POETRY of Nizar Qabbani

[Jannah]

Contemporary poet, famous for his "love poems" in Arabic.

[Jannah]

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A Lesson In Drawing

My son places his paint box in front of me
and asks me to draw a bird for him.
Into the color gray I dip the brush
and draw a square with locks and bars.
Astonishment fills his eyes:
"... But this is a prision, Father,
Don't you know, how to draw a bird?"
And I tell him: "Son, forgive me.
I've forgotten the shapes of birds."

My son puts the drawing book in front of me
and asks me to draw a wheatstalk.
I hold the pen
and draw a gun.
My son mocks my ignorance,
demanding,
"Don't you know, Father, the difference between a
wheatstalk and a gun?"
I tell him, "Son,
once I used to know the shapes of wheatstalks
the shape of the loaf
the shape of the rose
But in this hardened time
the trees of the forest have joined
the militia men
and the rose wears dull fatigues
In this time of armed wheatstalks
armed birds
armed culture
and armed religion
you can't buy a loaf
without finding a gun inside
you can't pluck a rose in the field
without its raising its thorns in your face
you can't buy a book
that doesn't explode between your fingers."

My son sits at the edge of my bed
and asks me to recite a poem,
A tear falls from my eyes onto the pillow.
My son licks it up, astonished, saying:
"But this is a tear, father, not a poem!"
And I tell him:
"When you grow up, my son,
and read the diwan of Arabic poetry
you'll discover that the word and the tear are twins
and the Arabic poem
is no more than a tear wept by writing fingers."

My son lays down his pens, his crayon box in
front of me
and asks me to draw a homeland for him.
The brush trembles in my hands
and I sink, weeping.


[Jannah]

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Dialogue

Do not say my love was
A ring or a bracelet.
My love is a siege,
Is the daring and headstrong.
Who, searching sail out to their death.

Do not say my love was
A moon.
My love is a burst of sparks.


[Shahida]

LETTER FROM UNDER THE SEA

If you are my friend...
Help me...to leave you
Or if you are my lover...
Help me...so I can be healed of you...
If I knew....
that the ocean is very deep...I would not have swam...
If I knew...how I would end,
I would not have began

I desire you...so teach me not to desire
teach me...
how to cut the roots of your love from the depths
teach me...
how tears may die in the eyes
and love may commit suicide

If you are prophet,
Cleanse me from this spell
Deliver me from this atheism...
Your love is like atheism...so purify me from this atheism

If you are strong...
Rescue me from this ocean
For I don't know how to swim
The blue waves...in your eyes
drag me...to the depths
blue...
blue...
nothing but the color blue
and I have no experience
in love...and no boat...

If I am dear to you
then take my hand
For I am filled with desire...from my
head to my feet

I am breathing under water!
I am drowning...
drowning...
drowning...

---------
I love this poem, it's really beautiful, esp in Arabic!

Salam
S.

Qabbani rocks, mashaAllah

[Nur_al_Layl]

 

Mashaallah this is some serious poetry!!! Some brought tears to my eyes...keep posting them Jannah.

[Cherry]

 

i looooove Nizar Qabbani!.. he is amazing!.. the way he talks about women!.. i actually want to marry someone who thinks like Nizar Qabbani!..

Love Compared

I do not resemble your other lovers, my lady
should another give you a cloud
I give you rain
Should he give you a lantern, I
will give you the moon
Should he give you a branch
I will give you the trees
And if another gives you a ship
I shall give you the journey.


my favourite poem by Nizar Qabbani is... 


Thus i write the history of women

i want you female as you are.
i claim no knowledge of womens chemistry
the sources of womens nectar
how the she-gazelle becomes a she-gazelle
nor how birds perfect the art of song

i want you like the women
in immortal paintings
the virgins gracing
cathedral cielings
bathing their breasts in the moonlight
i want you female... so trees will sprout green
and the misty clouds will gether...so that the rains will come

i want you female because
civilization is female
poems are female
stalks of wheat
vials of fragrance
even paris - is female
and beirut - despite her wounds - remains female
in the nameof those hwo want to write poetry... be a woman
in the name of those who want to make love... be a woman
in the name of those who want to know god.. be a woman.

[Shahida]

 

If anyone can find the Arabic to this poem, I would pay cherries and strawberries!   The bold paragraph just blows me *away* sub7anAllah...

A Lesson in Drawing

My son places his paint box in front of me
and asks me to draw a bird for him.
Into the color gray I dip the brush
and draw a square with locks and bars.
Astonishment fills his eyes:
"... But this is a prison, Father,
Don't you know, how to draw a bird?"
And I tell him: "Son, forgive me.
I've forgotten the shapes of birds."

My son puts the drawing book in front of me
and asks me to draw a wheatstalk.
I hold the pen
and draw a gun.
My son mocks my ignorance,
demanding,
"Don't you know, Father, the difference between a
wheatstalk and a gun?"
I tell him, "Son,
once I used to know the shapes of wheatstalks
the shape of the loaf
the shape of the rose
But in this hardened time
the trees of the forest have joined
the militia men
and the rose wears dull fatigues
In this time of armed wheatstalks
armed birds
armed culture
and armed religion
you can't buy a loaf
without finding a gun inside
you can't pluck a rose in the field
without its raising its thorns in your face
you can't buy a book
that doesn't explode between your fingers."

My son sits at the edge of my bed
and asks me to recite a poem,
A tear falls from my eyes onto the pillow.
My son licks it up, astonished, saying:
"But this is a tear, father, not a poem!"
And I tell him:
"When you grow up, my son,
and read the diwan of Arabic poetry
you'll discover that the word and the tear are twins
and the Arabic poem
is no more than a tear wept by writing fingers."

My son lays down his pens, his crayon box in
front of me
and asks me to draw a homeland for him.
The brush trembles in my hands
and I sink, weeping.

-------
How amazing was that? 

Salam
S.

[Jannah]

salam,

whew found it. interesting they didn't translate section2 anyone want to give it a try?



درسٌ في الرسم

1

يَضَعُ إبني ألوانه أَمامي

ويطلُبُ مني أن أرسمَ لهُ عُصْفُوراً..

أغطُّ الفرشاةَ باللون الرماديّْ

وأرسُمُ له مربَّعاً عليه قِفْلٌ.. وقُضْبَانْ

يقولُ لي إبني، والدَهْشَةُ تملأ عينيْه:

".. ولكنَّ هذا سِجْنٌ..

ألا تعرفُ ، يا أبي ، كيف ترسُمُ عُصْفُوراً؟؟"

أقول له: يا وَلَدي.. لا تُؤاخذني

فقد نسيتُ شكلَ العصافيرْ...

2

يَضَعُ إبني عُلْبَةَ أقلامِهِ أمامي

ويطلُبُ منّي أن أرسمَ له بَحْراً..

آخُذُ قَلَمَ الرصاصْ،

وأرسُمُ له دائرةً سَوْدَاءْ..

يقولُ لي إبني:

"ولكنَّ هذه دائرةٌ سوداءُ، يا أبي..

ألا تعرفُ أن ترسمَ بحراً؟

ثم ألا تعرفُ أن لونَ البحر أزْرَقْ؟.."

أقولُ له: يا وَلَدي.

كنتُ في زماني شاطراً في رَسْم البِحارْ

أما اليومَ.. فقد أخذُوا مني الصُنَّارةَ

وقاربَ الصيد..

وَمَنَعُوني من الحوار مع اللون الأزرقْ..

واصطيادِ سَمَكِ الحرّية.

3

يَضَعُ إبني كرّاسَةَ الرَسْم أمامي..

ويطلبُ منّي أن أرسُمَ له سُنبُلَة قَمحْ.

أُمْسِكُ القلم..

وأرسُمُ له مسدَّساً..

يسخرُ إبني من جهلي في فنّ الرسمْ

ويقولُ مستغرباً:

ألا تعرف يا أبي الفرقَ بين السُنْبُلَةِ .. والمُسدَّسْ؟

أقولُ يا وَلَدي..

كنتُ أعرف في الماضي شكْل السنبلَهْ

وشَكْلَ الرغيفْ

وشَكْلَ الوردَهْ..

أما في هذا الزمن المعدنيّ

الذي انضمَّت فيه أشجارُ الغابة

إلى رجال الميليشْيَاتْ

وأصبحت فيه الوردةُ تلبس الملابسَ المُرقَّطَهْ..

في زمن السنابلِ المسلَّحهْ

والعصافيرِ المسلَّحهْ

والديانةِ المسلّحهْ..

فلا رغيفَ أشتريه..

إلا وأجدُ في داخله مسدَّساً

ولا وردةً أقطفُها من الحقل

إلا وترفع سلاحَها في وجهي

ولا كتابَ أشتريه من المكتبهْ

إلا وينفجر بين أصابعي...

4

يجلسُ إبني على طرف سريري

ويطلُبُ مني أن أسمعَهُ قصيدَهْ

تسْقُطُ مني دمعةٌ على الوسادَهْ

فيلتقطها مذهولاً.. ويقول:

" ولكنَّ هذه دمعةٌ ، يا أبي ، وليست قصيدَهْ".

أقولُ له:

عندما تكبُرُ يا وَلَدي..

وتقرأُ ديوانَ الشعر العربيّْ

سوفَ تعرفُ أن الكلمةَ والدمعةَ شقيقتانْ

وأن القصيدةَ العربيّهْ..

ليستْ سوى دمعةٍ تخرجُ من بين الأصابعْ..

5

يضعُ إبني أقلامَهُ ، وعلبةَ ألوانه أمامي

ويطلب منّي أن أرسمَ له وَطَناً..

تهتزُّ الفرْشَاةُ في يدي..

وأَسْقُطُ باكياً...


Good site: www.adab.com

[Shahida]

 

Jannah, JazakiAllahu khairun!!! I knew the Arabic was longer, as I had read it somewhere before...I dunno why they didnt translate everything? weird.

Thanks sooooooo much...let me know where to send those strawberries!!! 

Keep posting
Salam
Shahida

[Jannah]

Here's my very rough translation of part ii:
(artistic license taken to match the other translator)

My son places his pencil box in front of me
and asks me to draw an ocean for him.
I take the pencil,
and draw a black circle.
"...But this is a black circle, Father,
Don't you know, how to draw an ocean?
and don't you know, the color of the ocean is blue?"
I tell him, "Son,
once I was once clever at drawing the ocean
But they took the rod from me
and the fishing boat...
and stopped me from conversing with the color blue
and fishing for fish that were free."