|
Written by Taha Muhammad Ali
|
|
Thursday, 14 June 2007 |
Editor’s note: Every month GT posts the work of a national poet on our website. This time around we reveal the work of beloved Palestinian poet, Taha Muhammad Ali. He is a self-taught wonder, who sold souvenirs during the day and who, at night, studied classical Arabic texts, American fiction and English Romantic poets. Born in Saffuryia, the Galilean village is at the heart of his poems. Ali and his family escaped to Lebanon during the Arab-Israeli War. He returned a year later to live in Nazareth, one mile away from the ruins of his former village. Ali will tour the United States this fall, starting as an international headliner at the Dodge poetry festival. For more information, visit coppercanyonpress.org/tahatour/.t
ABD EL-HADI FIGHTS A SUPERPOWER
In his life
he neither wrote nor read.
In his life he
didn’t cut down a single tree,
didn’t slit the throat
of a single calf.
In his life he did not speak
of the New York Times
behind its back,
didn’t raise
his voice to a soul
except in his saying:
“Come in, please,
by God, you can’t refuse.”
*
Nevertheless—
his case is hopeless,
his situation
desperate.
His God-given rights are a grain of salt
tossed into the sea.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury:
about his enemies
my client knows not a thing.
And I can assure you,
were he to encounter
the entire crew
of the aircraft carrier Enterprise,
he’d serve them eggs
sunny side up,
and labneh
fresh from the bag.
VII.1973
Warning
Lovers of hunting,
And beginners seeking your prey:
Don’t aim your rifles
at my happiness,
which isn’t worth
the price of the bullet
(you’d waste on it).
What seems to you
So nimble and fine,
like a fawn,
and flees
every which way,
like a partridge,
isn’t happiness.
Trust me:
my happiness bears
no relationship to happiness.
TWIGS
Neither music
fame nor wealth,
not even poetry itself,
could provide consolation
for life’s brevity,
or the fact that King Lear
is a mere eighty pages long, and comes to an end,
and for the thought that one might suffer greatly
on account of a rebellious child.
*
My love for you
is what’s magnificent,
but I, you, and the others,
most likely,
are ordinary people.
*
My poem
goes beyond poetry
because you
exist
beyond the realm of women.
*
And so
it has taken me
all of sixty years
to understand
that water is the finest drink,
and bread the most delicious food,
and that art is worthless
unless it plants
a measure of splendor in people’s hearts.
*
After we die,
and the weary heart
has lowered its final eyelid
on all that we’ve done,
and on all that we’ve longed for,
on all that we’ve dreamt of,
all we’ve desired
or felt,
hate will be
the first thing
to putrefy
within us.
1989–1991
 favorite (18) ~  quote ~ Views: 516
Powered by AkoComment Tweaked Special Edition v.1.4.2 |
