Date: Sat, 26 Jan 2002 05:22:02 -0800 (PST)
From: Marwan Dalal <dmarwan-AT-yahoo.com>
Subject: Re: the famous poem of mahmoud darwish


i am afraid these poems are from the early darweesh,
the one who went through the palestinian experience in
lebanon. the later (current darweesh) is much more
sophisticated and aesthetic. as darweesh himself
acknowledges, he has been "born through fazes"
("woolidto ala marahel") as to his poetry writing. 

darweesh is now in ramallah, going through a similar
israeli siege as the one imposed in lebanon after the
israeli 1982 invasion to that country.

he is probably saying his famous words (freely
translated from arabic):
"i am my dreem. whenever the earth closes on me, i
broaden her"

"ana holomi. kollama dakat bia al-ard, wassatoha"

recommended is his translated poems:

Sand and Other Poems
by Mahmoud Darweesh, Rana Kabbani
(Translator)(Columbia U. Press, 2001)

and his prose on the palestinian experience in
lebanon:
Memory for Forgetfulness : August, Beirut, 1982

also, see said's culture and imperialism, the chapter
on yeats and decolonization.  


marwan

--- saeed urrehman <think-AT-riseup.net> wrote:
> here is some more information on mahmoud darwish
> collected from different 
> internet sites.
> 
> saeed
> _____
> Mahmoud Darwish was born in Al-Birwah near Akka in
> 1941. In 1948, the village 
> was attacked by the Zionists and its people left to
> other places. Darwish ran 
> away at the age of seven to find himself in Lebanon
> knowing nothing about his 
> family. A year later, he went back to Palestine to
> find his village totally 
> ruined and an Israeli settlement is in its place. 
> Darwish wrote his first poems when he was in the
> elementary school in the 
> village of Der Al-Asad. He was detained by the
> Israelis and was put under house 
> arrest several times. He was denied having a higher
> education. However he 
> managed to go to Moscow in 1970 from where he went
> to Cairo in 1971. He was the 
> head of The Palestinian Center for Research, editor
> of Shu'oon Falasteeniyyah 
> (Palestinian Affairs Magazine), head of The General
> Association of Palestinian 
> Writers and Journalists, editor of Al-Karmil
> Magazine of the GAPWJ, and lately 
> member of The Executive Committee of the PLO. He
> resigned from this position in 
> 1993.
> 
> 
> here are some other poems.
>
____________________________________________________________
> PASSPORT
> 
> They did not recognize me in the shadows
> That suck away my color in this Passport
> And to them my wound was an exhibit 
> For a tourist Who loves to collect photographs
> They did not recognize me,
> Ah . . . Dont't leave
> The palm of my hand without the sun
> Because the trees recognize me
> All the songs of the rain recognize me
> Dont' leave me pale like the moon!
> 
> All the birds that followed my palm
> To the door of the distant airport
> All the wheatfields
> All the prisons
> All the white tombstones
> All the barbed boundaries
> All the waving handkerchiefs
> All the eyes
> were with me,
> But they dropped them from my passport
> 
> Stripped of my name and identity?
> On a soil I nourished with my own hands?
> Today Job cried out
> Filling the sky:
> Don't make an example of me again!
> Oh, gentlemen, Prophets,
> Don't ask the trees for their names
> Don't ask the valleys who their mother is
> From my forehead bursts the sword of light
> And from my hand springs the water of the river
> All the hearts of the people are my identity
> So take away my passport! 
>
-----------------------------------------------------
> IDENTITY CARD
> 
> Write down!
> I am an Arab
> And my identity card number is fifty thousand
> I have eight children
> And the ninth will come after a summer
> Will you be angry?
> 
> Write down!
> I am an Arab
> Employed with fellow workers at a quarry
> I have eight children
> I get them bread
> Garments and books
> from the rocks..
> I do not supplicate charity at your doors
> Nor do I belittle myself at the footsteps of your
> chamber
> So will you be angry?
> 
> Write down!
> I am an Arab
> I have a name without a title
> Patient in a country
> Where people are enraged
> My roots
> Were entrenched before the birth of time
> And before the opening of the eras
> Before the pines, and the olive trees
> And before the grass grew
> 
> My father.. descends from the family of the plow
> Not from a privileged class
> And my grandfather..was a farmer
> Neither well-bred, nor well-born!
> Teaches me the pride of the sun
> Before teaching me how to read
> And my house is like a watchman's hut
> Made of branches and cane
> Are you satisfied with my status?
> I have a name without a title!
> 
> Write down!
> I am an Arab
> You have stolen the orchards of my ancestors
> And the land which I cultivated
> Along with my children
> And you left nothing for us
> Except for these rocks..
> So will the State take them
> As it has been said?!
> 
> Therefore!
> Write down on the top of the first page:
> I do not hate poeple
> Nor do I encroach
> But if I become hungry
> The usurper's flesh will be my food
> Beware..
> Beware..
> Of my hunger
> And my anger!
> 
> ----------------------------------------------------
> MY MOTHER
> 
> I long for my mother's bread
> My mother's coffee
> Her touch
> Childhood memories grow up in me
> Day after day
> I must be worth my life
> At the hour of my death
> Worth the tears of my mother
> 
> And if I come back one day
> Take me as a veil to your eyelashes
> Cover my bones with the grass
> Blessed by your footsteps
> Bind us together
> with a lock of your hair
> With a thread that trails from the back of your
> dress
> I might become immortal
> Become a god
> If I touch the depths of your heart
> 
> If I come back
> Use me as wood to feed your fire
> As the clothesline on the roof of your house
> Without your blessing
> I am too weak to stand
> 
> I am old
> Give me back the star maps of childhood
> So that I
> Along eith the swallows
> Can chart the path
> Back to your waiting nest
> 
> -----------------------------------------------
> RITA AND THE RIFLE
> 
> Between Rita and my eyes
> There is a rifle
> And whoever knows Rita
> kneels and prays
> for the divinity in those honey-colored eyes
> 
> And I kissed Rita 
> When she was young
> And I remember Rita how she approached
> And how my arms covered the lovliest of braids
> And I remember Rita
> The way a sparrow remembers its stream
> Ah, Rita
> Between us there are a million sparrows and images
> And many a rendezvous
> Fired at by a rifle
> 
> Rita's name was a feast in my mouth
> Rita's body was a wedding in my blood
> And i was lost in Rita for two years
> And for two years she slept on my arm
> And we made promises
> Over the most beautiful of cups
> And we burned in the wine of our lips
> 
=== message truncated ==

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