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A Poem a Day

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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Topic: A Poem a Day
    Posted: 25-Mar-2012 at 22:04
Al Saddiq al Raddi

Sympathy

I wince
whenever your name comes up
All ears, I seal my lips
keeping your secret a secret

(... Your mouth is ripe with desire
your eyes brim with tenderness
your body trembles as it calls... )

Anyone who mentions you cuts me to the quick,
and so I come to you in the heat of the noon
to whisper the story of dawn

You...
You...
My only creed!


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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 24-Mar-2012 at 13:22
Adbullah al Ryami

Speed

I take things lightly
that perhaps are heavy.
For example, I know I'm the gap between two pavements,
yet I cross it as fast as I can — why?
And because I take risks with my voice,
I trip on air.
And the first bead of sweat that trickles down my forehead
drowns me.
I take things lightly
that I know to be heavy.
This is the truth.
Yet I am nothing but an illusion —
a lantern
lost in a forest.
And whoever comes across these words
will find a large stone.
You can easily
throw it in my face.
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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 22-Mar-2012 at 17:12
Al Saddiq al Raddi

Song

Facing down wind in a dust-storm
wrapped up in his cloak
and wearing a hat that can’t make him vanish —

this skinny man
scans the horizon
gathering — but not quite yet — flowers
until the moment you meet

(… but stuck in this narrow alleyway
among mountains of rubbish
he longs to lift up his beak
unfurl his wings
and take flight…)


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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 22-Mar-2012 at 02:40
Muhammad al-Fayturi

The Sorrows of The Black City

When night casts its net of shadows over the streets of the city
shrouding it in grief,
you can still see them —
slumped in silence, staring at the cracks.
And you think they are calm,
but you're wrong — they're on fire!

When darkness raises its statues of marble
on the streets of the city
then smashes them in fury
then the city will lead all the people
down the spiral staircase of the night
into the deep distant past.
The past with its ambergris shores
is dreaming of memories
too deeply to be roused.
And inside everyone something begins to stir —
a fresh wall made of clay,
stuck with diamonds and desires.
When night sleeps and day wakes
raising its candles in the dark
peace ebbs back to its home in the grave.
At that, the heart of the city
turns futile and wretched —
it is an oven at noon, a lamp for the blind.
Like ancient Africa, the city is truly
an old woman veiled in frankincense,
a great pit of fire, the horn of a ram,
an amulet of old prayers, a night full of mirrors,
the dance of black women, naked,
shouting their black joy.
This coma of sins was kept alive by the master,
ships filled with slave girls,
with musk, ivory and saffron —
gifts, all without joy, despatched by the winds of all ages
to the white man of our time
to the master of all time.
A plantation stretches out in imagination
to clothe the naked, to loosen their clothes,
flowing like its ancestors through the veins of life,
dyeing the water, and dyeing God's face,
its sorrows on every mouth
breeding tyrants and iron and slaves,
breeding chains, every day breeding some new horror….

And yet, on the streets of the city,
when night constructs
its barriers of black stone — they stretch out their hands,
in silence, to the balconies of the future.
They are locked-up cries
in a locked-up land.
Their memories are stab-wounds.
Their faces are sad, like the faces of the blind.
Look, there they are,
heads slumped in silence. And you think they are calm.
But you're wrong. Truth is, they're on fire….


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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 20-Mar-2012 at 18:52
Al Saddiq al-Raddi

Site of longing and explosion
bleeding from exhaustion and diligence,
from all the circles and constraints
all the markers and borders
fixed in this bastard world

I wrench beauty from ugliness
and fall prey to possibility
In the knot of temptation
the possible is jettisoned

I am nothing but a digger of graves
The dead are abandoned
beneath the roof of their loved ones
They turn pale keeping watch
over those not yet dead

A nightmare that would end
is a nightmare that would begin


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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 20-Mar-2012 at 18:48
Originally posted by Chookie

Roch the wind in the clear days dawin'
Blaws the cloods heelster gowdy ow'r the bay
But there's mair nor a roch wind blawin'
Through the great glen o' the warld the day.
It's a thocht that will gar oor rottans
A' they rogues that gang gallus fresh and gay
Tak the road an' seek ither loanins
For their ill ploys tae sport an' play

Nae mair will the bonnie callants

Mairch tae war when oor braggarts crousely craw,
Nor wee weans frae pit-heid an' clachan
Mourn the ships sailing doon the Broomielaw.
Broken families in lands we've herriet
Will curse Scotland the Brave nae mair, nae mair.
Black and white, ane til ither mairriet
Mak' the vile barracks o' their masters bare.

So come all ye at hame wi' freedom
Never heed whit the hoodies croak for doom
In your hoose a' the bairns o' Adam
Can find breid, barley bree an' painted room.
When MacLean meets wi's freens in Springburn
A' the roses an' geans will turn tae bloom
And a black boy frae yont Nyanga
Dings the fell gallows o' the burghers doon.


Hamish Henderson

Chookie, I think understood most of the poem, but what do those expressions mean:
"It's a thocht that will gar oor rottans"
" frae pit-heid an' clachan"
"Dings the fell gallows o' the burghers doon."
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  Quote Chookie Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 20-Mar-2012 at 16:13

Roch the wind in the clear days dawin'
Blaws the cloods heelster gowdy ow'r the bay
But there's mair nor a roch wind blawin'
Through the great glen o' the warld the day.
It's a thocht that will gar oor rottans
A' they rogues that gang gallus fresh and gay
Tak the road an' seek ither loanins
For their ill ploys tae sport an' play

Nae mair will the bonnie callants

Mairch tae war when oor braggarts crousely craw,
Nor wee weans frae pit-heid an' clachan
Mourn the ships sailing doon the Broomielaw.
Broken families in lands we've herriet
Will curse Scotland the Brave nae mair, nae mair.
Black and white, ane til ither mairriet
Mak' the vile barracks o' their masters bare.

So come all ye at hame wi' freedom
Never heed whit the hoodies croak for doom
In your hoose a' the bairns o' Adam
Can find breid, barley bree an' painted room.
When MacLean meets wi's freens in Springburn
A' the roses an' geans will turn tae bloom
And a black boy frae yont Nyanga
Dings the fell gallows o' the burghers doon.


Hamish Henderson
For money you did what guns could not do.........
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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 19-Mar-2012 at 19:52
Al Saddiq al-Raddi

Some of Them Live With You

Some of them meet you
in the dark corners of the world
Some remain hidden

Some harbor revenge
or plot their escape
as they gallop down the valley of the wind
 
Some linger at the foot of a mountain
exposed to the elements
 
Some owned your heart
Some slaughtered it
Some stripped you naked

Some: me and you




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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 17-Mar-2012 at 23:06
Saddic al-Raddi

Record

King of the distant cries
Companion of screaming and silence -
Who saw you?

Who saw the blood on your roads?
Who prepared the watch and the spectacle of fear? 
Who built the walls and threw a guard around them?
Who made the world die in the space of a word?

Memories of cities - fall
Expectations - fall
Histories of forgery - fall



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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 16-Mar-2012 at 17:43
This poem seriously challenged my Late Middle English reading abilities, but it was well worthedSmile; thank you, Chookie.
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  Quote Chookie Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 16-Mar-2012 at 16:56

Lament for the Makars
William Dunbar - circa 1500(ish)

I THAT in heill was and gladnèss
Am trublit now with great sickness
And feblit with infirmitie:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.


Our plesance here is all vain glory,
This fals world is but transitory,
The flesh is bruckle, the Feynd is slee:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

The state of man does change and vary,
Now sound, now sick, now blyth, now sary,
Now dansand mirry, now like to die:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.


No state in Erd here standis sicker;
As with the wynd wavis the wicker
So wannis this world's vanitie:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Unto the Death gois all Estatis,
Princis, Prelatis, and Potestatis,
Baith rich and poor of all degree:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He takis the knichtis in to the field
Enarmit under helm and scheild;
Victor he is at all mellie:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.


That strong unmerciful tyrandTakis,
on the motheris breast sowkand,
The babe full of benignitie:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.


He takis the campion in the stour,
The captain closit in the tour,
The lady in bour full of bewtie:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.


He spairis no lord for his piscence,
Na clerk for his intelligence;
His awful straik may no man flee:—Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Art-magicianis and astrologgis,
Rethoris, logicianis, and theologgis,
Them helpis no conclusionis slee:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

In medecine the most practicianis,
Leechis, surrigianis, and physicianis,
Themself from Death may not supplee:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.



I see that makaris amang the lave
Playis here their padyanis, syne gois to grave;
Sparit is nocht their facultie:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.


He has done petuously devour
The noble Chaucer, of makaris flour,
The Monk of Bury, and Gower, all three:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

The good Sir Hew of Eglintoun,
Ettrick, Heriot, and Wintoun,
He has tane out of this sweetierie:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.


That scorpion fell has done infeck
Maister John Clerk, and James Afflek,
Fra ballat-making and tragedie:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Holland and Barbour he has berevit;
Alas! that he not with us levit
Sir Mungo Lockart of the Lee:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.


Clerk of Tranent eke he has tane,
That made the anteris of Gawaine;
Sir Gilbert Hay endit has he:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He has Blind Harry and Sandy Traill
Slain with his schour of mortal hail,
Quhilk Patrick Johnstoun might nought flee:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.


He has reft Merseir his endite,
That did in luve so lively write,
So short, so quick, of sentence hie:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He has tane Rowll of Aberdene,
And gentill Rowll of Corstorphine;
Two better fallowis did no man see:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

In Dunfermline he has tane Broun
With Maister Robert Henrysoun;
Sir John the Ross enbrast has he:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

And he has now tane, last of a,
Good gentil Stobo and Quintin Shaw,
Of quhom all wichtis hes pitie:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.


Good Maister Walter Kennedy
In point of Death lies verily;
Great ruth it were that so suld be:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Sen he has all my brether tane,
He will naught let me live alane;
Of force I man his next prey be:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Since for the Death remeid is none,
Best is that we for Death dispone,
After our death that live may we:—
Timor Mortis conturbat me.


For money you did what guns could not do.........
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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 16-Mar-2012 at 11:42
Khaled Abdallah

Seeds in Flight

An ancient woman, who has lived all seasons,
wanders the earth gathering camomile.

Each flower in her apron is a star,
her apron is the sky. When she reaches the house,

she strews them to dry like shells on a beach -
to bring good luck, to whisper the future.

In the sun her tattoo glistens, a star glints
in her golden earring, the camomile dries.

Her hand, hennaed with god's names,
spun the wool of the flock, embroidered

the wedding clothes, gathers the dried flowers.
But next season, when the future arrived,

it silenced the whispers. She was buried with her ancestors.
And yet as if by chance, as if by magic, as if by a miracle

the camomile grows each season behind the house.
Many seeds have flown. These seeds remain.


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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 15-Mar-2012 at 19:33
Abdullah al-Ryami

Please Don't Give Birth!

No one predicted
the day I was born:
the breast that fed me
was a jug of amnesia spilt by the invaders.
So I throw myself onto my shadow
to save it from the approaching train;
I bare my chest to spears
as if I were a shield carried by my ancestors;
I climb mountain peaks
the way I stroll along the beach,
as if these mountains were my seas,
their caves my seashells, my days.
Now every tree hides a wall
beneath its bark:
the minute I touch it,
I trespass into the property of strangers;
the minute I sit down on a rock,
it sprouts wings and flies off.
Where can I go?
How can I stumble away
when I hang here like the plait
that splits my lover’s back in two?
when God’s name lashes from the minarets
like whips whipping horseflesh?
No one predicted
the day of my birth.
And the river that bore me
has gone to ground
in a yawning expanse of endless land
that I cross without wings.
Like water, when I evaporate, I soar.
Like water, when I fall, I am pure.
Every time I touch this land,
its belly swells:
please don’t give birth
to another Omani,
an Omani who asks me
how long this century has lasted,
an Omani who invites me to his revels
to drink obedience in a cup —
while a rudderless balloon,
like an exclamation, floats across the sky.
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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 14-Mar-2012 at 12:59
Al Saddic al-Raddi

Prelude

Walls climb the ivy
And Khartoum, poised on its unamputated foot
Singing
Will the Nile ever escape into sleep?
We were the most loving of lovers, children trickling from us
- What name do you give me?
- I call you Presence of Earth
Come closer then
- What will be the taste of grief?
- …………………..
And we parted!

Sura

The Nile flows quietly…
Seeping through the city's silence
And the burning sorrows of villages.
Now friends no longer exchange greetings each morning
No longer recognize each other.
Everywhere one sees them, these one-time prophets,
Poverty-stricken, sipping their tea, their tears,
Speechless.
They hide death in their fraying clothes,
And all they can say to our children is: patience.
They fade into the trees, commit suicide
At night, derive from alcohol
Their arguments, embark on futile wars
With their women, give up
Their prayers, then disappear.
Walls climb the ivy
And Khartoum, sitting in a café
Smoking
In the dark you can't tell apart
Muggers from those whose journeys they'd cut short.
We were lovers, looking for our children
Who were breaking into bakeries, stealing fire
From the ovens' throats.
- What name do you give me?
- I call you earth's Fiery Anger
So rise up
- What will be the taste of ashes?
- …………………….
And we parted!

Sura
Fire is the opposite of Water
And Smoke is a memory that prepares us only for ash.
Water is the opposite of Fire
And the waves are like maps, rippling across the land.
And the girl? She is somewhere between this heart and this knife…
City - you're a handful of grains of wheat, tucked
Into the purses of usurers and slave-traders.
And the black men
Are approaching, approaching. River Nile
To what deserts are you taking my reflections? You depart
And I stand among the horses, by your gate,
And my soul would embark on a holy journey too,
For the silence suspended between us
Is a language floating among the ruins of a beautiful, vanished past.
O River Nile, father
Were the trees merely windows reflecting women's sorrows,
Or have your waters shattered their images,
Drowned the history of women,
And painted forever their meadows the colour of poverty?
Poverty invades the children's playgrounds, leaving
Them silent, accursed, their heritage
Only anger and disbelief.
The Nile opens his arms
Speaks to the migrant birds
Falls silent
Reigns
And never sleeps
Never sleeps
The Nile drinks dry the desert's tavern,
Gets drunk on dumps of toxic waste,
Must survive in the city, falling apart
Each night, rising up through its history
And never sleeps
Never sleeps
The drums began with the sun
And its light filtered songs that entered into the pores of the soul.
In the river's shallows boats sheltered from toil and wind.
Now the carnivals of the blacks take fire
And the Nile has burst through the layers of time.
And, see, the kingdom of Maroe appears
And the face of the Nubian lover
Who walks among the sorrows of the waterwheels
Searching for warriors among the horses.
Where does the line of ancestral blood begin
And when does the blood loss reach its climax,
O King Piankhy, enthroned ruler of Kush,
A kingdom unravelling in bitter silence?
Shout at the horses, and let
The waters ready themselves.
Let the maps explode. How can the land be lost
When the future belongs to the Nile?
The Nile knows of the disgrace of cities
That have vanished.
Knows of the old times
Yet never speaks.
It is the Nile…
Generations will pass, and there will always be children
Lingering on its banks,
Waiting
For it all to end.


Edited by Don Quixote - 14-Mar-2012 at 13:06
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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 14-Mar-2012 at 00:26
Al Saddiq al-Raddi

Before you start reading,
put down your pen:
consider the ink,
how it comprehends bleeding

Learn
from the distant horizon
and from narrowing eyes
the expansiveness of vision
and the treachery of hands

Do not blame me - do not blame anyone -
if you die before you read on
before blood is understood


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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 11-Mar-2012 at 21:46
 Fatena al-Gharra

Movements

1

Lust is a mad adventure -
a struggle in the streets

2

Escape is a waltz with the clouds,
steps that vanish on the feathers of a dove

3

The sound of the sea: an accursed city
And the moon laughs mockingly
Water alone knows the secret of drowning
and the wave is master of improvisation

4

The streets are barefoot
Rain turns wild

5

Gossip all the time
unless we drain it
from our blood

6

Adrenaline overwhelms us
when we're impaled by desire

7

Can you unveil my palm
without a kiss
or a bomb?

 8

Tap... tap... tap...
From now on, no gates
to this city


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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 10-Mar-2012 at 20:37
Mbarka Mint al Barra

Message from a Martyr

Fire your bullets -- our hearts are already ablaze
       In this land, grief wells up from my distress
Fire your bullets -- you villain -- for I
       Won't play at murder or run away
My blood fertilises and refreshes this land
       And plants a promising generation that is fully conscious
Limbs grow from seeds of shrapnel
       Hands are formed and crowns spring
That bet this land will always be their home --
       In every corner they stand their ground
Wherever I am, this land is my passion
       Nostalgia is fused with this timeless love
I don't care if there are explosions
       I don't mind the annihilating thunder


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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 10-Mar-2012 at 14:24
Al-Saddiq al-Raddi

Lamps

In the water
in silence at your side
in a fire that draws us close
I drift -
and only you can call me

. . . . . . . . . .
A bird enters spring
like a lance
Your eyes flash their secrets
A kiss grazes the rainbow
The rain rains

But the streets are empty of my friends
Lamps are extinguished
in the far-flung houses
and the lost heart echoes in its lonely chamber

You give your blessings to those who depart
and leave the rest to fate



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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 07-Mar-2012 at 18:29
Al Saddik al-Raddi

In The Company of Michelangelo

I

The kings who have gone
left us the remains of their forgettable names —like Aleece or Kush

They left us their peculiar crowns
shards of skeletons
fish-heads
unpronounceable words
kohl-sticks
commandments
and eulogies graven in stone

Yet I left you radiant,
resplendent, wherever your throne sets downLive blood in mortal veins -
truly you are unforgettable

II

You accompany me
to the gates of ancient Rome
reaching the ends of perfection
as you envisage grace threading each tender aperture
as you envisage the faultless line, and the perfect circle

Let us be brothers in stone
hand in hand
fingers entwined —
and then,
on the threshold of a bar
we clink our glasses
as you add the last touch
to a face already dreaming its history

III

Which of us is the key?
Your door or mine?

IV

Silence is bliss
Life is bliss
Creation is bliss

Even though his chair is empty
even though he is gone
darkness is ablaze
with the presence of his embrace
               V

What is the key?


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  Quote Don Quixote Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 06-Mar-2012 at 21:24
Fatena al-Charra

I Reveal Myself

Descendant of raiders who landed on the beaches,
heir to the woman who unmanned Samson,
I am the daughter of waves and of memory,
a fresh shoot from ancient stock.

When I open my arms, the universe sets forth.
When I smile, honey wells from my virgin lips.
I take a step and the earth loses its balance.
In my laugh, earthquakes resound,
and volcanoes spurt from seven tectonic plates.

The child of frivolity and modesty,
I am the daughter of depravity and purity,
the progeny of black and white.

The tip of my finger taps the stars off track.
If I close my eyes,
darkness eclipses the world, until my eyelids lift
bathing it in gold.
And when I toss back my hair
the universe shivers in recognition.

I am today and I am tomorrow.
Crowned queen on the throne of space.
A blink, and fields foam green with wheat.
I am wheat itself. I am green.
The first harvest.
The last.




Edited by Don Quixote - 06-Mar-2012 at 21:26
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