Sunday, September 18, 2011

Shahryar, on the two thousandth night



"What troubles your soul, Shahryar,

A stranger you seem to me

Am I not the secret of secrets?

In my  face the joy of darkness gone by

In my gaze the mystery of a dangerous night

and my beauty, future’s distant answer

to an impossible from yesterday’s sigh ?"



“Scheherazade,

Two thousand nights have passed

And still your words are Unknown

Are you a form of reality,

Or a lie from the dawn of time ?

Are you of the human race,

Or the daughter of nature herself ?

Born to imprison my soul in her chambers,

That I may forget my limitless space

And her hazlenut eyes

Confine the meaning of existence

Who are you ? What are you ?

If your soul cannot lift the mystery

Then I shall find in the sands of deserts

In the illusions of the skies

In the shades of never-ending forests,

That which shall free me from the chain

Of a question that brings nothing but pain”



“Run away, child

to taste the fruits of forgetfulness

yet in the what the desert offers of sands,

what the trees offer of shade

what the skies offer of stars

what the birds offer in prayers

You shall find of me a vision

And you shall return, a man:

I am all that was

All that is

All that shall be,

No mortal man has me yet unveiled

For if fate ever shows,

your anxious soul

A glimpse of my own,

Would you bear my existence

Beyond the light of one  dawn?"






By Comte Almaviva

Saturday, May 07, 2011

يا زهرة الأمل

يا زهرة الأمل في الحياة                        
                         لا تبك فدمعك دمع السماء
يا قبلةً علت على ظلم البشر                     
                           للبشر في بقائك البقاء
يا نار مضيئة   منذ الأزل                    
                         في ذكرك معنى الحب والدعاء  
يا روح العلم علمي الإنسان                  
                          ما لم يعلم من روح الرجاء
فهو ذكر أن الموت بحق                      
                       ونسى أن ما القتل بقضاء
يا زهرة الأمل في الحياة                      
لا تبك، فدمعك دمع السماء


By Comte Almaviva

Friday, April 29, 2011

Carmen, love is a bohemian child

When will I love you?
My word! I don’t have a clue
Perhaps never…
Perhaps tomorrow
But now is not the time
That is certain


Love is a rebellious bird
That nothing-no one
Ever could tame
And it’s in vain
That we call for it
If it suits it to refuse
Nothing will do
Threats or prayer
One speaks well,
The other is mute
And it is the other I prefer
He says naught
Yet he pleases me most!


Love is a bohemian child
That never knows any rule or law
If you love me not
I’ll love you
And if I love you…
stay alert! Watch out!



That bird you thought
You could surprise
Flutters its wings
And flies away
Love is far – you can wait
The wait is over – here it is!
All around you
Hurry! Hurry!
It comes
It goes
And it comes back
When You think you caught it
It escapes
But try to escape
And it catches you


Love is a bohemian child
That never knows any rule or law
If you love me not
I’ll love you
And if I love you…
stay alert! Watch out!



translated by Comte Almaviva

Monday, April 25, 2011

كتبت من الخيال

كتبت من الخيال

قبل الإحتفال

فصارت خليلة الروح

وصارت معنى لسؤال

لا معنى له

إلا في قلب ذلك  الذي لا يحيا

سوى بين جلدتي كتاب

والقلم لا يعرف إلا  السراب


من هي؟

ذات العيون الصافية

والصوت العذب كطير الجنان ؟

أهي شهرزاد أم إيزيس؟

تلك التي وجدت منذ الأزل

منذ قبل ما قبل فجر الخليقة

فبقيت في ثنايا الروح خافية

إلى أن أخرجها إلى النور وحي قلمك

 فصرت تراها  في عيني كل إمرأة

فتغدو في  كل إمرأة صفة الكمال

إلى أن تدرك أن لها حقيقة

غير  التي في مرآة نفسك

فتلك صنيعة الأحلام

أما هذي فتخاطب فيك الإنسان

وقدر الكاتب قدران

له نصف  قلبٌ كقلوب البشر

ينشد تلك السعادة الفانية

وله نصف  قلبٌ يتقن فن الهروب

ولا يهرب إلا في  دروب الأوهام


وما كان للقلم أن يحيا

دون أن تتصارع في الروح

تلك الأمواج العاتية!




Sunday, April 24, 2011

Pygmalion and Galatea, a lyrical poem (all 5 scenes)

Scene 1: Pygmalion, in the middle of the night, reaches the altar of Venus in her temple, and throws himself in front of her statue

Pygmalion :


Tonight I pray to thee Venus

Forgive this sorrowful heart

Who knew no one but Appolo

The giver of reason and of Art

And  of ambitions ever unbound

who  set my spirit on fire

to rise above this finite land

to seek over Mount Olympus

what is beyond the Genius

of both man and immortal god.

And I  set within the marble stone

The music of Appolo’s  lyre

day after day, with this mortal hand

I soared above what  gods aspire

Galatea, the name I carved in words

Unadorned she was, unequal was pure gold

She was my victory, over all you gods

For no god ever made perfect man

Yet that night, perfection was mine to hold !

But where Genius rose ever higher

The void left was filled with desire,

One lonely night not before too long

I sang to her, she offer’d back no song

And where whisper’d tales with tears I told

Her eyes were idle, her palms were cold

Tonight I pray to thee Venus !

Take back all the Genius of my soul

Take back Appolo’s poisoned chalice

Of gods, I no longer wish the role

Breath in her the gift of love and life

That I may find by her, warmth in night

That I  may know how mortal fates unite

Make imperfect this - my perfection

Take  Galatea, my miracle of creation

Give me Galatea the human, the wife !



Scene 2 : Dialogue of Venus and Appolo, in front of a magic fountain showing both Venus’s temple and Galatea in Pygmalion’s cottage



Venus


Witness my victory god of Art

god of Genius, music and Mind

Your proudest creation has a heart

His vows to Appolo, this night unsigned

How unwise, brother, to think a man

May rise to take the role of  god

When we spelled the frailties of mankind

Between heart and reason their choice was made:

Without reason, man may live his life

Yet not a day – by Cupid- from love apart

Appolo :

Our powers are vast but minds finite

While  limitless is man’s imagination

gods create the man, who works the night

to rise above us in his own creation

Galatea her name –lifeless she stands

Yet holds  Pygmalion’s genius and soul

He did not pray Venus, yet still knew love

For Is Galatea the work of  just the hands,

When each night watered with the artist’s tears?

I ask you sister, not to hear his cries

For if you breath into her a mortal life

Happiness he may know, but for a day

If tonight he calls her his love, his wife

Tomorrow she’ll be  a Memory of

your crime against labour and  perfection

Begrudge him not  the sorrows of his heart

Such is his fate to seek his happiness

In making the immortal, from a mortal mind

Do not destroy the miracle of his Art

In the name of the  lonely winter’s tears


For if Galatea is the artist’s lasting miracle,

we the gods made the human’s fears

Venus :

I do not live to do favours for man

Be he a genius or a petty thief

But  prayers of love I cannot deny

should they bring joy, misery or grief

You see in  Galatea your victory

When the artist rose over Olympus high?

Yet Pygmalion shall be my triumph

In her love he’ll find eternal belief !

(She raises her hands)

Cupid ! Prepare your quiver for the game

Tonight thine arrows shall cover the sky !


Scene 3  Galatea, kneeling by the sleeping  Pygmalion in their cottage


Galatea

What is the secret of existence

But a divine gift that was twice received ?

Once, the genius of Art gave instance

Thence, from gods’ breath the  spirit conceived ?

Pygmalion, husband, creator,  friend, and  love

Is it a glimpse of sorrow on your face ?

My life span is a  year, spent by your side

Wherein you showered me with kisses each dawn

Yet tonight, of your  love, I see no trace

 Tonight, I see the veil  that masks a fear

but I shall ask  not for the truth unveiled

Let not the eyes search for false happiness

That was not meant for a human to find

Swear an eternal love  as you did the day

you forewent Reason in the will to pray

When with a breath of Venus I came to life

Know that if Galatea once was the work of the mind

None  but the name  remains in your wife

Ageless  stone may tell of miracles, but will not love

Yet our mortal hearts are forever entwined




Scene 4: Pygmalion, walking alone under a moonlit night



Pygmalion:

One night  I thought my genius rose

Above the fates of gods and their creation

For once the spirit denied the mortal laws

No god deterred a limitless    imagination

Galatea was the child of my mind

Years I worked in the stillness of the night

When  man and beast close their idle eyes

And lived without both man’s truth and lies

While I labored for an image of perfection

She was both companion to the mind and heart

With  with the spirit content, with the labor done

I declared that over you gods I’d won

For there she stood, of my victory the annunciation

Yet when minds grow weary, the heart takes the stage

Hitherto freedom was a limitless quest

Yet now it was a human desire

I denied Appolo, and cursed my fate:

That while my spirit may roam far above

I shall be creator of beauty, yet know not love

And with a heart full of sorrow and of rage

I prayed Venus, to make human out of divine

An earthly love out of a perfect design

Thence for a year I saw happiness in Galatea

And embraced the bars of this blissful cage

But while Galatea received the gift of life

She no longer was the creature of my dream

Day after day, my gift to her the more withdrawn

conquered by a  god’s curse: that she may know time

She could not show love when of marble stone

Yet she was my gift to a never-ending future

That ever lives in hope of a new dawn

Venus! My Galatea was eternal

But yours shall know that hourglass we call age

The Artist creates beyond the laws of time

But when gods conspire with the human inside

Everlasting Art,  ever the victim of their crime!

Venus! No love is true with the spirit tied

Take back that which is a cruel imitation

Take back what you gave in the name of heart

Give back the product of Mind’s creation

 Give back my gift to a distant generation

Return to me the genius of my Art!






(Scene 5, Appolo and Venus, looking at Pygmalion through his window)


Appolo


Your victory was but an illusion

And soon all is what it was meant to be

Needless was the divine intrusion

Unworthy was Venus’s inclusion

Of what Pygmalion’s heart was not  to see
`
Give him back that Galatea of yore

Not the creature of heart but of his dreams

Although at your altar he might implore

His bliss is the mystery of lifeless stone

That carries mortal thoughts to an immortal shore


Venus:

He will get back his unmoving creation

Today, he renounced both Venus and love

What I gave him was the true liberation

From bondage of a never-ending quest
 
Of a mind ever weary and a heart oppressed

 Your gift to him shall be his eternal curse

If today Reason triumphed over his heart

Think not that his first bliss he is to find

For if you give the blind one moment of sight

Will he ever be happy when back in the dark?

I shall take from Galatea life’s spark

Yet in his heart I shall keep that seed of love

That whenever his spirit rises far above

And while he swears to live from love apart

His gaze shall always be that of mortal man

He may create a perfect image from perfect stone

Yet shall know the memory of dispossession

His eyes forever searching for what he lost

Through a cruel prayer in a cruel night

If my work ruined the genius of his Art

Giving her a soul that knows the laws of time

His work too shall carry the recall of a crime

In a woman’s memory he shall live his days

That, Appolo, shall be your curse and my revenge

Until that eternal cycle is complete

The day  Pygmalion kneels at my altar and prays!



By Comte Almaviva 

Pygmalion and Galatea, a lyrical poem - Scene 5 (final scene)

(Scene 5, Appolo and Venus, looking at Pygmalion through his window)


Appolo


Your victory was but an illusion

And soon all is what it was meant to be

Needless was the divine intrusion

Unworthy was Venus’s inclusion

Of what Pygmalion’s heart was not  to see
`
Give him back that Galatea of yore

Not the creature of heart but of his dreams

Although at your altar he might implore

His bliss is the mystery of lifeless stone

That carries mortal thoughts to an immortal shore


Venus:

He will get back his unmoving creation

Today, he renounced both Venus and love

What I gave him was the true liberation

From bondage of a never-ending quest
 
Of a mind ever weary and a heart oppressed

 Your gift to him shall be his eternal curse

If today Reason triumphed over his heart

Think not that his first bliss he is to find

For if you give the blind one moment of sight

Will he ever be happy when back in the dark?

I shall take from Galatea life’s spark

Yet in his heart I shall keep that seed of love

That whenever his spirit rises far above

And while he swears to live from love apart

His gaze shall always be that of mortal man

He may create a perfect image from perfect stone

Yet shall know the memory of dispossession

His eyes forever searching for what he lost

Through a cruel prayer in a cruel night

If my work ruined the genius of his Art

Giving her a soul that knows the laws of time

His work too shall carry the recall of a crime

In a woman’s memory he shall live his days

That, Appolo, shall be your curse and my revenge

Until that eternal cycle is complete

The day  Pygmalion kneels at my altar and prays!

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Pygmalion a lyrical poem - Scene 4

Scene 4: Pygmalion, walking alone under a moonlit night

Pygmalion:

One night  I thought my genius rose

Above the fates of gods and their creation

For once the spirit denied the mortal laws

No god deterred a limitless    imagination

Galatea was the child of my mind

Years I worked in the stillness of the night

When  man and beast close their idle eyes

And lived without both man’s truth and lies

While I labored for an image of perfection

She was both companion to the mind and heart

With  with the spirit content, with the labor done

I declared that over you gods I’d won

For there she stood, of my victory the annunciation

Yet when minds grow weary, the heart takes the stage

Hitherto freedom was a limitless quest

Yet now it was a human desire

I denied Appolo, and cursed my fate:

That while my spirit may roam far above

I shall be creator of beauty, yet know not love

And with a heart full of sorrow and of rage

I prayed Venus, to make human out of divine

An earthly love out of a perfect design

Thence for a year I saw happiness in Galatea

And embraced the bars of this blissful cage

But while Galatea received the gift of life

She no longer was the creature of my dream

Day after day, my gift to her the more withdrawn

conquered by a  god’s curse: that she may know time

She could not show love when of marble stone

Yet she was my gift to a never-ending future

That ever lives in hope of a new dawn

Venus! My Galatea was eternal

But yours shall know that hourglass we call age

The Artist creates beyond the laws of time

But when gods conspire with the human inside

Everlasting Art,  ever the victim of their crime!

Venus! No love is true with the spirit tied

Take back that which is a cruel imitation

Take back what you gave in the name of heart

Give back the product of Mind’s creation

 Give back my gift to a distant generation

Return to me the genius of my Art!



 By Comte Almaviva

Monday, April 18, 2011

Pygmalion a lyrical poem - Scene 3

Scene 3  Galatea, kneeling by the sleeping  Pygmalion in their cottage

Galatea

What is the secret of existence

But a divine gift that was twice received ?

Once, the genius of Art gave instance

Thence, from gods’ breath the  spirit conceived ?

Pygmalion, husband, creator,  friend, and  love

Is it a glimpse of sorrow on your face ?

My life span is a  year, spent by your side

Wherein you showered me with kisses each dawn

Yet tonight, of your  love, I see no trace

 Tonight, I see the veil  that masks a fear

but I shall ask  not for the truth unveiled

Let not the eyes search for false happiness

That was not meant for a human to find

Swear an eternal love  as you did the day

you forewent Reason in the will to pray

When with a breath of Venus I came to life

Know that if Galatea once was the work of the mind

None  but the name  remains in your wife

Ageless  stone may tell of miracles, but will not love

Yet our mortal hearts are forever entwined

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Fadwa Touqan - liberty of a people

Liberty of a People - Fadwa Touqan 

My Liberty!
My Liberty!
My Liberty!

A cry I repeat
With anger’s very mouth
Under the bullets
Within the circle of fire
Inspite of my shackles
I run behind her
Inspite of the darkness
I follow her steps
And I remain
Carried on the tide of anger
Fighting, crying, “My Liberty!”
My Liberty!
My Liberty!
The sacred river
And the bridges
Echo my words
My Liberty!

And the two banks
Echo my words
My Liberty!
The pathways of the angry wind
Thunder, rain and hurricanes
In my homeland
Echo my words
My Liberty!
My Liberty! My Liberty! My Liberty!

Resisting, I shall engrave her name
In the earth
In the walls
In the doors
On the balconies
On the altar of the Virgin Mary
In the Mosques
In the farm roads
On every hill top and every slope
Every corner and every street
Every prison every torture chamber
On the wood of the gallows
Against all the chains
Against the destruction of the homes
Against the flames and fires
I shall engrave her name
Until I see it spread
in my homeland
Growing,
Growing
And Growing
Until it covers every inch of the land
Until the red freedom opens every door
The night escapes,
The light knocks down
The foundation of the fog
My Liberty!
My Liberty!
The sacred river
And the bridges
Echo my words
My Liberty!

And the two banks
Echo my words
My Liberty!
The pathways of the angry wind
Thunder, rain and hurricanes
In my homeland
Echo my words
My Liberty!
My Liberty! My Liberty! My Liberty!


Translated by Comte Almaviva

Pygmalion a lyrical poem - Scenes 1 and 2

This will be my attempt at writing a quasi-lyric poem about the legend of Pygmalion and Galatea, the theme being the eternal struggle of the mind, the logic that aspires towards perfection and the heart, which does not hold perfection as a condition for love. I have not fully respected the meters of English poetry and the rhyme is not rigid, but I kept it loosely there so that it sounds more musical without constraining the meaning to the form. below are scenes 1 and 2.  I will add the other scenes in future posts.

As a clarification, this poem is based on Tawfiq al Hakim's symbolic theater play. 
 


Scene 1: Pygmalion, in the middle of the night, reaches the altar of Venus in her temple, and throws himself in front of her statue

Pygmalion :


Tonight I pray to thee Venus

Forgive this sorrowful heart

Who knew no one but Appolo

The giver of reason and of Art

And  of ambitions ever unbound

who  set my spirit on fire

to rise above this finite land

to seek over Mount Olympus

what is beyond the Genius

of both man and immortal god.

And I  set within the marble stone

The music of Appolo’s  lyre

day after day, with this mortal hand

I soared above what  gods aspire

Galatea, the name I carved in words

Unadorned she was, unequal was pure gold

She was my victory, over all you gods

For no god ever made perfect man

Yet that night, perfection was mine to hold !

But where Genius rose ever higher

The void left was filled with desire,

One lonely night not before too long

I sang to her, she offer’d back no song

And where whisper’d tales with tears I told

Her eyes were idle, her palms were cold

Tonight I pray to thee Venus !

Take back all the Genius of my soul

Take back Appolo’s poisoned chalice

Of gods, I no longer wish the role

Breath in her the gift of love and life

That I may find by her, warmth in night

That I  may know how mortal fates unite

Make imperfect this - my perfection

Take  Galatea, my miracle of creation

Give me Galatea the human, the wife !



Scene 2 : Dialogue of Venus and Appolo, in front of a magic fountain showing both Venus’s temple and Galatea in Pygmalion’s cottage



Venus


Witness my victory god of Art

god of Genius, music and Mind

Your proudest creation has a heart

His vows to Appolo, this night unsigned

How unwise, brother, to think a man

May rise to take the role of  god

When we spelled the frailties of mankind

Between heart and reason their choice was made:

Without reason, man may live his life

Yet not a day – by Cupid- from love apart

Appolo :

Our powers are vast but minds finite

While  limitless is man’s imagination

gods create the man, who works the night

to rise above us in his own creation

Galatea her name –lifeless she stands

Yet holds  Pygmalion’s genius and soul

He did not pray Venus, yet still knew love

For Is Galatea the work of  just the hands,

When each night watered with the artist’s tears?

I ask you sister, not to hear his cries

For if you breath into her a mortal life

Happiness he may know, but for a day

If tonight he calls her his love, his wife

Tomorrow she’ll be  a Memory of

your crime against labour and  perfection

Begrudge him not  the sorrows of his heart

Such is his fate to seek his happiness

In making the immortal, from a mortal mind

Do not destroy the miracle of his Art

In the name of the  lonely winter’s tears


For if Galatea is the artist’s lasting miracle,

we the gods made the human’s fears

Venus :

I do not live to do favours for man

Be he a genius or a petty thief

But  prayers of love I cannot deny

should they bring joy, misery or grief

You see in  Galatea your victory

When the artist rose over Olympus high?

Yet Pygmalion shall be my triumph

In her love he’ll find eternal belief !

(She raises her hands)

Cupid ! Prepare your quiver for the game

Tonight thine arrows shall cover the sky !

Friday, April 15, 2011

Pygmalion a lyrical poem - Scene 2

Scene 2 : Dialogue of Venus and Appolo, in front of a magic fountain showing both Venus’s temple and Galatea in Pygmalion’s cottage





Venus


Witness my victory god of Art

god of Genius, music and Mind

Your proudest creation has a heart

His vows to Appolo, this night unsigned

How unwise, brother, to think a man

May rise to take the role of  god

When we spelled the frailties of mankind

Between heart and reason their choice was made:

Without reason, man may live his life

Yet not a day – by Cupid- from love apart

Appolo :

Our powers are vast but minds finite

While  limitless is man’s imagination

gods create the man, who works the night

to rise above us in his own creation

Galatea her name –lifeless she stands

Yet holds  Pygmalion’s genius and soul

He did not pray Venus, yet still knew love

For Is Galatea the work of  just the hands,

When each night watered with the artist’s tears?

I ask you sister, not to hear his cries

For if you breath into her a mortal life

Happiness he may know, but for a day

If tonight he calls her his love, his wife

Tomorrow she’ll be  a Memory of

your crime against labour and  perfection

Begrudge him not  the sorrows of his heart

Such is his fate to seek his happiness

In making the immortal, from a mortal mind

Do not destroy the miracle of his Art

In the name of the  lonely winter’s tears


For if Galatea is the artist’s lasting miracle,

we the gods made the human’s fears

Venus :

I do not live to do favours for man

Be he a genius or a petty thief

But  prayers of love I cannot deny

should they bring joy, misery or grief

You see in  Galatea your victory

When the artist rose over Olympus high?

Yet Pygmalion shall be my triumph

In her love he’ll find eternal belief !

(She raises her hands)

Cupid ! Prepare your quiver for the game

Tonight thine arrows shall cover the sky !



By Comte Almaviva




Thursday, April 14, 2011

To that woman resisting oppression

Her pain is  sundered from speech
She lives  a  modern tragedy
But where hope seems out of reach
In her pure heart is  the remedy

In shadows  of their twisted mind
How fore’er they pushed her to hate !
They dug – but naught were they to find
for love – her heart’s  one only state !

Justice no longer is  a distant dream
When cries  echoe in nightingale’s wings
When sighs glide  in the waters of a stream
When through her voice, an angel sings

And  tyrants know their end is nigh
Lack of Mercy :  a sign of the weak
Those oppressed, with spirits held high
Will live – and e’er higher they shall seek

Her heart is split in two, yet both are strong
One half resists,  the other shall  pray
But soon they meet, and  their  hopeful song
Shall end the night and bring the light of day

By Comte Almaviva

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Pygmalion and Galatea, a lyrical poem - Scene 1

This will be my attempt at writing a quasi-lyric poem about the legend of Pygmalion and Galatea, the theme being the eternal struggle of the mind, the logic that aspires towards perfection and the heart, which does not hold perfection as a condition for love. I have not fully respected the meters of English poetry and the rhyme is not rigid, but I kept it loosely there so that it sounds more musical without constraining the meaning to the form. This is scene one and I will add the other scenes in future posts.

Scene one : Pygmalion at the altar of Venus, the middle of the night.

 Pygmalion :


Tonight I pray to thee Venus

Forgive this sorrowful heart

Who knew no one but Appolo

The giver of reason and of Art

And  of ambitions ever unbound

who  set my spirit on fire

to rise above this finite land

to seek over Mount Olympus

what is beyond the Genius

of both man and immortal god.

And I  set within the marble stone

The music of Appolo’s  lyre

day after day, with this mortal hand

I soared above what  gods aspire

Galatea, the name I carved in words

Unadorned she was, unequal was pure gold

She was my victory, over all you gods

For no god ever made perfect man

Yet that night, perfection was mine to hold !

But where Genius rose ever higher

The void left was filled with desire,

One lonely night not before too long

I sang to her, she offer’d back no song

And where whisper’d tales with tears I told

Her eyes were idle, her palms were cold

Tonight I pray to thee Venus !

Take back all the Genius of my soul

Take back Appolo’s poisoned chalice

Of gods, I no longer wish the role

Breath in her the gift of love and life

That I may find by her, warmth in night

That I  may know how mortal fates unite

Make imperfect this - my perfection

Take  Galatea, my miracle of creation

Give me Galatea the human, the wife !

Saturday, April 02, 2011

Re-post Atlas the bearer of the earth


Me:

“Atlas!
Atlas!

Why do you bear
The weight of the earth?
Let me be your heir
Let go of your bane
Your freedom go regain:
The laughter and the mirth!”

Atlas:

“Why do you want my load?
Can’t you see my plight?”

Me:

“My heart is heavy
With the sorrow of the world
Yet my hands are idle
Why should they not share
The burden of my heart?


Atlas:

“And what burdens you soul,
That you’d want my accursed role?”

Me:

“Every human lie
Every human sigh
Every child’s cry
Injustice in my land
The cruelty of the hand
That kills without shame
The loss of mercy
From all the hearts
The twilight of humanity’s flame”


Atlas:

“Be gone!
Be you early! Be you late
You’re not ready
To carry the weight

I don’t hear the cries
I don’t hear the sighs
I don’t hear the lies
As long as you can grieve
You can’t bear my weight
Least of all my fate
That broken hearts should come
Ask for my accursed load
Listen to my words
--Then Leave!

By Comte Almaviva

Of wisdom and of hearts

Wisdom   is  a hindrance
As heavy as moon and   earth
Denying your existence,
Both  laughter and its mirth!


A Mockery when per chance
But woe once true and  earned
its  learning defeats  the dance
The heart – forever unlearned


T’is but a sign of age
And Love can’t exist demure
For once one claims you’re sage
No temptress shall hold a lure!


Yet,  know She’ll come one day
In both her joy and lament:
Unwise wisdom, shall give way
To  a heart  fore’er content


By Comte Almaviva

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Of beautiful insults and of ugly praise

Oscar Wilde says that "the artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim... There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written, that is all. "
I would like to add that a  poet can be an  artist too, when poems do  follow the same rules. A poem can elevate or demean, praise or insult, but it will still either be well written, or badly written. That is forever the reflection of its creator, and never a reflection of the subject. Whether it  is charging light brigades or ancient  mariners or prisoners in Chillon or talking ravens, the subject always bends its will to the beauty in the form. If a poem insults to gain revenge, or praises to win a  love, or aspires  for historical accuracy, it ceases to be art, and the poet ceases to be an artist.
This poem is really just a bit of fun with words, it might be construed as insulting, but the insults are subject to the form, and, as such, are far away from slander.

"Hitherto Reason gone" 

Hitherto  Reason gone
Wherefore I lost my way?
what fool to think it sun,
which brings no light of day!

for when in you shall shine
a perennial fiery light
of truth, forever my sign :
The darkness of the night!

No flower but a thorn
as needles is your sway
A needle, I won't mourn :
where is my stack of hay?

By Comte Almaviva

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

From Mahmood Darwish's Edward Said homage, seems pertinent to many nowadays


These are excerpts from a translation I did for the poem (full poem in my translations page on the right)

...
“And what of identity?”
“Nothing but self-defense
Identity is the child of birth
Yet, in the end, is the creativity
Of our own self
There is no inheritance of a past
I am the manifold
Within, is my ever renewing without
But I still belong to the victim’s question
Had I not been from there,
I would have trained my heart to raise,
-over there
The deer of metaphor
So carry your homeland
Wherever you may go-
And be a narcissist if you must!”

....

He loves a land and leaves it behind
“Neither he, nor I
But a reader wondering
What poetry might say amidst catastrophe
Blood
and Blood
and Blood
in your Homeland
In my name, in your name,
In the almond flower, in a banana’s peel
In an enfant’s milk
In light and in shadow
In the grain of wheat, in the salt jar/
Skilled snipers who always hit their target
Blood
And Blood
And Blood
This land is too small
for the blood of its children
Who stand as offering at the doorsteps of resurrection
Is this land truly blessed or is it anointed
With Blood
And Blood
And Blood
Neither sand nor prayer can dry this blood
Justice in the pages of the holy book
Isn’t enough for the martyrs
To enjoy the liberty of walking atop the clouds.
Blood in the day,
Blood in the dark
Blood in the words
He says: The poem may play host to defeat,
A ray of light glittering in the heart of a Guitar
A messiah on a horse wounded
by the beauty of metaphor.
The beautiful is nothing but the presence
Of reality in the form!

Romeo and Juliet in popular neighborhood scene II - the balcony scene

روميو وجولييت بتوع حارة شعبية 
، المشهد الثاني 

المشهد الثاني - منظر البلكونة


(الطقس عاصف، روميو ملتحف ببطانية في زقاق مظلم وراء بناية الحاج عوض)


روميو: جولييت، جولييت! ردي علي بقى ، دة الوقت إتأخر والبرد واكل صوابعي (يلتقط تفاحة من على الأرض بقرف ويرميها على شباك البلكون، ثم يدرك أنه غير متأكد أي غرفة هي غرفة جولييت) يا دهوتي! أعمل إيه دلوقت؟ أنا مش عاوز أروح شهيد لا للحب ولا لغيره! ده أنا حتى بيغمى علي عند حكيم الأسنان! (يختبئ  وراء برميل القمامة)

جولييت (تظهر بملابس النوم على البلكونة) : مين إللي هناك!

روميو : أنا روميو يا جولييت

جولييت : سي روميو؟ ليش متأخر كدة؟

روميو : أنا؟ بقالي هنا في البرد   ساعتين، اتأخرت إنت ليه؟

جولييت : اتأخرت ليه؟ هو أنا خاتم بصباعك أروح وأجي زي ما إنت عايز؟ اشكر ربك اني جيت، وعلى كل حال ما هي الساعة نص الليل

روميو : الساعة اتنين الصبح

جولييت: آه تمام اتنين يعني نص الليل أمال  يعني إيه؟ غروب الشمس؟

روميو : جولييت، أنا استحمل الشمس والمطر والبرد علشانك، بس ما أتحملش بعدك ، انتي بتحبيني بجد يا جولييت؟

جولييت: روميو ، قبل ما رد على سؤالك يعني من غير مؤاخذة عايزاك تحلفلي انك بتحبني بجد

روميو : أحلف...

جولييت: تحلف بإيه يا سي روميو؟

روميو: أحلف... بالعيش ولملح

جولييت: يا دهوتي ! بالعيش والملح  ؟ هي دي آخرتك يا جولييت ؟ بعد ناقص كمان تحلفلي بالفسيخ وببرميل الملوحة

روميو : إنت بتعيريني يعني؟ ومالو الفسيخ؟ ده اللي علمني ورباني ووداني المدرسة والكلية

جولييت: خلي عندك شوية رومانسية يا أخي، هو انت في الجامعة ما قريتش رواية ؟

روميو : قريت...

جولييت: خلاص ، إحلفلي بحاجة من بتوع الروايات

روميو : زي إيه يعني ؟

جولييت: احلف بالقمر

روميو: بالقمر ؟

جولييت: ايوه، قل لي "أحلفلك بالقمر ، بالقمر الذي  بزين بالفضة مثمر الشجر "

روميو: خلاص أحلف بالقمر

جولييت: القمر إللي إيه؟

روميو: بالقمر الذي يزين بالفضة...  (يتعثر بالباقي )

 جولييت: مثمر الشجر

روميو: أيوه ده

جولييت : لا تحلف بالقمر يا حبيبي، ده بيتغير كل شهر ، أحسن أخاف ان حبك لي يتغير زي القمر

روميو: خلص بقى أحلف بالعيش والملح، دي حاجة مستقرة تبقى أبدية

جولييت: رجعنا للعيش والملح؟

روميو: طيب بالقمر

جولييت: لا يا روميو يا حبيبي ، ما تحلفليش بالقمر

روميو: خلاص، أحلف بأبوي الحاج سلامة

جولييت: بالحاج  سلامة؟ بعد ده اللي كان ناقص انت إنسان معندكش حس شاعري خالص

روميو : لا قمر ولا شجر ولا عيش ولا ملح ولا أبوي ولا أمي، إيه الليلة المتهببة دي؟ انتي مش حترسي على بر بقى ؟

جولييت : انت بتطول لسانك علي يا جدع إنت؟ إن ما كنتش عاوز تتكلم عدل يبقى أحسن تخرس وتتكتم. إسمع لما أقولك يا روميو يا حقير، إن كنت ناوي على التخبيص، ده أنا جولييت  بنت عوض ما ليش كبير (تلتفت إلى الداخل ) يا أما يا أما، في حد بالشارع بعاكسني

(الست  زينات تظهر وفي يدها دلو ماء كبير )

الست زينات: خشي جوا يا جولييت إنت بتعملي إيه برا وج الصبح ؟ فين الكلب ده أنا ح وريه

(روميو يقف  مذهولاً فينزل دلو الماء عليه ، ثم يعود إلى رشده بسرعة، ويحتمي وراء برميل القمامة والماء ينهمر، ثم يحمل غطاء البرميل كدرع ويهرب إلى الشارع الرئيسي

روميو (لنفسه) : هو قمر وثمر وشجر وعيش وملح، هو أنا بضرب مندل حتى أعرف هي بتفكر ازاي ؟ أنا والله مأستحقش الذل ده كله !


(نهاية المشهد الثاني )


Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Romeo and Juliet in a popular neighborhood Scene 1 , روميو وجولييت بتوع حارة شعبية المشهد الأول



Scene 1, (the equivalent of the ball scene)



روميو وجولييت بتوع حارة شعبية 
المشهد الأول
(عرس أحد أولاد الحي)

روميو (سايب صحابه ورايح قاعد عل كرسي جنب جولييت ) : ما شاء الله ، اسمك إيه يا قمر!

جولييت : أفندم؟ أنا جوليت وإنت اسمك إيه يا خويا يلي شكلك ما  بتختشيش؟

روميو : محسوبك روميو ، إبن الحج سلامة 

جولييت : يا خيبتي، الحج   سلامة ؟ بتاع الفسيخ؟ ابعد الله يخليك أحسن ما يشوفك أبوي يروح موديني بستين داهية . هو أنا ناقصة؟

روميو : ومالو الفسخاني يا ولية إنت؟ رجل ملو هدومه، عنده عمارتين ، غير محلات الفسيخ والسمك المجمد

جولييت : لأ والنبي مش قصدي أقلل من القيمة ، واديك شكلك متعلم وحاطط كرافتة، بس هو إنت ماتعرفش إنه في عداوة قديمة بين أبوك وأبوية؟ قديمة أوي، من وقت حادثة التسمم

روميو: التسمم ؟

جولييت : أيوه، أصله كدا ولا مؤاخذة أبوك راح بايع أبوي حتتين فسيخ شكلهم فاسد، وراح فيهم اتنين من الزباين طوارئ ، وبعده مكدبكش خبر راحو  إشتكو في  القسم اللي راح  قافل المطعم بتاع أبوي بالشمع الأحمر مدة شهرين كدا، ومن وقتها أبوي حالف يمين إنو لو حد من عيلة الحج سلامة قرب صوب حد من عيلتنا، حيضربه بالهرواه على خلقته

روميو :  طب هو في مطعم في العالم بيقدم  فسيخ؟ على العموم  ،جولييت، أنا معجب فيك خلاص، مش من النهاردة على فكرة، ولكن من الشهر إلي فات، يوم مع شفتك عل كورنيش بتقزقزي لب، وأنا قلت البنت دي عندها "جي نه سي كوا "

جولييت : جي نه إيه يا  خوي؟ طيب خلاص امشي دلوقتي ، علشان الواد إبن عمي لسه زمان جي يوصلني البيت. يلا  سيبني بلاش فضايح يا سي روميو... 

روميو: جولييت، أنا عايز اشوفك تاني، أنا لازم اشوفك تاني

جولييت: طيب خلاص غلبت معاك... انت عارف البيت بتاعنا

روميو : لأ هو حاعرف منين؟

جولييت : إن ما كنتش عارف إسأل عن عمارة الحج عوض بتاع مطاعم "الأكل السليم" ، ألف مين يدلك، جانب العمارة في شارع صغير ما يوديش على أي حاجة، وفيه  بلا مؤاخذة كده برميل زبالة كبير. إبقى تعاله هناك صوب نص ليل وأندهلي برومنطيقية كدة من ورا البرميل ونتحدث براحتنا

روميو : حتوقفيني ورا الزبالة؟ ده أنا والنبي  عندي بكالوريوس هندسة

جولييت: كدة أضمن ، علشان لو والدي درى بينا أو شفني عالبلكونه أنبهك تروح مستخبي  وسط الزبالة في البرميل لوج الصبح. يلا روح بقا ده الواد إبن عمي وصل.
(جوليت تخرج من الصالة)

روميو : دي آخرتها بقا يا سي روميو ، تروح ناطط من برميل الزبالة. أما صحيح بقولو الحب أعمى، لأ ده أعمى وأهبل درجة أولى.

(يخرج)
نهاية المشهد الأول

 By Comte Almaviva
            

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Mihyar al Daylami - possibly my favorite classical poet ever

As not to end my weekend on a cynical note, before I go back to being a scientist,  this is one of my favorite poets that  we are not  taught in school, Mihyar al Daylami and possibly the best verses of praise  in  a woman 

قد قنعنا أن نرقبَ الأحلاما           لو أذنتم لمقلة ٍ أن تناما
لا أحلّ الفراقَ من رشإٍ في           كم أحلَّت نواه نفسا حراما
صار حظي من بعده عشق ذكرا    ه إلى أن عشقتُ فيه الملاما


translation (but it is so much better in arabic!)
I shall find contentment
Awaiting the passage of a dream
Should you give consent
For my eyelids to fall asleep

My separation from Rasha2 (Gazelle)
Did not create within me
As many forbidden breaths,
As the mere intent did make

The only fortune I held thereafter
Was so confined to the loving of her memory
That I even fell in love
 -- with reproach