Selected Arabic Poetry

Hope

I keep hanging up my hopes
On the signs of the seashore preparing itself
For the oncoming summer
The ring of sand doesnt care for the meaning of writing
Nor is the cycle of the wave visible to the naked eye.

I am a friend of the friend of the sea
And an enemy of the enemy of the land
Between these two theres nothing but air
Some of it melting in the speeding wind
Some of it slow as a tortoise.
Between speed and slowness
I inhale the loneliness thats left.

My watch has become useless for all
Except for the one who wears it
Theres a time lag between the other side
Of the sea
And the other.

A place is marked only by the one who loves it
So Ill hang up my hopes
On the scaffold of distant hope
Once here once there
And when the right time comes
My watch will be left with no hands.

Naim Araide was born in 1950 in the mixed Arab-Druze town of Maghar, in the Upper Galilee. He was educated at the University of Haifa, where he majored in Hebrew literature and he received his Ph.D from Bar-Ilan University. He has published many collections of Arabic poetry, as well as a Hebrew collection in 1991. His poems were previously featured in Ariel no.76

Boredom

So many sleepless nights we spent in preference of the moon
Singing and charming the strings

And he who seduced us wove a boat
That adores the wave and loves to travel

Then we woke up to find our poems
A moan that weeps and complains against fate

So let the days seduce others
We have nothing left but boredom

Dont ask about us, for in our eyes
Silence has dried up both rain and dew

Fate has stricken but not wounded us nor
Did it stir up in our depth more than a stone

If we looked we would see our shadow
Carrying a trace of each death

So let the days seduce others
We have nothing left but boredom

Fahd Abu Khadra, born in Kafr Rena in 1939, received a Ph.D from the Hebrew University in 1978, with his doctoral thesis on classical and modern Arabic poetry. He lectures at the University of Haifa and teaches at the Insitute for Arab Teachers in Haifa. He has published nine collections of poetry.

Distances

Through this flight
We walk away from our people
For who are we compared to them?
Wed love to meet them
We pant with desire
Mixing doubt with certainty
We put heavy weights on our worries
We calculate the distance we fly across

O God! How much this relieves the core of our hearts
Removing the sorrow within us
It lands in our hearts making us restless
We scream with longing
We arent there, where they are
For who are we compared to their scented perfume?

And this cherished wish
Throws us across the maze
Directs us towards our despair
Advances towards a green springtime
To those who wish
Us to be present
We hastily gather
Our scattered thoughts

Michel Haddad (1919 - 1996), the "father" of Arabic poetry in Israel, published 11 collections of poetry and a autobiographical work entitled "From My Diary." A book entitled "A Poet Under Scrutiny" written by a number of writers, critics and thinkers, and printed in 1992 expressed deep appreciation for Haddads influence on poets writing in Arabic in Israel.

Thats What the Wind Taught Me

Once the wind taught me
How to drink from a fountain
Make hot coffee with crocodile tears
And use my tresses
To build nests for birds.

It taught me how not to defeat my quest
Nor hide my words in drawers
How to surround the circles under my eyes
With talismans made of mint
And how to gird up the sky
With palm tree branches.

Then the wind went on to teach me
How to dance with the sand
Embrace the Pleiades
And weave the threads of the waves
Into the Saviours gown.

Mina Said Alayyan lives in the town of Shfar Am in the Lower Galilee. She has published two collections of poetry, the second of which was entitled "Your Silence Taught Me." A third collection is in preparation. She leads an active literary and journalistic life.

The Remnants

The sea waves break and we decided to comply
To renew what was included in the joke
And honey-coloured melancholy
The colour of love
And a greeting.

It used to be a love poem
Then it became a victim
So we decided to take a break
Let all kinds of death sweep over us
And let the remnants be.

Cecile Khahly is a poetess and painter. Her latest collection of poetry was published in 1994, preceded by another three works.

Tears Will Be Tears

Tears will be tears
And sadness will be sadness
And the roses that laugh everywhere
Keep uniting us in love
Will the terraces write us down some day
In their lovely notebook?
Will the Earth read us
Some day
Into its sweet song?
One year buds
Another follows
While the heart pines for the rose
Is pained by war, is pained by war.

Mahmud el-Sakh was born in 1956, in Arrabat-el-Battoof, and graduated from the Arab Teachers Seminary in 1976, since when he has worked in his village as a teacher. He just published his sixth collection of poetry. His work is characterized by love of nature, heritage and nostalgia for the past.

O Love!

O Love! Why has the lovely one changed?
Forgotten are her passion and our bond

My injured heart has seen its dreams disperse
Tomorrow it will walk the road of loss, confused

Forgive me! For my heart may not complain
Nor may my held-back tears be poured

As long as the impression of her visions on my mind
And on the core of my heart it is still impressed

O my defeated love, dew has fallen
Only to let the garden ever flower

Like a blind seed that sinks into the soil
Only to re-emerge, a green bough in the garden beds

Or like a cypress bending low
Until the wind goes by, lest it be broken

To rise anew in space, as if it were
A flag that flies up in the air above the mountain tops

I carry traces of tears that are
A sword that points at my tormented heart

While I, who face the Virgins tears, am like a bird
Whose will is robbed, so it descends and never flies again

Shall I embrace a pearl whose purity
Has almost made my heart strings break loose?

Therefore my heart is torn to shreds
All ties with kin and friend are torn within it

O my Love, openly betrayed
Is this true judgment made by Fate?

Am I to lose the touch of silken tresses
By which love would write lines on my palm?

Is it just to keep me at a distance from the lip
That showerd my life with perfumed elixir?

So let my life become a withered bough
Whose buds are shed and now is desolate

Yet Im an Arab man, I wont give up
One day youll find I do not stumble

Ill make love pure again just as
Dew repeats the joy of falling drop by drop

Make roses bloom so fresh and lovely
Emitting fragrance and lovely to behold

For love grows strong if faithfully resumed
And night breaks loose when gamblers seek their fortune.

Jamal Qaawar was born in Nazareth in 1930, studied at the University of Haifa and the Hebrew University and received his Ph.D from Tel Aviv University. He has published many works of poetry and stories, and has translated plays and school texts. He is one of Israels leading Arab poets.