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Poetry by Maram al-Massri |
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Written by Maram al-Massri
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Wednesday, 16 January 2008 |
Editor’s note: This week’s Poetry Corner features the work of Maram al-Massri, a Syrian poet and translator living in France. Originally from Latakia, she studied English Literature at Damascus University and started publishing in the 1980s. She has published three books of poetry and won the Adonis Prize for Poetry in 1997 and the Premio Calopezzati in 2007. Her work has appeared in many international anthologies and been translated into French, English, Spanish, Corsican, Serbian and Italian. The following poems, taken from “A Red Cherry on a White-tiled Floor,” have been translated into English by Khaled Mattawa. He is the author of three books of poems. He teaches in the M.F.A. Creative Writing Program at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. 
34Because between us
there is no warm soup to eat
and lukewarm words to repeat…
Because between us
there is no longer anything
except a bed
where only mushrooms grow
and night that does not erase
the weariness of the day…
Because between us
there is nothing
but children
whom we serve
our delusions
on a plate…
Because we have become
more polite than strangers
and less than enemies
in our mutual admiration…
Because between us
there are no longer
any unbridled laughs
and innocent touches
and the taste
of bay leaves and honey
on our lips…
Because between us
there is no longer…
68Every night
he planned
her departure
and it pained him.
Every morning
he placed her in her hovel,
and it pleased him to see her
warm him with her love.
He waited for the right time
to tell her to leave.
But every time
he could not find the time.
She was starving and he was her feast;
she was naked and he was her clothes.
When he forgot her
she seemed to disappear,
and when he remembered her
he found her nosing his armpit.
He killed her
then saw her feet
in his shoes,
and her hot belly
resting against his side.
He found himself
beautiful in her bed
as she softly dishevelled
his well-groomed eyebrows,
and as she swept with her hair
the dust off his chest.
He spent his life
thinking
how a man like him
could leave
a woman
like her.
70A sparrow
dies in my hands.
It is no longer
warm and soft.
No thoughts
occupy it now,
and no dreams.
It dies like a day without love.
72Your pain
was not
more than a pin prick.
But as I turn around me
my pain
will be red
like a ripe cherry mashed
on a white
tile
when I see a smile
of relief
on the side of your mouth.
80What did I do in your absence?
I changed the water
in the goldish bowl,
I watered the small plant,
I regulated my breathing
and began knitting
the woollen sweater.
93I looked into my mirror
and saw
a woman
filled with contentment
and with bright eyes
and delicious mischief,
and I envied her.
103Like grains of salt
they shone
then melted.
This is how they disappeared,
those men
who did not love me.
Poems from “I Look to You”
20I know
I shouldn’t have
let him
uncover my breasts.
I only
wanted
to show him
I’m a woman.
I know
I shouldn’t
have let him
undress.
He only
wanted
to show me
he’s
a man.
30You must have
forgotten
your papers
and returned to retrieve them.
Or
a friend must have called
and began to chatter
as you were about to leave.
Or you must
be waiting for me
in another café.
45Not of sugar
or honey…
He’s made of fatigue
worries,
memories
and dreams,
hardship
and drought,
of grass and water,
wound up in illusions
and terrors.
56Old clothes
fill her wardrobe,
and children
come
in the evening
with a loud din
and low test scores.
A husband who abandoned her,
and a lover who no longer has
the time.
75She bequeathed her children
a mother who dreams,
dances,
and smiles.
A mother who weeps
and loves.
A mother without money
and who doesn’t mend socks.
A mother who writes poems
in a language they don’t understand
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