib alqsydt walmsrhyat wallawhat alnaqs

fi altariq almuda' biqandil manfi
'ara khymtan fi mhbb aljhat:
aljnwb easi ealaa alriyh,
walshrq gharb taswwafa,
walghrb hudnat qataliun yasukkun naqd alsalami,
w'amma alshamalu, alshamal albaeid
falays bjughrafia 'aw jiha
'iinah majmae alalh

qalat aimra'at lilsahabata: ghtti habibi
f'inn thiabi muballalt bdamih

'iidha lm takun mataraan ya hubibi
fkun shjraan
mushbaeaan balkhusubti, kun shajara
w'in lam takun shjraan ya hubibi
fkun hjraan
mushbeaan balrutubti, kun hajara
wa'iin lam takun hjraan ya hubibi
fakun qmraan

fi manam alhabibat, kun qamra
hkdha qalat amra
laibnaha fi jinazatih
ayaha alsaahirun ! 'alm tataeabuu
min muraqbt aldw' fi mlhna
wamin wahaj alward fi jurhna
'alm tataeibuu 'ayuha alsaahirun ?

waqifun hana. qaeidun huna. dayimun huna. khalidun huna.
walana hadaf wahd wahd wahdun: 'an nakuna.
wamin baedah nahn mukhtalifun ealaa kull shay'an:
ealia surt alealam alwtny (stuhsin suneaan law akhtrt ya sheby alhy ramz alhimar albasiyta).
wamukhtalifun ealia kalimat alnashid aljadid
(stuhsin suneaan law akhtrt 'ughnyatan ean zawaj alhamaama).
wamukhtalifun eali wajibat alnisa'
(stuhsin suneaan law akhtart sydtan liriasat 'ajhzt alamni).
mukhtalifun ealaa alnisbat almaywiati, waleam walkhasi,
mukhtalifun ealaa kli shay'. lana hadaf wahd: 'an nakun ...
wamin baedah yjd alfard muttseaan liaikhtiar alhdf.

qal li fi altariq 'iilaa sajinah:
eindama 'athrrr 'aerf ann mdyh alwtn
kahaja' alwtn
mihnat mithl baqy almihan !

qalyl min almutlaq alazrq allla nhayy
yakfi
litakhfif wat'at hdha alzman
watanzif hamat hdha almakan

ealaa alruwh 'an ttrjjal
watamshiy ealaa qadamayha alhryrytyn
'iilaa janibia, wydaan bayda, hkdha sahibayn
qadimin yqtsman alrghyf alqadim
wkas alnbydh alqadim
linaqtie hdha altariq meaan
thuma tadhhab 'ayaamuna fi atjahayn mukhtalifayn:
'ana ma wra' altbyeti. 'amma hi
fatakhtar 'an tujlas alqurufusa' ealaa sakhrat ealy

'iilaa shaerin: kullama ghab eank alghyab
twrratt fi euzlat alalh
fakun dhat mawdueik altayh
w mawdue dhatka. kun hadraan fi alghyab

:yajid alwqt llsukhria
hatifi la yrnn
wala jaras albab aydaan yrnn

fakayf tyqqant min 'anny
!lm 'akun hahuna

:yajd alwaqt llaghnya
fi antzariki, la asttye antzarak
la 'asttye qra't dustuyfski
wala alastmae 'iilaa 'umm kalthum 'aw marya kalas waghayrhuma
fi aintizarik tamshi aleqarb fi saet alyad nahw alyasar...
'iilay zaman la mkan lah
fi aintizarik lm 'antazrk, antzrt alazal

yaqul laha: 'ay zhr tuhbbinah
ftqwlu: alqurunful .. 'aswd
yqwl: 'iilaa 'ayn tamdin by, walqrnfl 'aswd ?
tqwl: 'iilaa burt aldw' fi dakhiliin
wtqwlu: w'abead ... 'abed ... 'abead

symtdd hdha alhisar 'iilaa 'an yuhiss almhasiru, mithl almuhasar,
'an aldajar
sifat min sifat albshr

la 'uhbbuka, la akrhuk
qal muetaqal llmhqqq: qalbi mali'
bima lays yaenyk. qalbi yufid birayihat almaryamy
qalbi bari' mudi' mali'in,
wala waqt fi alqalb lilaimtihan. balaa،
la 'uhbbuka. man 'ant htta 'uhbbak?
hal 'ant bed 'anaya, wmwed shayin,
wbuhhat nayin, w'ughnyt kay 'uhbbak?
lakunani akrh alaetqal wala 'akrhuk
hkdha qal muetaqal llmhqqqi: eatifti la takhussuka.
eatifti hi layliin alkhususyu...
layliin aldhy ythrrak bayn alwasayid hurraan min alwazn walqafy

jalasna beydyn ean masayirina ktywr
twththith 'aeshashha fi thuqub altamathil
'aw fi almudakhini, 'aw fi alkhiam alty
nusibat fi tariq al'amir 'iilaya rihlat alsayd...

ealaa talaly ynbt alzll 'akhdr
waldhyb yaghfu ealia shaer shati
wyhlum mithli, wmthl almlak
bann alhyat huna ... la hnak

al'asatir trfud taedyl habkatha
rubbama massaha khalal tary
rubama janahat sufun nahw yabs
ghyr mahwltin,
fasyb alkhyaly balwaqeyi,
walakunaha la tghyir hibktuha.
kullama wajadat waqeaan la yulaymha

eddalath bjrraf.
falhqyqt jaryt alnssi, hasna'
byda' min ghayr su' ...

'iilaya shbh mustashraq: lykun ma tazunn
lnaftarid alan 'any ghbyun, ghbyun, ghby
wala 'aleb aljulaf
la 'afhm altiknulujia,
wala 'asttye qyadt tyartin!
'alhdha 'akhadht hayati ltsnae minha hyataka?
law kunt ghyraka, law knt ghyri,
lkunna sadiqayn yaetarifan bihajatana lilaghba'a.
'ama llghby, kama llyhwdy fi tajir albunduqya
qlbun, wkhbzun, waeaynan taghruraqan?

fi alhisar, yasir alzman mkanaan
thjjar fi 'abadih
fi alhisar, yasir almkan zmanaan
tkhllaf ean 'amsh waghdih

hadhih alard watytun, ealy
'aw muqaddasatun, zany
la nubaly kthyraan bisihr alsfat
faqad yusbih alfrju, farj alsmawati,
jghrafy !

alshhyd yuhasruny kullama eisht ywmaan jdydaan
wayas'alni: 'ayn kunt ? 'aeid lilqawamis kull alkalam aldhy kunt 'ahdaytanih,
wkhffif ean alnaayimin tunayn alsudaa

alshhyd yueallimny: la jmaly kharj huriyti.

alshhyd yuaddih ly: lm afttish wara' almadaa
ean eadharaa alkhuludi, fa'iiniy 'uhbb alhya
ealia al'arda, bayn alsunawbr waltiyn,
lakunani ma asttet 'iilayha sbylaan, ffttasht
eanha biakhar ma amlku: aldm fi jasad allazwrd.

alshhyd yuhasiruny: la tasir fi aljinaza
'ila 'iidha kunt taerafni. la 'uryd mjamltan
min 'ahad.

alshahid yuhadhdhiruny: la tusaddiq zgharydhunn.
wsddq 'aby hin yanzur fi surati bakyaan:
kayf bddalt 'adwaruna ya buny, wsirt 'amamy.
'ana awwlaan, wa'ana awwlaan !

alshhyd yuhasrny: lm 'ughyir siwaa mawqiei w'athathy alfqyri.
wadaet ghzalaan ealaa makhdaeiin,
whlalaan ealaa 'iisbaei,
kay 'ukhffif min wajaey !

symtdd hdha alhisar liuqniena biaikhtiar ebwdyt la tdrr, walakun bhryat kamlat!!.

'an tuqawim yeny: altakkud min shh
alqalb walkhusyatayn, wamin dayk almtassili:
da' alaml.

wafi ma tbqqa min alfajr 'amshy 'iilaa kharijiin
wafi ma tbqqa min allayl 'asmae waqae alkhatii dakhili.

slam ealaa man yushatruny alantbah 'iilaya
nashwat aldw'i, dw' alfrashti, fi
layl hdha alnafaq.

slam ealaa man yuqasmuny qadahy
fi kathafat lyl yafiud min almaqeadin:
slam ealaa shabahy.

'iilaya qary: la tathiq balqsydt
bnt alghiab. fala hi hadsun, wala
hi fikrun, wlknnaha hassat alhawyt.

'iidha marad alhbb ealjtuh
bialriyadat walsukhry
wabfsl almughnni ean alaghny

'asdqayy yueddun li daymaan hfltan
lilawadaei, wqbraan mryhaan yuzallilh alsndyan
wshahdtan min rakham alzaman
fa'asbaqahum daymaan fi aljanazat:
man mat.. man ?

alhsar yuhawwilny min mughann 'iilaa . . . watar sadis fi alkman!

alshhydt bnt alshhydt bnt alshahid wakht alshhyd
wakht alshhydt knnat amm alshhyd hfydt jdd shahid
wjart emm alshahid alkh ... alkh ..
wala naba yazeaj alealam almtmddin,
falzaman albrbry antahaa.
waldhyat mjhwlat alasmi, eadytun,
waldhyat mithl alhaqiqat nsbyat alkh ... alkh f

hdw'aan, hdw'aan, fa'iina aljunud yuridun
fi hadhih alssaeat alaistimae 'iilaya al'ughniat
alty astamaea alshhda' 'iilayha, wzllat karayiha
albun fi damihim, tazijat.

hadnat, hudnat liaikhtibar altealym: hal tsluh altayrat mharyth ?
qulna lahuma: hidanata, hudnatan liamtihan alnawaya,
faqad ytsrrab shy' min alsilm lilnafs.
endydh nutibari ealaa hubb 'ashyayina bwsayl sherytin.
fa'ajabau: 'alaa taelamun bi'ana alsalam mae alnafs
yaftah abwab qaleatuna limqam alhijaz 'aw alnahawand ?
fqlna: wamadha ? ... wabed ?

alktabt jarw sghyr yaeadd aleadam
alktabt tjrah min dun dam.

fnajyn qahutna. walesafyr walshajar alakhdr
alazrq alzlli. walshms tuqfiz min hayit
nahw akhr mithl alghazalati.
walma' fi alsuhub allanhayiyat alshakl fi ma tbqqay lana
min sama'. washya' 'ukhraa mwjjalat aldhikriat
tdll ealaa 'ana hdha alsabah qwy bhy,
w'anna duyuf ealaa alabdy

Contributed by Riccardo Gullotta - 2020/3/9 - 21:56




Language: English

الترجمة الانكليزية / English translation / Traduzione inglese / Traduction anglaise/ ענגליש איבערזעצונג / Englanninkielinen käännös:
Ramsis Amun


Vita da profughi a Shatila
STATE OF SIEGE

Here, where the hills slope before the sunset and the chasm of time
near gardens whose shades have been cast aside
we do what prisoners do
we do what the jobless do
we sow hope

In a land where the dawn sears
we have become more doltish
and we stare at the moments of victory
there is no starry night in our nights of explosions
our enemies stay up late, they switch on the lights
in the intense darkness of this tunnel

Here after the poems of Job, we wait no more

This siege will persist until we teach our enemies
models of our finest poetry

the sky is leaden during the day
and a fiery orange at night… but our hearts
are as neutral as the flowery emblems on a shield

here, not “I”
Here, Adam remembers the clay of which he was born

He says, on the verge of death, he says,
“I have no more earth to lose”
Free am I, close to my ultimate freedom, I hold my fortune in my own hands
In a few moments, I will begin my life
born free of father and mother
I will chose letters of sky blue for my name

Under siege, life is the moment between remembrance
of the first moment, and forgetfulness of the last

here, under the mountains of smoke, on the threshold of my home,
time has no measure
We do what those who give up the ghost do…
we forget our pain

Pain is when the housewife forsakes hanging up the clothes to dry and is content
that this flag of Palestine should be without stain

There is no Homeric echo here
Myths come knocking on our door when we need them
There is no Homeric echo here… only a general
looking through the rubble for the awakening state
concealed within the galloping horse from Troy

The soldiers measure the space between being and nothingness
with field-glasses behind a tank’s armoury

We measure the space between our bodies and the coming rockets
with our sixth sense alone

You there, by the threshold of our door
Come in, and sip with us our Arabic coffee
[you may even feel that you are human, just as we are]
you there, by the threshold of our door
take your rockets away from our mornings
we may then feel secure
[and almost human]

We may find time for relaxation and fine art
We may play cards, and read our newspapers
Catching up on the news of our wounded past
and we may look up our star signs in the year
two thousand and two, the camera smiles
to those born under the sign of the siege

Whenever yesterday comes to me, I say to her,
Now’s not the right time. Go
and come tomorrow!

I wrack my head, but uselessly.
What can someone like me think of, there,
on the tip of the hillside, for the past 3 thousand years,
and in this passing moment?
My thoughts slay me
my memory awakens me


When the helicopters disappear the doves fly back
white, very white, marking the cheeks of the horizon
with liberated wings. They revive their radiance and their ownership
of the sky, and of playfulness. Higher and higher they fly,
the doves, very white. ‘O that the sky
was real’ [a man passing between two bombs cried]
A sparkling sky, a vision, lightning!
all very similar….
soon I will know if this is indeed
a revelation
or my close friends will know that the poem
has gone, and yoked its poet

[to a critic]: Don’t interpret my words
as you stir the sugar in your cup, or munch your breast of chicken!
Words put me under siege in my sleep…
the words I did not utter.
They write me, then leave me searching for the remains of my sleep


The evergreen Cypresses behind the soldiers are minarets protecting
the sky from falling. Behind the barbed wire
are soldiers urinating- protected by a tank.
The Autumn day completes its golden stroll on the pavements of
a street as empty as a church after Sunday prayers

Tomorrow we will love life.
When tomorrow comes, life will be something to adore
just as it is, ordinary, or tricky
gray, or colourful…stripped of judgement day and purgatory…
and if joy is a necessity
let it be
light on the heart and the back
Once embittered by joy, twice shy

A satirical writer said to me:
If I knew the end of the story at the very beginning
there would be nothing to laugh about!


[To a killer:] If you reflected upon the face
of the victim you slew, you would have remembered your mother in the room
full of gas. You would have freed yourself
of the bullet’s wisdom,
and changed your mind: ‘I will never find myself thus.’

[To another killer:] If you left the foetus thirty days
in its mother’s womb, things would have been different.
The occupation would be over and this suckling infant
would forget the time of the siege
and grow up a healthy child
reading at school, with one of your daughters
the ancient history of Asia.
They might even fall in love
and give birth to a daughter [she would be Jewish by birth].
What, then, have you done now?
Your daughter is now a widow
and your granddaughter an orphan.
What have you done with your scattered family?
And how have you slain three doves in one story?

This verse was not
really necessary. Forget about the refrain
and forget about being economical with the pain.
It’s all superflous
like so much dross

The mist is darkness- a thick, white darkness
peeled by an orange, and a promising woman


The siege is lying in wait.
It is lying in wait on a tilted stairway
in the midst of a storm.

We are alone. We are alone to the point
of drunkenness with our own aloneness,
with the occasional rainbow visiting.

We have brothers and sisters overseas..
kind sisters, who love us..
who look our way and weep.
And secretly they say
“I wish that siege was here, so that I could…”
But they cannot finish the sentence.
Do not leave us alone. No.
Do not leave us alone.

Our losses are between two and eight a day.
And ten are wounded.
Twenty homes are gone.
Forty olive groves destroyed,
in addition to the structural damage
afflicting the veins of the poem, the play,
and the unfinished painting.

In the alleyway, lit by an exiled lantern,
I see a refugee camp at the crossroads of the winds.
The south rebels against the wind.
The east is a west turned religious.
The west is a murderous truce minting the coinage of peace.
As for the north, the distant north,
it is not a place or a geographical vicinity.
It is the conference of heavenly divinity.


A woman said to a cloud: cover my dear one,
for my clothes are wet with his blood.

If you are not rain, o dear one,
then be a tree,
fertile and verdant. Be a tree.
And if not a tree, o dear one
be a stone
laden with dew. Be a stone.
And if not a stone, o dear one,
be the moon itself
in the dreams of she who loves you. Be the moon itself.
[thus a woman said
to her son, in his funeral]

O you who are sleepless tonight, did you not tire
of following the light in our story
and the red blaze in our blood?
Did you not tire, you who are sleepless tonight?

Standing here. Sitting here. Always here. Eternally here,
we have one aim and one aim only: to continue to be.
Beyond that aim we differ in all.
We differ on the form of the national flag (we would have done well if we had chosen
o living heart of mine, the symbol of a simple mule).
We differ on the words of the new anthem
(we would have done well to choose a song on the marriage of doves).
We differ on the duties of women
(we would have done well to choose a woman to run the security services).
We differ on proportions, public and private.
We differ on everything. We have one aim: to continue to be.
After fulfilling this aim, we will have time for other choices.

He said to me, on his way to jail,
“When I am released I will know that praise of nation
is like pouring scorn on nation-
a trade like any other!


A little of the infinite blue
suffices
to reduce the burden of our times
and cleanse the mud from this place right now

The spirit needs to improvise
and walk upon its silken soles
by my side, as hand in hand, two old friends
we share a crust of bread
and an old flask of wine
walking the path together,
then our days fork off into two separate paths:
I to the unknown, and she
sits squatting upon a high rock

[to a poet] Whenever the sunset eludes you
you are ensnared in the solitude of the gods.
Be ‘the essence’ of your lost subject
and the subject of your lost essence. Be present in your absence

He finds time for sarcasm:
My telephone has stopped ringing.
My doorbell has also stopped ringing.
So how did you know
that I am not here?

He finds time for song:
Waiting for you, I cannot wait
I cannot read Dostoyevsky
nor listen to Umm Kalthum, Maria Callas or another.
Waiting for you, the hands of the watch go from right
to left
to a time without a place.
Waiting for you, I didn’t wait for you.
I waited for eternity.

He asks her, “What kind of flower is your favourite?”
She says, “The carnation. The black carnation.”
He asks her, “And where will you take me, with those black carnations?”
She says, “To the abyss of life within me.”
She says, “Further, further, further.”

This siege will endure until the besiegers feel, like
the besieged
that anger
is an emotion like any other.

“I don’t love you. I don’t hate you,”
The prisoner said to the interrogator. “My heart is full
of that which is of no concern to you. My heart is full of the aroma of sage.
My heart is innocent, radiant, brimming.
There is no time in the heart for tests. No.
I do not love you. Who are you that I may give my love to you?
Are you part of my being? Are you a coffee rendezvous?
Are you the wind of the flute, and a song, that I may love you?
I hate imprisonment. But I do not hate you.”
Thus a prisoner said to the investigator. “My feelings are not your concern.
My emotions are my own private night…
my night which moves from bed to bed free of rhyme
and of double meanings!


We sat far from our destinies, like birds
which build their nests in cracks in statues
or in chimneys, or in tents
erected on the prince’s path at the time of the hunt

On my ruins the shadows grow green
and the wolf sleeps on a hybernating poem,
dreaming, like me, and like a guardian angel,
that life is pure and free of label

Myths refuse to amend their patterns.
Perhaps they were struck by a crack in the hull;
perhaps their ships have been stranded on
a land without a people.
Thus the idealist was overcome by the realist.
But the ships will not change their mould.
Whenever an unpleasant reality crosses their path
they demolish it with a bulldozer.
The colour of their truth dictates the text: she is beautiful,
white, without blemish.

[to a semi-orientalist] Let’s say things are the way you think they are -
that I am stupid, stupid, stupid
and that I cannot play golf
or understand high technology
nor can fly a plane!
Is that why you have ransomed my life to create yours?
If you were another - if I were another
we would have been a couple of friends who confessed our need for folly
But the fool, like Shylock the merchant,
consists of heart, and bread, and two frightened eyes


Under siege, time becomes a location
solidified eternally
Under siege, place becomes a time
abandoned by past and future

This low, high land
this holy harlot…
we do not pay much attention to the magic of these words
a cavity may become a vacuum in space
a contour in geography


The dead besiege me with every new day
and ask me, “Where were you? Give back
to the lexicon all the words
you offered me
and let the sleepers sleep without phantoms in their dreams!
The dead teach me the lesson: there is no aesthetic beyond freedom

The dead point out to me: why search beyond the horizon
for the eternal virgins? We loved life
on earth, between the fig and the pine trees
but we couldn’t find our way even there. We searched
until we gave life all we owned: the purple blood in our veins

The dead besiege me. “Do not walk in the funeral
if you did not know me. I seek no compliments
from man nor beast

The dead warn me. “Do not believe their rejoicing.
Listen instead to my dad as he looks at my photo crying.
“How did you take my place, son, and jump ahead of me?
I should have gone first! I should have gone first!”

The dead besiege me. “I have only changed my place of abode and my furnishings.
The deer now walk on my bedroom’s roof
and the moon warms the ceiling from the pain
thus putting an end to my pain
to put an end to my wailing.”

and the moon warms the ceiling
to put an end to my wailing.”

This siege will endure until we are truly persuaded
into choosing a harmless slavery, but
in total freedom!

To resist: that means to ensure the health
of heart and testicles, and that your ancient disease
is still alive and well in you
a disease called hope

in the remains of the dawn I walk outside of my own body
in the remains of the night I hear the footsteps of my own being

I raise my cup to those who drink with me
to an awakening to the beauty of the butterfly
in the long tunnel of this dark night

I raise my cup to those who drink with me
in the thick darkness of a night overflowing with crippled souls
I raise my cup to the apparition in my being

[to a reader] Don’t trust the poem
She is the absentee daughter. She is neither an intuition
nor a surmise, but a sense of disaster

If love is crippled, I will heal it
with exercise and humour
and with separating the singer from the song


My friends are ever preparing a party for me-
a farewell party, and a comfortable grave in the shadow of the oak
together with a marble witness from the tombstone of time
But I seem to be first in attending their funerals.
Who has died today?

The siege is transforming me from a singer
to a sixth string on a five string violin

The deceased, daughter of
the deceased, who is herself daughter of the deceased, who is the deceased’s sister
The deceased resister’s sister is related by marriage to the mother of the deceased, who is grandaughter of the deceased’s grandfather
and neighbour to the deceased’s uncle (etc. ..etc.)
No news worries the developed world,
for the time of barbarism has passed
and the victim is Joe Bloggs. Nobody knows his name,
and the tragedy, like the truth, is relative (etc. ..etc.)

Quiet, quiet, for the soldiers need
at this hour to listen to the songs
which the dead resisters had listened to, and have remained
like the smell of coffee, in their blood, fresh

Truce, truce. A time to test the teachings: can helicopters be turned into ploughshares?
We said to them: truce, truce, to examine intentions.
The flavour of peace may be absorbed by the soul.
Then we may compete for the love of life using poetic images.
They replied, “Don’t you know that peace begins with oneself,
if you wish to open the door to our citadel of truth?
So we said, “And then?”

Writing is a small ant which bites extinction.
Writing is a bloodless wound.


Our cups of coffee, and the birds, and the green trees
with the blue shade, and the sun leaping from wall
to wall like a doe
and the waters in the skies of infinite shapes, in what is left to us
of sky…and other matters the memory of which has been put on hold
prove that this morning is strong and beautiful
and that we are guests of evermore

Contributed by Riccardo Gullotta - 2020/3/9 - 22:00




Language: French

الترجمة الفرنسية / Traduction française / Traduzione francese / French translation / תרגום לצרפתית / Ranskankielinen käännös:
Monde diplomatique


Vita da profughi a Shatila
ÉTAT DE SIÈGE

Ici, aux pentes des collines, face au crépuscule et au canon du temps
Près des jardins aux ombres brisées,
Nous faisons ce que font les prisonniers,
Ce que font les chômeurs :
Nous cultivons l’espoir.
* * *
Un pays qui s’apprête à l’aube. Nous devenons moins intelligents
Car nous épions l’heure de la victoire :
Pas de nuit dans notre nuit illuminée par le pilonnage.
Nos ennemis veillent et nos ennemis allument pour nous la lumière
Dans l’obscurité des caves.
* * *
Ici, nul « moi ».
Ici, Adam se souvient de la poussière de son argile.
* * *
Au bord de la mort, il dit :
Il ne me reste plus de trace à perdre :
Libre je suis tout près de ma liberté. Mon futur est dans ma main.
Bientôt je pénètrerai ma vie,
Je naîtrai libre, sans parents,
Et je choisirai pour mon nom des lettres d’azur...
* * *
Ici, aux montées de la fumée, sur les marches de la maison,
Pas de temps pour le temps.
Nous faisons comme ceux qui s’élèvent vers Dieu :
Nous oublions la douleur.
* * *
Rien ici n’a d’écho homérique.
Les mythes frappent à nos portes, au besoin.
Rien n’a d’écho homérique. Ici, un général
Fouille à la recherche d’un Etat endormi
Sous les ruines d’une Troie à venir.
* * *
Vous qui vous dressez sur les seuils, entrez,
Buvez avec nous le café arabe
Vous ressentiriez que vous êtes hommes comme nous
Vous qui vous dressez sur les seuils des maisons
Sortez de nos matins,
Nous serons rassurés d’être
Des hommes comme vous !
* * *
Quand disparaissent les avions, s’envolent les colombes
Blanches blanches, elles lavent la joue du ciel
Avec des ailes libres, elles reprennent l’éclat et la possession
De l’éther et du jeu. Plus haut, plus haut s’envolent
Les colombes, blanches blanches. Ah si le ciel
Etait réel [m’a dit un homme passant entre deux bombes]
* * *
Les cyprès, derrière les soldats, des minarets protégeant
Le ciel de l’affaissement. Derrière la haie de fer
Des soldats pissent — sous la garde d’un char -
Et le jour automnal achève sa promenade d’or dans
Une rue vaste telle une église après la messe dominicale...
* * *
[A un tueur] Si tu avais contemplé le visage de la victime
Et réfléchi, tu te serais souvenu de ta mère dans la chambre
A gaz, tu te serais libéré de la raison du fusil
Et tu aurais changé d’avis : ce n’est pas ainsi qu’on retrouve une identité.
* * *
Le brouillard est ténèbres, ténèbres denses blanches
Epluchées par l’orange et la femme pleine de promesses.
* * *
Le siège est attente
Attente sur une échelle inclinée au milieu de la tempête.
* * *
Seuls, nous sommes seuls jusqu’à la lie
S’il n’y avait les visites des arcs en ciel.
* * *
Nous avons des frères derrière cette étendue.
Des frères bons. Ils nous aiment. Ils nous regardent et pleurent.
Puis ils se disent en secret :
« Ah ! si ce siège était déclaré... » Ils ne terminent pas leur phrase :
« Ne nous laissez pas seuls, ne nous laissez pas. »
* * *
Nos pertes : entre deux et huit martyrs chaque jour.
Et dix blessés.
Et vingt maisons.
Et cinquante oliviers...
S’y ajoute la faille structurelle qui
Atteindra le poème, la pièce de théâtre et la toile inachevée.
* * *
Une femme a dit au nuage : comme mon bien-aimé
Car mes vêtements sont trempés de son sang.
* * *
Si tu n’es pluie, mon amour
Sois arbre
Rassasié de fertilité, sois arbre
Si tu n’es arbre mon amour
Sois pierre
Saturée d’humidité, sois pierre
Si tu n’es pierre mon amour
Sois lune
Dans le songe de l’aimée, sois lune
[Ainsi parla une femme
à son fils lors de son enterrement]
* * *
Ô veilleurs ! N’êtes-vous pas lassés
De guetter la lumière dans notre sel
Et de l’incandescence de la rose dans notre blessure
N’êtes-vous pas lassés Ô veilleurs ?
* * *
Un peu de cet infini absolu bleu
Suffirait
A alléger le fardeau de ce temps-ci
Et à nettoyer la fange de ce lieu
* * *
A l’âme de descendre de sa monture
Et de marcher sur ses pieds de soie
A mes côtés, mais dans la main, tels deux amis
De longue date, qui se partagent le pain ancien
Et le verre de vin antique
Que nous traversions ensemble cette route
Ensuite nos jours emprunteront des directions différentes :
Moi, au-delà de la nature, quant à elle,
Elle choisira de s’accroupir sur un rocher élevé.
* * *
Nous nous sommes assis loin de nos destinées comme des oiseaux
Qui meublent leurs nids dans les creux des statues,
Ou dans les cheminées, ou dans les tentes qui
Furent dressées sur le chemin du prince vers la chasse.
* * *
Sur mes décombres pousse verte l’ombre,
Et le loup somnole sur la peau de ma chèvre
Il rêve comme moi, comme l’ange
Que la vie est ici... non là-bas.
* * *
Dans l’état de siège, le temps devient espace
Pétrifié dans son éternité
Dans l’état de siège, l’espace devient temps
Qui a manqué son hier et son lendemain.
* * *
Ce martyr m’encercle chaque fois que je vis un nouveau jour
Et m’interroge : Où étais-tu ? Ramène aux dictionnaires
Toutes les paroles que tu m’as offertes
Et soulage les dormeurs du bourdonnement de l’écho.
* * *
Le martyr m’éclaire : je n’ai pas cherché au-delà de l’étendue
Les vierges de l’immortalité car j’aime la vie
Sur terre, parmi les pins et les figuiers,
Mais je ne peux y accéder, aussi y ai-je visé
Avec l’ultime chose qui m’appartienne : le sang dans le corps de l’azur.
* * *
Le martyr m’avertit : Ne crois pas leurs youyous
Crois-moi père quand il observe ma photo en pleurant
Comment as-tu échangé nos rôles, mon fils et m’as-tu précédé.
Moi d’abord, moi le premier !
* * *
Le martyr m’encercle : je n’ai changé que ma place et mes meubles frustes.
J’ai posé une gazelle sur mon lit,
Et un croissant lunaire sur mon doigt,
Pour apaiser ma peine.
* * *
Le siège durera afin de nous convaincre de choisir un asservissement qui ne nuit
pas, en toute liberté !!
* * *
Résister signifie : s’assurer de la santé
Du cœur et des testicules, et de ton mal tenace :
Le mal de l’espoir.
* * *
Et dans ce qui reste de l’aube, je marche vers mon extérieur
Et dans ce qui reste de la nuit, j’entends le bruit des pas en mon intention.
* * *
Salut à qui partage avec moi l’attention à
L’ivresse de la lumière, la lumière du papillon, dans
La noirceur de ce tunnel.
* * *
Salut à qui partage avec moi mon verre
Dans l’épaisseur d’une nuit débordant les deux places :
Salut à mon spectre.
* * *
Pour moi mes amis apprêtent toujours une fête
D’adieu, une sépulture apaisante à l’ombre de chênes
Une épitaphe en marbre du temps
Et toujours je les devance lors des funérailles :
Qui est mort...qui ?
* * *
L’écriture, un chiot qui mord le néant
L’écriture blesse sans trace de sang.
* * *
Nos tasses de café. Les oiseaux les arbres verts
A l’ombre bleue, le soleil gambade d’un mur
A l’autre telle une gazelle
L’eau dans les nuages à la forme illimitée dans ce qu’il nous reste
* * *
Du ciel. Et d’autres choses aux souvenirs suspendus
Révèlent que ce matin est puissant splendide,
Et que nous sommes les invités de l’éternité.

Contributed by Riccardo Gullotta - 2020/3/9 - 22:02




Language: Italian

الترجمة الإيطالية / Traduzione italiana / Traduction italienne / Italian translation / תרגום לאיטלקית / Italiankielinen käännös:
Casa della Poesia


Profughi in Libano - Vite in attesa
Qui, sui pendii delle colline, dinanzi al crepuscolo e alla legge del tempo
Vicino ai giardini dalle ombre spezzate,
Facciamo come fanno i prigionieri,
Facciamo come fanno i disoccupati:
Coltiviamo la speranza.

Un paese che si prepara all’alba. Diventiamo meno intelligenti
Perché spiamo l’ora della vittoria:
Non c’è notte nella nostra notte illuminata
Da una pioggia di bombe.
I nostri nemici vegliano,
I nostri nemici accendono per noi la luce
Nell’oscurità dei sotterranei.

Qui, nessun “io”.
Qui, Adamo si ricorda che la sua argilla è fatta di polvere.

In punto di morte, dice:
Non posso più smarrire il sentiero:
Libero sono a un passo dalla mia libertà.
Il mio futuro è nella mia mano.
Ben presto penetrerò nella mia vita,
Nascerò libero, senza madre né padre,
E mi sceglierò un nome di lettere d’azzurro…

Qui, fra spirali di fumo, sui gradini di casa,
Non c’è tempo per il tempo.
Come chi s’innalza verso Dio,
Dimentichiamo il dolore.

Nulla qui riecheggia Omero.
I miti bussano alla nostra porta, se vogliono.
Nulla riecheggia Omero. Qui, un generale
Scava alla ricerca di uno stato addormentato
Sotto le rovine di una Troia che verrà.

Voi, ritti in piedi sulla soglia, entrate,
Bevete con noi il caffè arabo.
Sentirete che siete uomini come noi.
Voi, ritti in piedi sulla soglia delle case,
Uscite dalla nostra alba.
Ci sentiremo sicuri di essere
Uomini come voi!

Quando gli aerei scompaiono, spiccano il volo le colombe
Bianchissime, lavano la gota del cielo
Con ali libere, riprendono il bagliore e il possesso
Dell’etere e del gioco. In alto, ancora più in alto volano via
Le colombe bianchissime. Ah, se il cielo
Fosse vero… (mi ha detto un uomo correndo fra due bombe).

I cipressi, dietro i soldati, minareti che s’innalzano
Per non far crollare il cielo. Dietro la siepe di ferro
Pisciano i soldati – al riparo di un tank –
E la giornata autunnale conclude la sua traiettoria dorata
In una strada vasta come una chiesa dopo la messa domenicale…

(A un assassino) Se avessi contemplato il volto della vittima
E riflettuto, ti saresti ricordato di tua madre nella camera
A gas, avresti buttato via le ragioni del fucile
E avresti cambiato idea: non è così che si ritrova un’identità.

La nebbia è oscurità, densa oscurità bianca
La sbucciano l'arancia e la donna piena di promesse.

L’assedio è attesa,
Attesa su una scala inclinata Dove più infuria l’uragano.

Soli, siamo soli a bere l’amaro calice,
Se non fosse per le visite dell’arcobaleno.

Abbiamo dei fratelli dietro quella spianata,
Fratelli buoni, che ci amano. Ci guardano e piangono.
Poi si dicono in segreto:
“Ah! Se quest’assedio venisse dichiarato…” Lasciano la frase incompiuta:
“Non lasciateci soli, non abbandonateci”.

Le nostre perdite: da due a otto martiri, giorno dopo giorno.
E dieci feriti.
E venti case.
E cinquanta ulivi…
Aggiungeteci la perdita intrinseca
Che sarà il poema, l’opera teatrale, la tela incompiuta.

Una donna ha detto alla nube: copri il mio amato
Perché ho le vesti grondanti del suo sangue.

Se non sei pioggia, amor mio
Sii albero
Colmo di fertilità, sii albero
Se non sei albero, amor mio
Sii pietra
Satura d’umidità, sii pietra
Se non sei pietra, amor mio
Sii luna
Nel sogno dell’amata, sii luna
(Così una donna
che dava sepoltura al figlio)

O ronde della notte! Non siete stanche
Di spiare la luce nel nostro sale
E l’incandescenza della rosa nella nostra ferita,
Non siete stanche, ronde della notte?

Un lembo di questo infinito assoluto azzurro
Basterebbe
Ad alleviare il fardello di questo tempo
E a spazzare via la melma di questo luogo.

Che l’anima scenda dalla sua cavalcatura
E cammini con passi di seta
Al mio fianco, mano nella mano, come due amici
Di vecchia data che condividono il pane secco
E un bicchiere di vino della vecchia vigna,
Per poter attraversare insieme questa strada.
Poi i nostri giorni seguiranno sentieri diversi:
Io al di là della natura, e lei,
Lei preferirà inerpicarsi su un’altra vetta.

Siamo lontani dal nostro destino come gli uccelli
Che fanno il nido negli anfratti delle statue,
O nella cappa del camino, o nelle tende
Dove riposava il principe andando a caccia.

Sulle mie macerie spunta verde l’ombra,
E il lupo sonnecchia sulla pelle della mia capra.
Sogna come me, come l’angelo,
Che la vita sia qui… non laggiù.

Quando si è assediati, il tempo diventa spazio
Pietrificato nella sua eternità
Quando si è assediati, lo spazio diventa tempo
Che ha fallito il suo ieri e il suo domani.

Questo martire mi assedia ogni volta che vedo spuntare un nuovo giorno
E mi chiede: Dov’eri? Annota sui dizionari
Tutte le parole che mi hai offerto
E libera i dormienti dal ronzio dell’eco.

Il martire mi spiega: Non ho cercato al di là della spianata
Le vergini dell’immortalità, perché amo la vita
Sulla terra, fra i pini e gli alberi di fico,
Ma era inaccessibile, così ho preso la mira
Con l’ultima cosa che mi appartiene: il sangue nel corpo dell’azzurro.

Il martire mi avverte: Non credere alle loro storie
Credi a me, padre, quando osservi la mia foto e chiedi piangendo:
Come hai potuto scambiare le nostre vite, figlio mio,
Perché mi hai preceduto? C’ero io, c’ero prima io!

Il martire non mi da tregua: mi sono solo spostato con i miei mobili consunti.
Ho posato una gazzella sul mio letto,
E una falce di luna sul mio dito,
Per alleviare la mia pena.

L’assedio continuerà, per convincerci a scegliere una schiavitù che non fa male,
In piena libertà!

Resistere significa: accertarsi della forza
Del cuore e dei testicoli, e del tuo male tenace:
Il male della speranza.

In quel che resta dell’alba, cammino verso il mio involucro esterno
In quel che resta della notte, ascolto il rumore dei passi rimbombare al mio interno.

Saluto chi come me insegue
L’ebbrezza della luce, lo splendore della farfalla,
Nell’oscurità di questo tunnel.

Saluto chi beve con me dal mio bicchiere
Nelle tenebre di una notte che entrambi ci avvolge:
Saluto il mio spettro.

Per me i miei amici preparano sempre una festa
Da Dio, una sepoltura serena all’ombra delle querce
Un epitaffio inciso nel marmo del tempo
E sempre ai funerali li precedo correndo:
Chi è morto… chi?

La scrittura, un cucciolo che morde il nulla
La scrittura ferisce senza lasciar tracce di sangue.

Le nostre tazze di caffè. Gli uccelli, gli alberi verdi
Nell’ombra azzurrina, il sole che scivola di muro
In muro con balzi di gazzella
L’acqua delle nubi dalla forma illimitata – tutto quel che ci resta.

Il cielo. E altre cose dai ricordi sospesi
Rivelano che questo mattino è potente splendore,
E che noi siamo i convitati dell’eternità.

Contributed by Riccardo Gullotta - 2020/3/9 - 22:06



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