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 Re: المجلس الثقافى البريطانى يترجم نص زميلنا القاص عبدالغنى كرم الله (Re: wadalzain)
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This corner…reminded me of the story of Uncle Tom’s Cabin…the first time while my brother was sleeping next to me…and talking while sleeping…about all things which happened with him during the day…how happy the police officer would be if he questioned my brother, if he was an opposition politic…the tough investigator would only have to put a recorder under my brother’s pillow to hear in the morning more than he ever wanted from information and secrets…to be honest, when I used to walk with my brother, I didn’t flirt with any girl even if she was gorgeous, I might only give her a wink, because in the dreams, he is so brave and reckless that he says everything and anything.
Graveyards…houses…lights…windows…boys’ playgrounds…are the same in my country…or here (while watching photos of old Sanaa city) and there where I do not know, where Adam’s children were found…why the East is East and the West is West…if the necessary things are the same…and which the children of Adam have in common, such as sadness, home, quietness, death, cemeteries, windows, love for poetry (I don’t think eighty years are enough, even though pattern of thoughts, living and education differ, to wipe out millions of years which made the spirit and body of Adam children) why the East is East and why the West is West? Why?
At night, the sky is the ceiling of the house…at night we sleep in the backyard…a sky sprinkled with stars…the highest sky in the world…even meteors and planes pass under the ceiling of our house…without shaking it…or collapsing it like the world trade center…the sky was a horizontal screen…you can watch it while sleeping…and there is no end for the film screen…or even a beginning…the shepherd was leading his sheep on top of the mountains…that is what my grandmother said about the drawn things on the moon’s face…how happy are those sheep herding in the sky…the hands of the butcher will never reach it no matter how long they were…it breaks my heart to see them hung over in the butchery.
We used to see the meteors…going like a golden arrow…despite the honest scientific analysis, the popular interpretation used to make my childhood happy…where this brave golden arrow moves toward a group of devils…powerfully climbing over each other’s ######### to hear what is happening in the throne…in the kingdom of Heaven…
I was surprised of how could this skilled arrow see the ladder of devils in this darkness to direct its arrow with great precision…and darkness has covered with its black blanket the dome and minaret of the mosque…next to us?
I was envying my grandfather’s hair in the picture, which could never be longer…and can’t sit one hour without looking in the barber’s shop, even if he heard the sound of the magician to his right side…how happy my grandfather looks in the picture or in the reality…his head was bold.
My father’s eyes see nothing but the defects of the house…he undertakes an inspection from the very morning…our house is like the wood donkey…with many faults…why? How many families live there? My nieces’ prefer the windows over any door to enter and exit…the clothesline becomes a swing sometimes, and a volleyball net some other time…the garden door becomes a goalkeeper and its leaves cry because of unskilled throws…they are numerous…we hear the daily screaming of my father (who broke the door’s leaf), (who cut the clothesline)…I have no idea where did these kids got the ethics of solidarity from? No matter how much they got beaten with the whip, they never confess about the guilty person and they know “how great” they are in this kind of solidarity…but when my father shouts…”it is going to rain”…and that the ceiling of the house needs soil filling, I used to climb the stairs happily…to see the village and river below me…having a reasonable excuse this time, and being lazy to help him…until the charming rain drops make me come down!
(7)
Why did you kill the two old poets? What happened to you City? Why are you doing this you modern, arrogant, of the instinct of the flock…with whose hand your flabby body was made of…a poet or dealer? a wise artist or a stubborn greedy…here is your cement head, extending its clouds over the mountain…its columns sinking deeper than the roots of trees…those cities where the simple worker stays awake…more than all the brats of past eras…till midnight…and earns his subsistence…the day is no longer a day and neither is the night…the nature lost its old taste! You slept quickly, greedily, planning, and thinking that you have domesticated the nature as if it was a horse, donkey or sheep, and with the reckless architectural and advantageous imagination, you killed the two old poets…they used to sing for the life and the human being…with simple poems…without a rhyme…or language…heard by the illiterate, Ajami, Arab, Negro, with a single language…for the essence of Adam’s children…and water them with the nectar of life in the day and night.
The two poets, (are the sunrise and sunset) are no longer in the city…the carpenter and the painter…the teacher and the architect…how could their hearts be inspired…the charm of sunset…the romance of sunrise…were killed by the high buildings…the skyscrapers… reaching the sky and the killing the poetry…as if the human relationship with the environment is not similar to a mother-to-child relationship.
The sunrise, with its weak delicacy…is no longer staining the walls, trees and souls…a sweet lullaby for a new day…pouring drunkenness into the spirit…in order for you to give and love…There is no more charming sunset, which plunges the spirit in the noble departure…like the time river…in quest of you…the warmth of a safe stone…where you resort to at night…a sunset made of free gold…hung over the clouds and walls and spirits…a relation of a mother and her child…this is our relationship with the Earth…why did the cement houses swell and there is enough in the horizon…why did they mount and eclipse the two old poets from reciting their poems in the dawn of each day and night…why did you kill the two old poets? Why?
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wadalzain
فيس بوك
تويتر
انستقرام
يوتيوب
بنتيريست