|
|
 Re: المجلس الثقافى البريطانى يترجم نص زميلنا القاص عبدالغنى كرم الله (Re: wadalzain)
|
)
How odd are the places where human beings live since ancient history…where did you come from and where are you heading…on a journey you don’t know when it has started and when it will end…only doubts and thoughts…and why did you live in the womb of your mother, and then lived on earth, in caves and houses made of clay … and then you will live in a grave… long time ago human were made of mud…then you lived in shells, rivers, and nests…how weird is your living, and in the remote tomorrow after you dwell the tombs…how will be your living and resting place?
My thoughts were reproductive like a waterfall, in a beautiful flood…these photos have captured with their fishing rod thousands of colorful fish pictures in my mind…I never thought they would float and swim in the darkness of my inner self, vanishing in the bottom of obliviousness (walls in my childhood had a spirit and a melody…it was a magical screen… the pictures had the smell of silt and soil…the shadow forms dancing on it when my mother carries the lantern.)
Why do we deny pantheism, unit of knowledge, reactions and things tressed in an invisible scarf…pulled one into another; disharmony being nothing other than an illusion of limited senses, because the picture can be smelled, tasted and touched…then there is the vision; have you even smelled a picture like I did? I feel that you have done more than that, isn’t that right? In front of me, there are pictures for Yemen, Oman, Nizwa, Emirates, Bahrain, all of them…as if I have lived there…and I was born on the banks of the Blue Nile in Sudan, Arab/African. What a web of feelings, sewing with its needle the maps, time ruptures, and ages of eternity, in an eternal present…is now…what has been and will be…it is a forward creature…wasn’t my father’s house, before it was built, living in my father’s dreams…didn’t life create my nature’s gift (memory and imagination)…don’t we have in mind (photos of the past, hung over the wall of remembrance)…doesn’t the imagination (photos of tomorrow and the dream) dance on the wall of wishes? How large is the number of such photos in our inner selves, and how odd they are…photos that smell, taste and feel!! Thousands of sunset landscapes decorate the inner self…and from the soil…and pictures of clouds…all in the gallery of memory, dream and imagination. Oh what happy pictures are they…the best camera (is the eye, is the heart) is all of the body…the past and the future…photos inside, hung over the wall of the human soul gallery… in frames of homesickness…while you contemplate every now and often…in your sanctum or in public…in darkness or bright light…memory and imagination have a magical light, which can see in the darkness, and in the deepness of the dream!
The mind thinks by means of the photos, by means of the characters of the “photos”…we formulate our own consciousness and that of the world…and from the photos of the first creatures, mother tongues were created…hieroglyphic, cuneiform were simply drawings referring to the living, the meanings and abstract ideas…for a world being an image, which is from the beginning a photo that can me smelled and tasted and which can be drunk and can see…
(3)
In the photo of “bin huneish”, a mattress on the floor…a child and a neon light…so weak that it can be killed by darkness…in the room, there is a lantern (for power outage emergencies, and How often were they!), an old radio…a ripping voice, and singing for Umm Kulthum or Mayada (can you hear it with me? The photo has a sound and color, in the imagination of the viewer…and the radio is old, before Nancy, Elissa, Sha’ban Abdel Rahim, what a happy he is)…two carpets are hung over the wall, in the first there is a deer, and in the other the Grand Mosque in Mecca and thousands of worshippers inside) inside that clay room.
Oh God! how warm was the photo entitled (morning door)…three beds in the room and a closet…what a beautiful night bringing brothers together…your head next to your brother’s foot…on the other bed and above there is the photo of the father hanging on the wall…and a white bed sheet, and a certificate (I think it is secondary or elementary)… every girl likes her father...and then Vaseline…which smell comes from the room…and you feel the pain in your shoulder…what a view…you pay its price in your body…You “Viewer”…and if a photo “complained”…the whole body of the viewer will claim sickness and fever…
|
|
  
|
|
|
|
wadalzain
فيس بوك
تويتر
انستقرام
يوتيوب
بنتيريست