Tuans.rournations o.J=tbeloveu

ADONIS

Tnans.J:onrnations Of tbe Loven

Translated by

Samuel Hazo

IN'fERNATIONAL POETRY SERIES

Volume VII

( )hio UniYcrsit\' Press Athens. Ohio

Copyright ©1982 by the International Poetry Forum

Originally published as Volume VII of the Byblos Editions, International Poetry Forum, in a limited edition of three hundred and fifty copies.

The type is set in Alphatype Jensen, composed by Davis & Warde, Inc.

Second printing by Ohio University Press 1983.

Printed in the United States of America. All rights reserved.

Adunis, 1930-Transformations of the lover.

(International poetry series; v.- 7) Bibliography: p. I. Hazo, SamueiJohn. II. Title.

PJ7862.A519A24 1983 892'.716 ISBN 0-8214-07 54-6 ISBN 0-8214-0755-4 (phk.)

III. Series. 83-13283

Foreword

The fi rst book in the In tern ation al Poetry F orum 's Byblos Series was Marco An ton io Mon tesd e Oca's The Heart of the Flute tran slated by Laura Villasen or with an in trod uction by Octavio Paz. The second was Arthur Lund kvist's Agadir tran slated and with an in tro­

d uction by W ill iam J ay Sm ith and Leif Sjo berg . Yann is Ritsos' Subterranean Horses in a tran slation by Min as Savvas and with an in trod uction by Vassilis Vassil ikos was the third selection . The fourth and fifth were Bulg arian selection s published sim ultan eously: Lyubom ir Levchev's The Mysterious Man tran slated by Vlad im ir Phillipov and Corn elia Bozhilova's tran slation of Bozhid ar Bozhilov's American Pages. A Bird of Paper was the s ixth selection . This book had the add ition al d istin ction of being the result of close collaboration between the Nobel Laureate Vicen te Aleixand re and his friend s and tran slators W illis Barn ston e and David Garrison . This presen t volum e is the seven th in the series and rem ain s in the sam e trad ition of provid ing tran slation s of som e of the m ost sign ifican t poets in the world for an aud ien ce that would n ot otherwise be able to read them .

Samuel Hazo Presid en t/Director In tern ation al Poetry F orum

Contents

The Passage The Days I The Wanderer 2 The Mark of Sisyphus 2 The Sleep of Hands 3 Underground 3 Tree of Fire 4 The Captive 4 Hunger 5 The Messenger 6 The Past 7 Above the Leaves 8 The Call 9 In the Forest IO The Pages of Day and Night I I A Tree I2 A Mirror for Khalida I 3 A Mirror for My Body in Love I6 A Woman and a Man I 8 Voices I9 The Stage and the Mirrors 2 2 A King, Mihyar 2 3 His Voice 24 Mount Suneen 24 A World of Magic 2 5 Presence 25 Finally 26 The Traveler 26 Death 27 Thunderbolt 27 Adam 28 A Memory of Wings 2 8 The Song 29 The Martyr in Dreams 29 Song of a Man in the Dark 30 The Crow's Feather 3 I Remembering the First Century 35 Elegy for the Time at Hand 46 Elegy in Exile 55 Thl' Funl'ral of Nl'w York 59 Trans forma I ions of I Ill' I ,OVl'r 77

Preface

The first tim e I en coun tered the poetry of Ad on is (Ali Ahm ed Said ) was in the early seven ties when a friend read on e of his poem s to m e in Arabic and then

g ave m e a literal tran slation . I was n ot on ly im pressed by the m elli f luen ce of the Arabic even thoug h I have on ly a rud im en tary kn owledg e of that lang uag e, but I especially l iked the way the fin al l in e sound ed in the literal tran slation: "Is here, is there an other d ay?" My version , which is in clud ed in this collection und er the title of "The Days , " read s "Is there, is there an other d ay?" To say "Is here, is there . . :• is a con st ruction that d oes violen ce to our g ramm ar, but I was n on etheless in f luen ced by it as I was by other con struction s in other poem s that d id thing s to the Am erican lang uag e that seem ed beyond the capacity of the Am erican im ag in ation to d o .

In trig ued by Ad on is ' way of creating extraord in ary tropes even in literal tran slation s of his poem s and also persuad ed that he and I shared a comm on vision of thing s , I con tin ued to work on re-creating his poem s in Am erican . At tim es , like all tran slators , I violated literal

m ean ing s in ord er to be faithful to the spirit of the poem as I und erstood or felt it . At still other tim es I let l iterally tran slated phrases or l in es stand as rend ered sin ce I could thin k of n o way to im prove them , as in the superb im ag e in "The Captive" where Ad on is d escribes a n etted butterf ly f luttering in "j ailed aston ishm en t. "

In 1971 a collection of m y tran slation s o f som e of Ad on is ' early poem s appeared in an ed ition published by the Un iversity of Pittsburg h Press . On the occasion of the p u bl ication of this book, Ad on is received the Syria­Leban on Award of the In tern ation al Poetry F orum and s ubseq uen tly g ave bi-ling ual read ing s of his work in P i ttsb urg h , at the Un ivers ities of Michig an , Prin ceton , Colum bia and Harvard as well as at the Un ited Nation s . I lc has s in ce toured the Un ited States und er other auspices

and participated in a PEN symposium on Middle Eastern Literature in the late seventies. As a result of these tours, coupled with teaching appointments at the Sorbonne, he is widely known in the United States and Europe as one of the foremost poets of the Arab world.

On the occasion of his receiving the Syria-Lebanon Award in Pittsburgh in 1971, Adonis made the following comments, which affirm his belief in poetry's universal spirit while simultaneously identifying him as an Arabic poet: "I come from a land where poetry is like a tree which watches over man and where a poet is a guard who understands the rhythm of this world. He travels with history and feels the rhythm of history. By heeding this rhythm, he realizes the gaps and distances that separate man from man. I see this separation between men as a darkness which science cannot dispel despite its trans­formative power. Only poetry can illuminate this darkness. And only when science returns to its essence, when it becomes visionary, when it discovers the unknown for the benefit of man, only then can it share the power of poetry. The primary objective of poetry in our time is to pressure science toward this transformation. Then science and poetry will doubly serve the same truth through the discovery of the unknown and the glorifi­cation of man. And it is also to speak of the essence of progress. From that point of view and in that spirit there is no difference between man and man, no dif­ference, if you will, between people and people except their capacity to grasp poetry and practice it as an original intuition that we cannot replace or abolish. Small wonder then that we people to whom many Western technocrats refer as being underdeveloped often pride ourselves in proclaiming as a matter of right that-from the point of view of poetry, from the point of view of the essence of man-we are no less developed than any. Therefore, in the name of that essence, I say that keeping silent about what distorts or kills poetry is the final d estruction

of all . L et poetry then be a total and enveloping presence like the very air we breathe so that it can become, l ike the air itself, indispensable and indestru ctible . "

These remarks are a preamble to what the poems of A donis su cceed in doing. I nclu ded in this volu me are all the poems that constitu ted the 1971 edition already cited plu s a sheaf of more recent poems, inclu ding the core of the symphonic poem called "Transformations of the L over. " Becau se the poems speak for themselves , I have kept explanatory notes , except for a single reference, ou t of the text . For those who are interested in critical stu dies of the work of A donis , I refer them to innu merable stu dies by A rabists , A rabic l iterary critics as well as critics in English, French and other langu ages ; any good reference work on contemporary M iddle Eastern L itera­tu re will point the way.

I wou ld particu larly like to thank M irene Ghossein, who provided the literal translations for all the poems except "Transformations of the L over . " The latter was provided by the distingu ished artist Kamal Bou llata, who also devised t he cover design and the original line drawings that appear in the book.

Samu el Hazo

THE PASSAGE

I soug ht to sha re the life of sn ow and fire .

But n either sn ow n or fire took m e in .

So, I kept m y peace, waiting like f lowers , sta ying like ston es . In love I lost

m yself. I broke away

and watched un til I swayed l ike a wave between the life I d ream ed and the chang ing

d ream I lived .

THE DAY S

My eyes are tired , tired of d ays , tired reg ard less of d ays . Still , m ust I d rill throug h wall after w all of d ays to seek an other d ay? Is there ? Is there an other d ay?

THE WANDERER

A wanderer, I make a prayer of du st .

Exiled , I s ing my sou l u ntil the world bu rns to my chants as to a miracle.

Thu s am I n sen .

Thu s I am redeemed .

THE MAR K OF S ISY P HUS

Others I know. A gainst them I fling the penance of this rock before I tu rn to face the time to come. The innocent years revolve like l ife within a womb.

I see in the west a l ight of green frontiers where I may never find my other self. I tu rn from men, shou lder tomorrow's su n and bear it forward to heaven.

THE SLEEP OF HANDS

Today I offer my palms to dead lands and mu ted streets before death seams my eyelids, sews me in the skin of all the earth and sleeps forever in my hands .

UNDERGROUND

The presence of cities passed between the lashes of ou r eyes .

Behind ou r faces' cou nterfaces , we shou ted like the lost, "I n every city's catacombs we live l ike snails within their shells .

of rej ection, come ! Discover u s !"

[3]

0 cities

TREE OF F IRE

The tree by the river is weeping leaves. It strews the shore with tear after tear. It read s to the river its prophecy of fi re . I am that fin al leaf that n o on e sees .

My people have d ied as fi res

d ie- without a trace.

THE CA P T IVE

Im prison ed by the bud s and g rass, I build an island in m y m ind by weav ing bran ches from a shore. Harbors d issolve. Black lin es un weav e them selves . I pass

between the barriers and s pring s of l ig ht that m ad e m y d ream . I feel the j ailed aston ishm en t of every butterfly that falters in a flutte ring of d ying wing s .

[4]

HUNGER

The hung ry p lan ted a for est where w eep ing be cam e trees , and bran ches . . . a coun try fo r wom en in labor.

A harve st of un born child ren g rew like bud s from th e bed of this the un iverse. The forest turn ed to ash es

w ith their cries th at cam e as if from t owers of d is aster b earing the sm all , starved voices accusing , accus ing, a ccusing .

[5]

THE MESSENGER

L isten ! L et me tell

you my dream . I saw

a child driving the wind and stone s as if throu gh water. U nder the water were bou nties locked as kernels are locked in a ru sh of becoming. Bu t why did I sorrow like hymns from the kingdom of famine and tears ?

L isten ! I 'm calling you to recognize my VOIC e .

I am you r prodigal brother riding the stallion of death to find the door marked destiny.

[ 6 J

THE PAS T

Each day is a child who dies behind a wall , tu rning it s face t o t he wall's corners .

Hou ses flee before i t s ghost t hat rises from t he grave demanding vengeance .

N ot from et erni t y bu t from a bi t t er land it comes , fleeing as if from bu llet s t hrou gh t he t own, t he pu blic squ ares , t he hou ses of t he poor. From t he desert i t comes , and on i t s face is t he hu nger of pigeons and parching flowers .

[7]

A B OVE THE LEAVES

Throug h overn etting clouds p lung ed two stars . I stopp ed an d bowed, ackn owledg ing their g reeting . Still the p alm tree shook and shook its sculp ted leaves like som e old scribe of sorrow, n ow m oved , n ow chosen to record and see ( within the barriers that n o on e sees) how sp ace beg in s with trees and how, above them to the stars . . . on ly the wind , the win d , the win d .

[H]

THE CALL

M y morning love, meet me in the sad field . M eet me on the road where the dried trees shielded us l ike children under their dried shadows.

Do you see the branches ? Do you hear the call of the branches ? Their young shoots are words that strengthen my eyes with a strength that can split stone .

M eet me. Meet me, as if we had already dressed and come and knocked on the woven door of darkness , parted a curtain, f lung windows open and retreated to the sinuosities of branches-as if we had poured from the brims of our eyelids such dreams, such tears-as if we had stayed in a country of branches and never chose to return .

[ 9]

IN THE F ORE S T

L eave me alone. L et birds come. L et stones be laid on stones . L eave me alone. I waken streets when I walk throu gh processions of trees .

U nder branches I remember j ou rneys when I rose to foreign su ns and let the morning seal my secrets . L eave me alone. A light has always led me home. A voice is always calling.

r 10 J

T HE PAGE S OF DAY AND N IG HT

Before the time of day- I am. Before the wonder of the su n- I bu rn . T rees ru n behind me. Blossoms walk in my shadow. Bu t still tomorrow bu ilds into my face su ch i sland fortresses of silence that words find not a door to enter by. T he pitying stars ignite, and days forget themselves in my bed .

T he springs within my chest are closing now like blossoms to the moon.

T heir waters bathe the mirror of my vis ion pu re as silence as I waken into sleep.

A TREE

I carry n o sword . I've n ev er sculpted a head . In summ er and win ter I am a bi rd fleeing in a torren t of hung er to an em pty n est.

My kingd om i s a road of water. In every absen ce I am presen t . In pain or shyn ess, in rain or d ryn ess, far or n ear-1 p ossess the lig ht of thing s .

And when I g o, I close the d oor of the earth behind m e.

A M IRR OR F OR KHAL IDA

1. The Wave K halid a , you are a bran ch in leaf-a voyag e that d rown s each d ay in the foun tain s of your eyes­a wave that helps m e see how starlig ht, cloud s and sand s ben eath a wind are on e.

2. Underwater W e sleep ben eath a cloth woven from the h arvests of the n ig ht . 0 n ig ht of d ust .. . Cym bals and alleluias chorus in our blood. Und erwater sun s

g litter the d ark to d awn.

3. Lost . .. on ce, en circ led by your arm s, I lost m y way. My lips were fortress es succum bing to a con quest they d esired . Nearer, n earer you breathed , your waist- a sultan ,

[IJ]

your hands- the messengers of armies in reserve, your eyes-l overs in hiding.

J oined , l ost together, we dared a forest of fire, me-risking the first step toward it , you- pointing the way.

4. Fatigue Darl ing, an old fatigu e invades our hou se . I t l ooms in every drawer and bal cony. I t waits u ntil you sleep before it vanishes . How anxiou s I become abou t its going and coming. I scou t the hou se, interrogate the plants , pray for a gl impse of it and wonder how, why, where . The winds , the branches come and go . Bu t you- never.

5. Death After ou r seconds together, time tu rns back to time . I hear footsteps repeated down a road . The hou se is nothing bu t a hou se . The bed forgets the fire of its past and dies . Pillows are only pillows now.

, L. tl�

A MIRROR F OR MY B ODY IN L OVE

W hen m y bod y loves, it m elts the d ay in its torn ad o. P erfum es com e to its bed where d ream s van ish l ike in cen se and, like in cen se , return .

The song s of g rieving child ren are the song s m y bod y sing s . Los�, bewild ered on a d ream of bridg es, I ign ore the soaring road that c rosses m e from shore to shore .

A DREA M F OR ANY MAN

I live in the face of a wom an who lives in a wave-a s urg ing wave that find s a shore lo st l ike a harbor und er shells .

I live in the face of a wom an who loses m e so she can be the lig hthouse waiting in m y m ad and n avig ating blood .

A W OMAN AND A MAN

"W ho are you ?" "Say I'm a clown in exile,

a son from the tribe of time and the devil . " "W as it you who solved my body?"

"Only in passing . " "W hat did you find?"

"M y death . " "Is that why you hu rried to bathe and dress? W hen you lay nu de, I read my face in you rs . I was the su n and shadow in you r eyes , the shadow and the su n . I let you memoriz e me like a man from hiding . "

"Y ou knew I watched ?" "Bu t what did. you learn abou t me? Do you u nderstand me now ?"

"N o . " "Did I please you , leave you le ss afraid ?"

"Y es . " "Don't you know me then ?" .

"N D �" o. o you .

V O ICE S

1. 0 my dreams, my dancers , . . come m, come m.

Salu te the now and here .

Stir my pen to paper. Say that l ife is more than merely liv ing . C ome. L eav en the bread of my words .

2. T he su n showed me its j ournal . Th e white ink of my tears chaptered my history on those black pag es .

T he last o f all doors opened , and I saw my buried days , the shrou ds of my innocence.

J. W here did the l ig ht g o? Did the wind make off with it? W hy did it flee like a refug ee among the trees , stu mbling throug h mu d, washing itself of day,

ris ing throug h seclu sions to hide beneath the skin of the once more preg nant su n?

4. W hy call me man ? That's n ot my n ame. W hy bother with id en tity? J ust say I live in the closed d rum of sp ace . If you must say something , say that .

5. W ith echoes f or n eig hbo rs we will d ie tog ether and live in the shad ow of season s , in d ust, in the op en book of p rairies , in g rass we tramp led on ce and sign ed with our footp rin ts .

W e will stay like relics of our kind for ou r kind-remind ers , shadows , echoes of echoes .

6. Mihyar assem bles sp ace and sp in s it on his t ray. He towers over ever ything . Nig hts are his p at hs , an d stars are his fires .

On e look a t h i s f ace­an d the sky brig hten s .

[w J

7. If I called the wind s , would they su sp ect m e?

If I d ream ed that they and n ot the earth should bound m y world , would they adm it m e to the royalty of eag les ?

If I d eceived the wind s and stole their keys , w ould they destroy m e?

Or would they com e to m e at d awn-even as I sl ep t­and let m e d ream on , on . . . . on

THE S TAGE AND THE M IRR ORS

1. A Dream of Death W hen I saw deat h on a road, I saw my face in his . M y t hou ght s resembled locomot ives s t raining ou t of fog and int o fog. Su ddenly I felt akin t o light ning or a message scrat ched in du st .

2. A Dream of the Sea M ihyar is a poem t o wou nd t he night of t he t omb wit h light as bright ly as t he su n u nveils t he face of t he sea, wave by wave by wave .

J. A Dream of Poetry I hear t he voice of t ime in poems , in t he t ou ch of hands , here, t here, in eyes t hat ask me if t he eglant ine shall shu t t he door of it s hu t or open anot her.

. . . a tou ch of hands , here, there, and the gap from infancy to immolation disappears as if a star emerged at once from nowhere and re tu rned the world to innocence.

A K ING, M IHYAR

M ihyar, the king . . . alive in a dream of castles , gardens and days in service to his words .

A voice, bu ried . . . M ihyar's , the king's . . . . He ru les the kingdom of the wind and keeps his secrets .

H IS V O I CE

Mi hyar, betrayed by fri end s, you are an un rung bell, two syllables on li ps, a song recall ed on the whi te road s of exi le, a g ong sounding for the fall en of the earth.

M OUN T SUNEEN

F rom hi s room in the sky m y m oun tain read s to the nig ht, to the trees, to al l who cann ot sleep­hi s hig h sorrows .

A WORLD OF MAGIC

Between the l ord of d ays and m e­n o hatred , n o vend etta . E verything 's over. He's barricad ed tim e behind a pal isad e of cl oud s .

My world g oes on as m ag icall y as ever. I con trad ict the wind . I scar the waves bef ore I scurry

f rom m y bottl e in the sea.

PRESENCE

T he d oor I open on the world ign ites the presen t und er battl ing cl oud s that track each other over ocean s spin ed with waves , over m oun tain s , f orests, rock s .

F rom roots and ashes I create a coun try f or the n ig ht and watch it g row. F ield s f oun tain in to song . Fl aring out of thund er, lig htn ing burn s the m umm ies of the cen turies .

F INALLY

For once, for the last time, I dream of falling in space . . . I live su rrou nded by colors , simply, like any man. I marry the blind gods and the gods of vision for the last time .

THE TRAVELER

The glass shade of my lamp reflects me even after I 'm gone. M y gospel is denial , and my map-a world I 've yet to make.

DEATH

"W e must make gods or die. W e must kil l gods or die," whisper the lost stones in their lost kingdom.

THUNDER B OLT

M y green thunder bolt, my spouse in the sun, my madness , change the face of things . I 've fallen under rocks . I 'm blinded and beseeching in a land without a sky.

Possessed at times by hell and gods , I am an eagle winged with wind . I leaven seeds in soil . I bend the bow of the nearest cloud.

0 my thunderbolt, change everything, change all the maps . Be in a f lash my likeness in the sun, my twin in madnes s .

AD A M

Choking q uiet ly with pain , Adam whispered to me , "I am not the father

of the wor ld . I had

no g limpse of paradise . Take me to God ."

A MEMORY O F WINGS

Icar us passed here . He pitched his tent

beneath these leaves , breathed fire in the green chambers of the frai lest b uds and sh uddered and sighed .

Tense as a sh utt le , he drank himse lf dizzy and flew for the s un .

He never b urned . He never ret urned ,

this Icar us .

THE SONG

Strang le d m ute with syllab les , voice less , with no lang uage b ut the moaning of the earth ,

my song discovers death in the sic k joy of everything that is for anyone who listens . Ref usa l is my me lo dy. Wor ds are my life ,

an d life is my disease .

THE MARTY R IN D REA MS

Mi dnight stares from his eyes . No longer in his face-

the ca lmness of pa lms , the certit ude of stars . . .

The win ds , the win ds unshape an d shatter on his brow

so many scattere d ree ds , s uch crowns of vio lence .

S ONG OF A MAN IN THE DARK

To ascend ? How ? These mou ntains are not torches . N o stairs await me in the higher snows .

Thu s for you from here-these messages of grief . . .

Each time I rise, the mou ntains in my blood say no, and darkness holds me in its narrow sorrows .

[ )0 J

THE CR O W'

S F EA THER

1. Stripped of seasons , bu ds and fields , I leave so little to the sands , less to the wind and nothing to the day's hosanna bu t the blood of you th. I n tu ne with heaven, I hear the chiming of ascending wings and name the earth my prophet .

Stripped of seasons , bu ds and fields , I wake with springs of du st in my blood , and in my veins, su ch love, su ch yearning . . .

From the sea's floor my heart sets sail . M y eyes remember oceans .

Here, banished here, my life is in my eyes, and my eyes su stain me. I l iv e my life ou t waiting for the ship of destiny to rise from its grave.

I s this a dream ? I s there no voyage called retu rn ?

[3' J

2. Stricken by the cancer of si lence , I scraw l my poems in the sand

with a crow 's feather . My eyes see nothing b ut lashes­

no love , no sea , no wisdom b ut the earth .

With springs of d ust in my b lood I sit a ll day in this cafe

and wait for someone to remember me .

I want to pray on my knees to ow ls with sp lintered wings , to embers , to the winds , to s la ughterho uses and a tho usand dr unkards , to stars hidden at the sky's center , to death by pesti lence .

I want to b urn the incense of my days , my songs , my book , my ink and my inkwe ll . I want to pray

to gods that never heard of prayer .

Beir ut is invisib le . Nothing b lossoms on its mo untains ,

and nothing b looms on mine . In the month of figs and app les , loc usts sha ll devo ur my fie lds .

Ba rren a nd a lo ne in o rc ha rds , in su n a nd aft er su n , I wa lk Beirut a nd nev er s ee it . I c la im Beirut a nd ca nnot f lee it . As t he day pass es , I pass , but I a m els ew here.

3. Thes e days a re mou nds of sku lls , ru bbis h fo r mo ngrels . W it hout a c ross t hey w elco me God

a nd c ha nt t he d ead u nbless ed to bu ria l .

St rick en by t he ca nc er of s ilenc e, I s mok e a ll day in t his caf e . W hile sa ils of co nqu est

st reak t he s ea , I sta mp my c iga rett es to butts

a nd wa it fo r so meo ne to remember me.

[3 3 ]

RE ME M BER ING THE F IRS T CEN TURY

The festival of rain has passed from our faces .

We've turned the world to stone.

B link by blink, our lashes chime us onward to the broken knot of heaven .

And all , all I have saved from summers of basil to the dust of tears remains this elegy of our defeat .

I. We blunder through prophecy as if through sand .

"B rother show us a s ign that shall prevai l ."

History crumbles downhill l ike a babble of ants that choke on their own dust, on the filth of snails , on shell after shell . . .

In the beginning the moon was a single eye, and heaven-the forehead of a viper.

N othing survived but leprosy in search of faces it could pock and hollow .

D isemboweled bellies yaw ned a scum of mosses .

[H]

A pigeon 's skull wo bble d on a t hre sho ld .

Fever burro we d t hro ugh a kn ight 's he lmet .

"Yo u ! W hat is it yo u want , Gree k?" "Some date s , m y lor d , some brea d . M y roa d i s en dle ss .

H un ger is a hor se ne ighin g t hro ugh it s teet h ." "Br in g water for t he t hir st y Br in g brea d for a ll who f lee ." We learne d defeat beneat h t he f la gs of dust .

Grave yar ds bloome d from o ur face s .

We wrote o ur te stament s in fam ine .

Not a star glimmere d a bove us . We sco ute d t he san d for gho st s . We searc he d t he cave s of win d

an d tear s . "0 Go d , we see k

some she lter in t he eart h . Let r iver s hide us

from t he f ina l enem y." Thus c hante d

o ur v ir gin s , while t he sea , li ke a pro phete ss , wave d

to us an d so bbe d . W ho

co uld swim from shore to shore ?

"Te ll us o ur fo rt une , mot he r of t he se a , befo re t he spot s of de at h speck le o ur f le sh." The ashe s of t he de ad planet s splashe d like wate r in o ur e ye s.

2. A mo unt ain spe ak s it s name to me.

Afte r all , I have so me c re dent ials.

But who c an set t he price fo r n at io n afte r n at ion of us ?

An d who shall be ar away o ur g at he ring s as g ift s ?

Let him acce pt as we ll e ac h swo rd an d dagge r. Let him t ake eve ry ank let , bran d an d we lt.

We pe ddle d diamon ds in t he market place

fo r blin d and use le ss e le phant s. A man ble sse d himse lf wit h t he sandal of a k ing.

was split , alive. A t hird

e sc ape d on broken leg s. A fo urt h die d of a t hre at.

Anot he r

A pro phet c arrie d his o wn he ad. A man wit ho ut a n ame painte d

[n ]

his portrait with camel's milk. A son recognized his mother at a king's table.

A husband slept with his wife beneath a prince's cloak, dreaming in the silks of slavery and fear. A corpse stuffed with hay paraded through the streets .

eunuch received seventy lashes plus ten .

A woman

A dead

with one breast dared a gauntlet of eyes .

A child wore vestments to his crucifixion . The lords of the land were Ahmad , C afour and Timurlane. The father of knights , the musk­man, the ravishing princes were our own people .

They wore as crowns the consecrations of our l ives .

The stars rained spittle on us in G od's name.

In t he name of G od we sailed those years on broken wings and nailed our foreheads to a timber.

We prayed the ruin

r l H 1

of our land . "0 G od , let victory

come to our masters and to their sons .

Let them be lords of all the lands and all the seas .

Let wise men bring us saviors from abroad . Let them be men of lightning. Their names and faces shall be minted on our coins .

O ur women shall sleep on a pillow of lil ies ."

3. Here is a people turning their very faces to the hoofs . Here i s a land humil iated like a coward's house.

tender us a bird , j ust a bird ?

J ust a tree ? W ho shall teach us the alphabet of air?

Who shall

We wait at the crossroads .

We watch the sand submerge our beacons .

The sun d is integrates within the wrinkles of our hands .

fwl

0 my co untry . . . Yo ur skin is a lizard's .

Yo ur perf ume is the stenc h of rubber sco rc hed . Yo ur sunrise is a weeping bat. Yo u bring suc h ho loc austs to birth .

Yo u giv e yo ur breasts to v ermine .

"M aid, the master is c alling.

Bring him coff ee f ro m Moc ha.

Sheet his bed ." And I, rejec tio n's master, turn f ro m my windo w, shiv ering, to write my so ul . Tarantula's tears are webbing my eyes .

Death flutes in my thro at .

I c ro wn my heart with a f eather.

I marry the wind , and no thing but to rn maps and thundersto rms shall mark my gom g.

Neither day no r night shall reco gnize me. On the dirt of o bliv io n my steps shall gro w.

I am co ntent to be a f lo ating co rpse.

[ 40 ]

My life has bee n o ne to ur of te rro r.

To night the dove of fa rewe ll burns in my hea rt .

4. A wo rd w itho ut a moo n

so unds ove r us . Nightc lo uds

ca rry the s now of C hris tmas . "Bewa re a nd keep away ! Ma gi a nd gues ts , avo id us w hile yo u s till have time . We rule like p rinces ove r no thing. Our his to ry disso lves like foa m. I wa rn yo u . Go away." M ud e ngulfs us l ike a ne t . We drow n in it .

Slime cove rs o ur eye lids .

It sca rves o ur nec ks like s ilk.

So me how it ca me w itho ut a c lo ud . W ha t happe ne d to the thunde r? W ho s tille d the p rop hec ies of havoc ?

"Co me the n.

us Inva de o ur sac re d

l ives . Our wo me n wa it

Inva de

for you behind the bushes of their dreams , in c hambers , on the grass .

Their loins and nipples Stiff en with the ac hes of lust.

You are their only lover."

M y c ountry, are you no more than air, no dearer than a hill of salt? Have you been stained too long with the ashes of sc ribes ?

M y c ountry, you are an old soldier. L ike me, you give your very guts to move ahead .

L ike me, you groan with every step. I mourn with you .

I know how a bac k breaks .

I share your fate beneath this tree of my despair, but the roots of the plague are c lear to me. Blink by blink, I wait a darker eagle.

Behind my shoulde r stands the shepherd of no hope.

His flutes break in my c hest.

The ro ad befo re me bleeds with no thing but anemo ne and weeds .

I hear a rasp o f tho rns .

Despair, I c all yo u by yo ur right name.

We were never strangers , but I refuse to walk with yo u .

5. Rejec tio n's banners guard me as I weave these wo rds , but in my fac e ano ther marriage has begun.

I c all the earth my wife .

I free my c aptive flesh and bo w to lightning as a friend .

I bathe my wo unds in thunder.

I murder that c harlatan, the moo n .

I ride a salamander's bac k abro ad and breathe embers .

Eac h sco rpio n beco mes a co untry in itself. A fro g wears histo ry's mask. A beggar keeps the boo ks

o f glo ry.

Yet , I fee l s uch rage here on the earth 's backbone , learning the sweetness of a ll hidden and forbidden things .

I scraw l the history of time 's beginnings .

Whi le the s un 's nai l nicks my check , I mate the lang uages of rain and ink .

I let Cain fee l pro ud of his grandson .

6. Stones t urn green .

I step toward the risen light . Each star dies in the sea . An ig uana flirts with heaven . A peak er upts with smoke

and snow . I hera ld a day

that never came . "Poet !

Rise from yo ur cave . Forget

the sa lamanders , rats and worms . Come o ut .

Witness . Testify.

The land that had a name is name less .

[441

Corpses lie everywhere.

After sudden death, come out and speak your promise to the sea and sky."

7. Behind the veils of prophecy we whispered, "Brother, give us a sign that shall prevail . "

8. Drawn forth to silence by the drum of words , I am a knight riding the horse of all the earth .

M y song is everything I see and all I breathe .

U nder thundering suns , I pace the foaming shore .

I sing my way to death , and , having sung, I leave this elegy to burn for poets , birds and everything alive from here and now until the end of heaven .

[45 ]

ELEGY F OR THE TI ME A T HAND

1. Chanting of banishment, exhaling flame, the carriages of exile breach the walls .

Or are these carriages the battering s ighs of my v erses ?

Cyclones hav e crushed us . Sprawled in the ashes of our days , we glimpse our souls passm g on the sword's glint or at the peaks of helmets.

An autumn of salt spray settles on our wounds . No tree can bud . No spring . . .

Now in the final act, disaster tows our history toward us on its face. What is our past but memories pierced l ike deserts prickled with cactus ? What streams can wash it? I t reeks with the musk of spinsters and widows back from pilgrimage. The sweat of derv ishes begrimes it as they twirl their blurring trousers into miracles .

No w bloo ms the spring o f the loc ust . Ov er the dead nightingales the night itself weighs and weighs . The day inc hes to birth while the shut and bo lted doo r

o f the sea rejec ts us .

We sc ream. We dream o f weeping, but tears refuse o ur eyes . We twist o ur nec ks in zero hurric anes .

0 my land , I see yo u as a wo man in heat, a bridge o f lust .

The pharao hs take yo u when they c hoo se, and the v ery sand applauds them. Thro ugh the c lay o f my eyeshells , I see what any man c an see: libatio ns at the grav es o f c hildren, inc ense fo r ho ly men, to mbsto nes o f blac k marble, fields sc attered with skeleto ns ,

v ultures, mushy co rpses with the names o f hero es .

Thus w e adv anc e, c hests to the sea, griev ing fo r yesterday. Our wo rds inherit no thing, beget no thing. We are islands .

[ 47 ]

From the a byss we sme ll rave ns . Our ships se nd o ut their p leas

to nothi ng but the moo n's cresce nt of despair that broods a devi l 's spaw n . At riverfa ll , at the dead sea ,

mid night dreams its festiva ls , but sa nd a nd foam a nd loc usts

are the o nly brides .

Th us we adva nce , harvesti ng o ur carava ns i n fi lth a nd tears , bleedi ng the earth

with o ur ow n blood unti l the gree n dam of the sea

a lo ne stops us .

2. What god sha ll res urrect us

i n his flesh ? After a ll , the iro n cage is shri nki ng . The ha ngma n wi ll not wait

tho ugh we wai l from birth i n the name of these happy r ui ns .

What narrow yesterdays , what sta le a nd shrive led years . . . Eve n storms come beggi ng

whe n the sky matches the gray of the sa nd , leavi ng us sta lled betwee n s easo ns , barricaded by what we see ,

marc hing un der c lo uds tha t move like mules an d cannon . The dus t of graveyar ds blin ds us un ti l o ur eyes r hyme

wi th as h . No las hes fringe the s un . No brows can s ha de the day,

an d life co mes mo men t by mo men t as i t co mes to the poor on ly. Sha dowe d by ice an d san d ,

we live .

An d so live a ll men .

All men . . . mere scraps fro m everyw here , fres h bai ts of arsenic . Un der their sky w ha t green can spro ut?

All men . . . c hoke d by as hes , cr us he d by the rocks of si lence , mo un te d by e mpire bui lders ,

para de d in arenas for their spor t, so many foo ts too ls , so many banners . . . No one w hispers in Hara da or the Eup hra tes . No thing bree ds or s tirs . 0 my dry an d si len t lan d ,

w ho lef t yo u like a fossi l ? On the map yo u're viri le ,

ric h wi th w hea t, oi l , por ts , co un terco lore d by migra tions . Sha ll a new race grow in the poppy fie lds ? Sha ll fres h win ds rearrange the san d ?

[49 ]

Let the rain come. Let rain wash us in our ruins , wash the corpses, wash our history. Let the poems strangled on our l ips be swept away l ike rocks in the street . Let us attend to cows, doves , flowers , gods . Let sounds return to this land of starving frogs . Let bread be brought by locusts and the banished ants . . .

M y words becomes a spear in fl ight. U nopposable as truth , my spear returns to strike me d ead .

J. B raid your hair, my boys, with greener leaves . We still have verse among us . We have the sea . We have our dreams . "To the steppes of C hina we bequeath our neighing horses , and to G eorgia, our spears . We'll build a house of gold from here to the Himalayas . We'll sail our flags in Samarkand . We'll tread the treasured mosses of the earth . We'll bless our blood with roses . We'll wash the day of stains and walk on stones as we. would walk on silk.

"This is the only way. For this we'll lie with lightning and anoint the mildewed earth until the cries of birth resound, resound , resound .

"N othing can stop us . Remember, we are greener than the sea, younger than time. The sun and the day are dice between our fingers . "

U nder the exile's moon tremble the first wings .

B oats begin to d rift on a dead sea, and siroccos rustle the gates of the city. Tomorrow the gates shall open . We'll burn the locusts in the desert, span the abyss and stand on the porch of a world to be.

"D arkness , darkness of the sea, be filled with the leopard's j oy. Help us to sacrifice, name us anew. The eagle of the future waits , and there are answers in its eyes .

"Da rkne ss , da rkne ss of t he sea , i gno re t hi s fea st of co rpse s . Bri ng t he ea rt h to blo sso m wit h yo ur wi nd s . Ba ni sh pla gue a nd teac h t he ve ry roc ks

to dance a nd love . "

The godde ss of t he sa nd pro st rate s he rse lf . U nde r bric ht ho rn

t he spri ng rise s li ke c locynt h f ro m t he li ps or life f ro m t he sea . We leave the ca ptive city whe re eve ry la nte rn i s a c hurc h

a nd eve ry bee mo re sacred tha n a nun .

4. "W he re i s yo ur ho me ? W hic h co unt ry? W hic h ca mp wit ho ut a na me ?"

"My co unt ry i s a ba ndo ned . My so ul ha s left me . I have no ho me . "

W he n pha rao hs ruled a nd me n we re ca nni ba ls , t he wo rd s of poet s died . W hi le pha rao hs rule , I ta ke my boo ks a nd go , livi ng i n t he shade of my hea rt , weavi ng f ro m my ve rse 's si lk a ne w heave n.

The sea c leanses o ur wo unds and makes of wo unds the sa lt 's k in . . . The wh ite sea ,

the da ily Euphrates , the Orontes in its crad le , the Barada-I have tasted them a ll ,

and none co uld s lake me . Yet I learned the ir love ,

and my despa ir deserved s uch waters .

Tho ugh desperate , I st ill hate death . Tho ugh lost , I seek my way

thro ugh a ll the lies and do ubts that are the cr ust and q uicksand of the earth .

Give me the e xile 's sa il , the p ilgr im 's face . I t urn my back on ja ils and ho loca usts . I leave the dead to death .

And I go , keep ing my end less sorrows , my d istance from the stars , my p ilgr image ,

my g ir l and my verses . I go w ith the sweat

of e xi le on my forehead and w ith a lost poem s leep ing in my eyes . I go ,

dream ing of those b ur ied

[ 53 ]

in orchards and vineyards , and I remember those I love, those few. When the sea rages my blood and the wind kisses my love's hair, I remember my mother, and I weave in memory for her a mat of straw where she can sit and weep.

Amen to the age of flies.

Because the earth survives beneath my feet, the pale god of my despair rejoices . A new voice speaks my words . M y poems bloom naked as roses .

Find me some paper, some ink. Despair is stil l my star, and evil is always being born . Silence rises on the sand . There are hearts to touch . Some ink . . . Some paper . . .

"Where is your home ? What camp without a name?"

"M y country is abandoned . M y soul has left me. I have no home . "

E LE G Y IN E X ILE

P hoenix, when the f lames enfolded you, what pen were y ou holding? What feathers sprouted when your old ones burned ?

B uried in your own ashes , what world did you confront, what robe did you don, what color did you choose?

Tell me. Tell me what silence follows the final silence spun from the very fall of the sun? What is it, phoenix? G ive me a word , a st gn .

Your banishment and mine are one. Your banishment and mine and the banishment of heroes are one. Your banishment and mine and the banishment of heroes and the banishment of love and glory are one.

What is it we love or fear but shadows of ourselves ? When I recall your suffering, my phoenix, I forget my own . N o mother held you when you left un til yo u burned for breath . No f ath er bl essed yo ur exil e

[55]

in his heart before yo u sa w it born in fla me wit h eac h hori zon . I've left . I've left my mot her . I've left my mot her

on a mat of stra w to grieve my going . Astray, I s wa llo w d ust . I, who learned love

fro m my fat her 's eyes , have left my fat her 's ho use

to be t he prodiga l .

I a m a hunted bird . I stea l my bread . All I see is deso lation . Purs ued by fa lcons , my s ma ll wings lose t heir feat hers ,

feat her by feat her .

"T hey say my song is strange beca use it has no ec ho . T hey say my song is strange

beca use I never drea med myse lf a wake on si lks . T hey say I disbe lieved t he prop hesies ,

and it was tr ue , and it is sti ll and a lways tr ue ."

My p hoeni x , I learn wit h yo u

t he banis hment t hat murders me in r uins and t he s heerest voids . I break fro m jai l

to seek t he man I keep beco ming . I leave t he gate a jar ,

t he c ha in e mpty,

and th e dar kness of my c ell devo urs me li ke eyes i n sh adow .

Tho ugh banish ed, I lo ve all thos e who banish ed me,

who crow ned my brow with ch ai ns and w ait ed to betr ay me. I s ee my chi ldhoo d li ke an iso lat ed Baalbek

with its lo ngi ng pi llars , and I bur n . Hori zo n by hori zo n, I am bor n to th e ch ants of th e s un .

M y new wi ngs grow li ke yo urs , my pho eni x . Pho eni x , w e ar e bor n for death , and death i n lif e des er ves its s pri ngs and h ar vests ,

its ri veri ng J es us , its passio n with th e vi neyar d and th e mo unt . But it is not all so lit ude and echo es fro m th e gr ave.

Pho eni x , I r emember o ne who perish ed o n a cross­exti ng uish ed . He bur ned i n poo ls of ch err y li ke fir e withi n fir e­exti ng uish ed . Yet fro m th e dar k of th e ash es

h e g lows .

His wi ngs ar e number ed with th e flow ers of o ur land, with all th e days of all th e years , with pebbles and th e mer est sto nes .

[57]

Like you, my phoenix, he survived our hunger, and his mercy feeds us .

Dying with his wings outspread, he gathered all who buried him in ashes and became, like you , the spring and fire o f o u r agony.

Go now, my sweet bird , show m e the road I 'll follow.

THE F UNERAL OF NE W Y OR K

1.

P icture the e arth as a pear or breast . Between such fruits and death survives an engineering trick: New York. Call it a city on four legs heading for murder while the drowned already moan in the distance. New York is a woman holding, according to history, a rag called liberty with one hand and strangling the earth with the other. New York is damp asphalt with a surface l ike a closed window. I said: "Whitman can open it . " I say his password now, but the absent god hears nothing. Out of his stopped mouth answer wretches , blacks and thugs . I said: "The B rooklyn Bridge !" But now it bridges Whitman and Wall Street, a link between leaves of grass and the paper l eaves of dollar bills . New York is Harlem. What hangman is coming? Will his coff in be as long as the Hudson ? Will this be the season of tears and weariness­when pain is born of the sun, and daylight pierces us with its blue, yellow, rose and jasmine spears ?

[59 J

Wo unds appear like c lefts between a th igh and a th igh . Did the v ulture v is it yo u ? Did yo u hear the ratt le of death ,

fee l the rope , s urv ive the necktw in ing sadness in yo ur b lood ? New York is Mad ison and Park Aven ues and Har le m. It is laz iness that looks l ike work

and work that looks l ike la ziness . Hearts are sponges . Hands are swo llen reeds . Out of an e mp ire state of d irt and garbage

r ises the st ink of h istory. Sha ll I prophesy that heads , not eyes , are b lind ,

that tong ues , not words , are ster ile ? New York is Wa ll Street and streets

na med after n umbers . Ca ll it Med usa ,

a market for s laves where peop le grow as p lants grow in g lass gardens , inf iltrat ing l ike d ust the fabr ic of space . They are c irc ling v ict ims

a lready enc irc led . The ir day is a b lack dr um

at the s un 's f unera l .

2. Here on the moss on the rocks of the earth I stand unseen

except by b lacks and b irds abo ut to be k illed . Even a p lant in a red vase can fo llow the s un

b ut not I, the fore igner . I learn of rats in my Be ir ut

or in a Wh ite Ho use .

[6o]

The r ats are ar me d w it h paper . The y nibble at human fles h . Or are t he y pigs in t he orc har ds of language

w ho st amp o n poetr y? In Pitts bur gh, Balt imore , C ambr idge , Ann Ar bor , M anhatt an, t he U nite d Nat io ns Pr inceto n and Philade lphia, I s aw t he Ar ab map. It rese mble d a mare s huffl ing o n, dr agging its histor y like s addle bags , ne ar ing its to mb and t he pitc h of he ll , discover ing t he c he mistr y of K ir kukz ahr an and Afro -As ia . But here a t hir d w ar is be ing pre pare d

w it h a f irst , seco nd , t hir d and fo urth inte ll ige nce bure au cre ate d j ust in c ase . Over t here , a j azz fest iv al . I n t hat ho use , a m a n w it h not hing but i n k to his name . In t his tree , a s ingle bir d , s inging. Let us be fr ank and admit

t hat s pace is me as ure d by w alls or c ages , t hat t ime is c loc ke d by ro pes or w hips , t hat t he s yste m for building a wor ld be gins w it h a brot her 's mur der ,

t hat t he s un and moo n are not hing but a s ult an's co ins . I s aw names in Ar abic . Gigant ic as t he e art h t he y were , illuminate d like an e ye of ult imate co mpass io n but lagging like a w ayw ar d planet w it ho ut a past and s low ing to a sto p.

Here o n t he moss o n t he roc k of t he e art h I know and s ay w hat I know . I re me mber a plant c alle d l ife . I re me mber my land as I re me mber de at h ,

a robe of wind a face that murders me for no reason or an eye that shuns the l ight. Against you, my country, I still create to make you change. I stumble into hell and scream while poisonous drops revive my memory of you . New York, you will find in my land a bed and silence, a chair, a head , the sale of day and night, the stone of M ecca and the waters of the Tigris . I n spite o f all this , you pant in P alestine and Hanoi . East and west you contend with people whose only history is fire. Since J ohn the Baptist each of us carries on a plate his cut head and waits to be born again.

J. Let statues of liberty crumble. O ut of corpses now sprout nails in the manner of flowers . An eastern wind uproots tents and skyscrapers with its wings . I n the west a second alphabet is born, and the sun's mother is a tree in J erusalem. I write in f lames . I start fresh, mixing and defining. N ew York, you arc a mannikin suspended in a hammock, s winging from void to void . Ce il ing s crumbl e.

Your words are signs of a fall . Shovels and hatchets are the ways you move . Right and left, people, hunger for love, sight, sound, smell and change itself to ransom them from time and save whatever life remains . Sex, poetry, morals, thirst, speech and s ilence­locked doors , all . If I seduce B eirut or a sister capital , she springs from bed , lets memory be damned and comes to me. She lets me swing her from my poems . Let doors be smashed by hatchets . Let windows flaunt their flowers . Let locks be burned . So, I seduce B eirut. Some say that words are dead, that action is everything.

B ut I tell you that only their words are dead . Their tongues have traded speech for pantomime.

B ut the world ? I tell you to remember its fire . Write . D on't mimic. From the oceans to the gulf I hear no tongues . I read no words . . . only sounds . I see no igniter of fires . The word , the lightest of things , is everything. A ction is once. The word is forever.

Fro m wo rd to ha nd to pape r . . . Fro m ha nd a nd pape r i nto drea ms . . . T hus I discove r yo u , my fi re , my capi ta l , my poe try. I se duce Bei rut . I e xc ha nge i de nti ties wi th he r. We flee like bea ms a nd wo nde r w ho s ha ll k now

o r w ho s ha ll te ll of us . Bu t Pha nto ms a re as rea l

as oi l flowi ng to i ts des ti na tio n . Go d a nd Mao we re rig ht: "Armies a re a n i mpo rta nt

fac to r i n wa r, b ut they a re no t decisive ." Me n , no t a rmies , a re . W hy ta lk of fi na l tri ump h, fi na l defea t ? Nei the r e xis ts . Ove r a nd ove r I sai d s uc h p rove rbs to myse lf

as a n Arab wo uld o n Wa ll Stree t w he re go ld rive rs co nve rge d o n thei r so urces . Amo ng the m I saw Arab rive rs

bea ri ng huma n re mna nts , vic ti ms a nd gif ts to thei r i do l a nd mas te r. Inte rspe rse d wi th the vic ti ms

casca de d sai lo rs la ug hi ng dow n the Chrys le r Bui ldi ng to thei r so urces .

Suc h visio ns ig ni te me . Mea nw hi le , we live i n a b lack up heava l

w hi le o ur lungs fi ll wi th his to ry's wi nds . We rise above eyes tha t have bee n b li nde d

a nd b ury o urse lves i n to mbs agai ns t despai r. We go wi th b lacks to g ree t the co mi ng s un .

4. New Yo rk, yo u are a wo man standing in the w ind's arc hw ays , a f igure remo te as an ato m, a mere do t in the numbered sky,

o ne thigh in the c lo uds , the o ther in w ater. Tell me the name of yo ur star. A battl e betw een grass and co mputers is co ming. The w ho le c entury is hemo rrhaging. I ts head adds disaster to disaster. I ts w aist is Asia. I ts legs belo ng to no thing . . . I know yo u , 0 bo dy, sw imming in the musk of po ppies. Yo u bare o ne nipple and its tw in to me. I loo k at yo u and dream of snow . I loo k at yo u and w ait fo r autumn.

Yo ur snow is the bearer of night. Yo ur night bears so uls aw ay like dead bats . Yo u are a to mb. Eac h of yo ur days digs its ow n grav e. Yo u bring me blac k bread o n a blac k dish and tell me f ables of the W hite Ho use. First , do gs are handc uff ed

w hile c ats giv e birth to helmets and c hains. On narrow streets suppo rted by the bac ks of rats , w hite guards multiply l ike mushroo ms . Seco nd, a wo man fo llow s a saddled do g

w ho mov es l ike a king. The tow n resembles an army in tears .

. Out of the heaped, cov ered bo dies of o ld and yo ung, bullets grow w ith the innoc enc e of plants . But w ho is knoc king at the gates of the tow n ?

[os J

Third , at B edford-Stuyvesant people are storied on people. Time weaves their faces . Refusals are children's meals , and the meals of rats are children­death-feasts for the trinity of tax-collectors , pol icemen, j udges .

Fourth, in Harlem t he black hates the J ew. In Harlem the black also hates the Arab for he remembers slavery. O n B roadway the walkers pass like invertebrates embalmed in alcohol and drugs . In Harlem or on B roadway a festiv al of chains and sticks makes force the seed of time. O ne shot: ten pigeons .

B oxed eyes quiver i n red snow. Time is a crutch. O ld blacks and infant blacks falter and fal l .

5. Harlem , I am not a stranger. I know your rancor. I know how it tastes . When you are starving, thunder is the only answer. When you are chained , you yearn for havoc . I watch the hidden fire advance by hos e and mas k, sq uelching denial and erasing footsteps like the wind .

[66 ]

Harlem, time is dying, and you are the hour. Your cries are bursting volcanoes . Your people disappear like bread into a mouth .

B ut you shall erase N ew York. You shall take it by storm and blow it like a leaf away. N ew York is IB M and the subway emerging from mud and crime and going to mud and crime. N ew York is a hole in the world's pouch for madness to gush in torrents . Harlem, N ew York is dying, and you are the hour.

6. B etween Harlem and Lincoln C enter I walk like a lost number in a desert streaked by the teeth of a black dawn . N o snow, no wind . Hidden, I follow a shadow which carries a bow that targets space. It moves by faces that are not faces but wounds , by figures that are not figures but dried f lowers . Is it a woman's shadow or a man's ? Earth-summoned , a deer passes . M oon-summoned , a bird rises . I feel them hurrying to witness the resurrection of t he Indian past

· in P alestine and her sister countries .

Is space merely a pathway for bullets ? Is earth's purpose only to screen the dead ?

I am an at om spinning on a beam and aimed at the horizon. I t crosses my mind to doubt the roundness of the earth .

But ho me is still M ir ene's daughter , Yar a . The ear th i s bo unded b y Yar a a n d m y daughter , Ninar . Can I par enthesize New Yor k? I ts av enues suppor t my f eet. I ts sky is a lake wher e my do ubts and v isio ns swim. The Hudso n flutter s f ir st l ike a cro w disguised as a nightingale . Dawn adv anc es , wo unded and mo aning. I c all the night. I t has lef t its bed and yielded to the sidewalk. I see it hid ing under a blanket thinner than the wind . Again and again I cr y. New Yor k stays stunned as a fro g in a water less basin .

Abr aham L inco ln, New Yor k is leaning o n its cr utc hes and ho bbling thro ugh memor y's gar den

of co unterf eit flo wer s . I f ac e yo u no w in yo ur mar ble shr ine in W ashingto n, hav ing seen yo ur twin in Har lem, and wo nder when yo ur r evo lutio n will begin . I want to set yo u fr ee fro m white mar ble,

fro m pr esidenc ies , fro m watc hdo gs and hunting do gs . I want yo u to r ead what I , Al i , so n of Mo hammed ,

fr iend of the blac k man, hav e r ead in the hor izo ns of M ar x, L enin, M ao and Niff ari , that div ine madman. Niff ar i made the ear th tr anspar ent and lear ned to dwell between language and v isio n . L inco ln, I want yo u to r ead what Ho wanted to r ead and Ur wa, I bn-al-W ar d: "I div ide my bo dy in many bo dies: '

[6RJ

U rwa ne ve r k ne w Baghdad and p ro bably ref use d Damas cus . He st aye d in t he dese rt unt il he was st ro ng e no ugh to s ho ulde r de at h . He left to t he lo ve rs of t he f ut ure

t hat p art of t he s un t hat was so ake d in t he bloo d of t he dee r he use d to call his lo ve . He agree d t hat t he ho rizo n was his f inal ho me .

L inco ln, Ne w Yo rk is a mirro r re fle ct ing W as hingto n . And W as hingto n re fle cts t he p res ide nt and t he cries of t his wo rld . Let t he weepe rs st and and dance . T he re is st ill t ime , st ill a ro le fo r t he m . I f all in lo ve wit h t he ir dance ,

see it change into a bird , t he n a de luge . "T he wo rld nee ds a de luge ;' I s aid and wept inste ad of rage . Ho w s hall I co nvince Al-M urrah of Abi-al-Ala? T he p rop het 's birt hp lace always de nies him. Ho w s hall I co nvince t he p lains of t he Eup hrates

of t he Euphrates ? Ho w can I e xchange he lmets fo r whe at ? One nee ds co urage to ask t he p rop het 's q uest io ns . Eve n while I s ay t his I see a clo ud ne ck lace d wit h fi re . I see peop le me lt ing like te ars .

7. Ne w Yo rk , I co rne r yo u wit h wo rds . I grasp yo u , s q uee ze yo u , write a n d e rase yo u . I n hot and co ld and in bet wee n , awake , as leep o r in bet wee n,

[69 ]

I stand above you and sigh . I pass ahead o f you and warn you to stay behind . I crush you with my eyes­you who are crushed with fear. I try to rule your streets or lie between your thighs and make you into something new or wash you so I can re-name you . I used to see no difference between a tree and a man-one with a crown of branches, the other crowned with his branching nerves . N ow I cannot separate pebbles from cars , shoes from helmets , bread from tin. In spite of this N ew York is not nonsense. After all , it is two words .

B ut when I write the letters of D amascus, I mimic nonsense . I create nothing. D amascus- a sound, something of the wind . Years back, she stepped out of my pages and has not returned . Time guards the threshhold and wonders when or if she will return . The same is true of B eirut, C airo, B aghdad­so much nonsense f loating like dust in sunrays . O ne sun, two suns, three, a hundred . . . A man aw akens every day from reassurance to anxiety. He leaves a wife and children for a rifle. On e sun , tw o sun s , three, a h un dred . . .

He returns like used thread discarded in a corner. He sits in a cafe . The cafe fills with stones and dolls called men, or are they really frogs who speak their filth and foul their chairs ? How can a man revolt when his brain is bloody, and his blood enslaved ? I ask you, how ? Tell me, you who warn me to ignore science and specialize in the chemistry of the Arabs .

8. Walt Whitman, I see letters careening toward you down the streets of M anhattan . Each letter carries cats and dogs . To cats and dogs the twenty-first century ! To people, extermination in this the American century.

Whitman, I did not see you in all M anhattan. The moon was an orangeskin chucked from a window ; the sun, an orange neon . O ut of Harlem shot one of the black roads of the moon, but where was it going? A light follows it still , illuminating the asphalt all the way to G reenwich Village, that other Latin Quarter. Whitman, a clock announces t ime to N ew York like garbage thrown to a woman who is nine parts ashes . A clock announces time where P avlov experiments with people in the system of N ew York .

A c loc k anno unces time while a le tter comes from the eas t wr itten in a c hi ld 's blood . I scan it un ti l the chi ld 's do ll becomes a cannon or a rif le . Cor pses in their s tree ts ma ke sis ters of Hanoi , Jer usa lem and Cairo . Whi tman ,

a c loc k anno unces time whi le I see wha t yo u never saw

an d know wha t yo u co uld never know . I move li ke someone screened

fro m nei gh bors who them se lves are cancers in an ocean of a mi llion is lands . Eac h one is a co lumn wi th two hands , two le gs and a bro ken head . And yo u, Wa lt Whi tman ,

s tay e xi led li ke an immi gran t . Have yo u become a bird un known in the American s ky? Whi tman , le t o ur turn be now . Le t's ma ke a ladder wi th o ur visions , weave a common pi llow wi th o ur foo ts te ps . Sha ll we be pa tien t? Man dies but s ti ll o utlas ts his mon umen ts . Le t o ur turn be now . I e xpec t the Vo lga to flow be tween Manha ttan and Queens I e xpec t the Huan g Ho to rep lace the Hudson . Are yo u as tonished ? DiJ the Oron tes no t di lute the Ti ber ? Le t o ur turn be now . I hea r an ear thq ua ke and war . Wal l Stree t and Ha rlem are co llidin g l i ke thunde r and leaves , l i ke dus t a nd dynam ite . But she lls revea l the mse lves w hen the waves pass .

The t ree remem be rs it is a t ree . Mank in d atten ds to its wo un ds. The s un changes its mask

an d mo urns w ith its da rke r e ye . Let o ur t urn be now. We can o ut run spee ding whee ls ,

c rush atoms , o utsw im comp ute rs , capt ure a p la in an d spa rk ling co unt ry f rom the birds. Let o ur t urn be now. Our book is on the rise ,

an d it is not me re p rint but a p rophec y that g rows an d g rows ,

a beg inn ing of a w ise ma dness , the c lea ring up that fo llows a ra in , the s un 's inhe ritance. Let o ur t urn be now. New Yo rk is a rock th rown at the wo rld's brow. Its vo ice is in m y c lothes an d yo urs. Its cha rcoa l dyes yo ur lim bs an d m ine. I see what wa its us at the en d , but how can I pe rs ua de the c lock

to spa re me unt il it comes. Let o ur t urn be now. Let us be the e xec ut ione rs. Let t ime keep float ing on the sea of that e q uat ion : New Yo rk p lus New Yo rk e q ua l a f une ra l. New Yo rk m in us New Yo rk e q ua l the s un.

9. When I was e ighteen in the e ight ies , Be irut did not hea r me. Un de r m y c lothes un de r m y sk in is a co rpse. A co rpse is what s leeps like an en dless book. It does not inha bit the past an d s ynta x of the bo dy. A co rpse rea ds the ea rth in s tones , not rive rs.

[73 ]

(Excuse me, but I often l ike proverbial wisdom. After all , if you are not passionate, You are already a corpse . ) I say now and again that my poems are trees where nothing but a s ingl e trunk unites branch with branch and l eaf with l eaf. I say now and again that poetry is the rose of all winds­not wind onl y, but tempests , not one circl ing, but orbits , orbits . Thus I break rul es and create rul es second by second. I go away but never exit.

I n Berkel ey or Beirut or other hives , what preparations ! Between a face transfigured by marij uana at midnight and a face that I BM embl azons on the col d sun, I l et the angry river of L ebanon flow, Gibran on one shore and Adonis on the other. So I l eft New York as I might l eave a bed , the woman in it l ike a stifled star, the bed shattering. I moved between a cl utch of trees that moaned the wind . I passed a cross without a memory of thorns .

Now before the bearer o f the first water that wounds Descartes or Aristotl e , I share mysel f between my home in Ashrafiah and the Ras-Beirut Bookshop, betwe e n my students at Zahrat-al -Ahssan and the Hayek Press . My writings become a pal m tree; the t ree, a dove.

[ 74 ]

For a thousand and one nights Leyla and B uthaina stay unfound . G oing from stone to stone, J ameel pursues his destiny, forever searching, forever unfulfilled . And no one discovers Kaiss . *

Still I salute the dusk flowers and the flowers of the sand .

B eirut, I still salute yo u .

*Leyla, Buthaina, Jameel and Kaiss are legendary figures from Arabic tales of unrequited love.

[ 7 5 ]

1 .

TRANSF OR MA T I ONS OF THE L OVER

"Women are your garments, and you are theirs." The Koran "The body is the dome of the soul." St. Gregoire Palamas

. . . Faster than the air I ran beneath the j ailing sky until I disappeared in darkness . The wind kept calling me by name . I heard the echo of an old man's voice: "You will discover a mountain filled with your necessities . I t will protect you and grant you victory. " Then I heard a voice from within the mountain: "P ull aside the curtain and enter. " I entered the mountain as through a window . . . A hand beckoned me toward an ageless place that glowed in the light. A bed awaited me there, and on it lay an image with breasts and thighs and all the rest.

I awoke beside a woman who became my other nature, and that nature flowered suddenly like poppies or plants . M ale and female it flowered .

M y body started to prepare itself for something like the fall of planets .

2. Her body grew north, south , east, west . I t grew upward to new depths . Like a spring she welcomed me, and like a tree she surrendered to me.

Suspended in my dream, I kept imagining my dream into the world , inventing secrecies to fill the f laws of all my days . I burned against her like an ember.

[ 7 7 ]

M y lips and fingers were pens on her flesh . I memorized her in every alphabet and memorized my memories until they multipl ied .

M y sighs were clouds that made their own horizons . I wove her a robe from the sun. The light of midnight traveled me to her.

I hid in the folds of her robe. We learned the world together. At the sound of doorbells we disappeared . I sat beside her while she read . I slept l ike tears between the lashes of her eyes . Suddenly I lost s ight of her. She was everywhere I'd never been . Her garments and her seasons became my pathway to her.

We knifed our names in treetrunks . We rolled downhill like stones . We sang with trees, and the earth was l ike the fruit of love for us .

C louds were our friends . Stonehouses understood u s . The memory o f daylight d isappeared behind u s .

In Qasyun she emerged like incense, and I swayed in the scent of her shy and intimate taste.

3. We woke to the bitter threads of dawn that changed in to people and mosses from the sea. O ur eyelids tighten ed like knots . The sun light striped an d bann ered our bodies befo re it flamed across ou r pillows.

Our eyelids tigh ten ed in to harder kn ots .

Th e dawn ordered the n ight to aw aken .

M y body was a vessel I shared with her. I discovered with the map of sex a new earth , and I advanced toward it .

I disguised my path with riddles and signs that vaporized in my delirium like tattoos of fire . I was a wave advancing toward her shore . Her back was a continent, and the world's compass hid beneath her breasts .

I enclosed her as if I were the branches of a tree . We felt between us a power like the wings of a thousand eagles . I l istened to her at passion's brink . . . the sigh of her waist, the surge of her hips .

O vercome, I entered the desert of panic and whispered her name. I descended lower and lower until I reached her narrower world where fire and tears were one and the same.

I watched the wonder of all I saw until I was drunk with seeing. The lord of the flesh spoke to me.

Three hundred and sixty-five days encircled me. I made homes of every day, made beds in every home and slept in every bed . (When love's hour begins, the moon and the sun are the same . )

She bore m e like a river. I heard another language that turned into gardens, stones , waves , more waves and flowers with supernatural thorns as the lord of the flesh commanded .

[7<> ]

"My be love d , who se bo dy I have sc ript ure d w ith love 's pe n , do what yo u w ill w ith me . Stop a nd speak unt il yo u sunde r me a nd f ree my t rea sure s .

If I a m stat ic a s the sta rs , re -o rde r me . If I a m h ighe r tha n the c lo uds

o r lowe r tha n a sp ring o n a ny mo unta in's peak , re ma in be neath me .

I see yo ur face in eve ry othe r face . Yo u a re the sun that t rave ls ne ithe r ea st no r we st . Yo u ne ithe r wake no r sleep . Yo u a re my re surrect io n a nd my fa ll . Yo u sea m my so rrow s . Yo u let my meteo ring ve rse s be the death of tho rns . Yo u let me ho ld like w ind the ve ry p la net s in my ha nd unt il they're p urifie d a nd lo st . No wo nde r I a ssa ult yo u w ith my hea rt

a nd k now yo u, po re by po re . Why? Beca use yo ur wh ispe ring inv ite s me :'

I n be d o r o n the g ro und it se lf we p la nte d sap ling s of the fle sh . We h id in co nve rsat io n lo ng e no ugh to make a new e pipha ny.

He r bo dy wa s mine , a nd mine wa s he rs . We we re t ra nsfo rme d into each othe r. The a rch itect ure of o ur jo int s , the p ulse in the limbs ,

the p ure geo met ry of musc le s a nd the g lo ry of the act that bo und us, nave l to nave l , co nt ract io ns of the fle sh , de sce nt a nd a sce nt , p latea us a nd flight s a nd wave s , he r wa ist l ike a floo r of sta rs a nd ha lf -sta rs a nd vo lca noe s a nd e mbe rs a nd the wate rfa lls of tw in de sire s . . .

[8o]

Af terward , we hid lik e twins in shadow where the galaxy of sex was k ing. We lay transf ormed . Her breasts were night and day to me. Standing, we f elt between us an opening of f rontiers . No longer c aptiv es of ourselv es , we started the c lock of the sun we stopped together. We let it summon f ruit and f lowers with its light.

We seemed more quietly aliv e . We saw a new earth blossoming with trees planted by the lord of the f lesh.

4. In the sea of lov e or on the winds of lov e and f ate we were enthroned l ik e a liv ing book of f lesh on the world's weight.

Our eac h body was a water-c arried dome borne toward the sev enth heav en . . .

"Belov ed , what do you see?"

"I see a k night who says that nothing I desire c annot be mine. We sowed wheat seeds and told them to grow, and they grew and were harv ested . We said, 'Be husk ed . ' And they were husk ed . We said, 'Be ground . ' And they were ground. We said , 'Be bak ed . ' .(\nd they were bak ed . And when w e s a w that ev erything w e wanted w e rec eiv ed , we f eared and awok e, and we shared the same pillow. " "And you , my lov er, what did you see?"

"Ch ildren before a w in d a bla ze w ith meteors ."

"What e lse ?"

"A s lope that move d an d change d into a pregnant ga ze lle ."

"What e lse ?"

"The two of us together on a sh ip . We e mbrace d , an d the sh ip shattere d . We c lung to a spar that save d us . Lying on it , yo u gave birth . Yo u sa id , ' I 'm th irst y. ' I knew that I co uld g ive yo u noth ing but the sea to dr in k. Then I saw a sp ir it in the s ky who offere d me

a flas k . After yo u drank , I drank as we ll ,

an d the water was hone Y:'

The sp ir it van ishe d , sa ying , ' I w ill leave love to yo u an d ret ur n to the k ing do m of the a ir . '

M y bo dy t urne d into a new hor izon , an d my limbs were pa lm trees .

Yo u g ive me yo ur fr uit , be love d . I a m p lucke d a lert beneath yo ur breast . Yo u are myrt le an d wate r to me . Yo ur f ruits a re wo un ds an d roa ds at once . I e nte r yo u . Yo u sheathe me . I dwe ll in yo u as in a sea . Your bo dy is a wave . Your bo dy is Apr il itse lf , an d ever y part of yo u beco mes a dove that spea ks my na me .

You ho ld my limbs in you rs u ntil I'm dru nk as any suff erer. I gro w into you r east and west and taste the du st of the grav e . I am you r kingdo m's plu nderer and sav iou r. I tremble and dare. I c all u po n what gro ws . I pray to the wilderness . . . I f eel the cou rage of panthers and the lo neliness of eagles: '

To rn , I f ell into c av erns fi lled with c reatu res withou t f ac es . Su rrou nded by them, I knelt there .

No lo nger myself , bewildered , I spu rned the earth and kept what I'd beco me. The r est was an abyss that o pen ed and c lo sed o n me.

I go ssiped with an angel , l istened to wav es , c ro ssed bridges to the bo tto m of the wo rld and then r etu rn ed , my limbs intac t, my shatter ed heart in my hand s . Ou t of this dream I heard h e r su mmo n me, "W here were you , my lov e ? You too k so lo ng to enter the tent of m y bo dy, to be its spine and moo rings . W hy did you take so lon g, my lov e?"

The c hild-go d beneath my garments sc reamed fo r lov e . He was tired of bearing the bu rden of ro ads. His lamps were trees . He ru led the bells and to wers of the air. His lov e was like the wind of c reatio n , reac hing beyo nd all brinks

u ntil it tu rned into the sky, the sky, the sky.

fH � l

I arrived beyond the sea, beyond sea-charmed trees, beyond mountains to find her body like a city. From the base of her neck to the arch of her eyelids her beauty made a slave of me. She had the grace of wild birds , and love gloried in her pulse.

Doors became transparent. Windows raised themselves . Closets glittered l ike gardens or piazzas .

"Do you remember, my beautiful , how our home bloomed in orchards of olives and figs , how the spring slept beside it l ike the apple of your eye?

Do you remember, my beautiful , how the branches fluttered with butterflies , and every night was a new beginning on earth ?

Every night you embraced me, and I touched the smooth wilderness between your breasts .

I shall leave a history of thunder, of plains ploughed by exile, of caravans in passage, of islands and inkpots . I shall never halt until death halts me .

At night when I erect my tent, I quiver as we touch. Each quiver's a country, and the road to every country beckons me. We bow, we meet, we pass or sit opposite each other. You are my garments , and I am yours . Our muscles tense . Our skins taste l ike a violent sea that sails us in its welcome.

We hear beds moaning l ike lovers . We feel that we are touching death itself. We turn and arch . Love's our saviour. It satisfies as water satisfies the thirsty.

Let there be weddings ! A magic brighter than the sun illuminates us . The spring we swim in purifies us .

Let there be weddings ! We avenge death with the sacrifice of ourselves . In love or out of love, awake or asleep, we serve the all-seeing god of darkness .

Let there b e weddings ! Each time we lose ourselves in sex, we face a dream of cities revolving like globes beneath our eyelids .

Love begets love as distance begets distance and you are that love, that distance, my beloved .

When you desired me, you let me create you . When I wanted you, you were there for m e like water. Your pulse became my pulse. I painted your breasts with words , and we drowned in love's waters .

[ H s l

In the city of ourselves we live like love's parishioners .

Each day's an open book that we write with our eyes .

You are a secret beyond dreams . You are love beyond the heart itself, and we take new names each time we waken .

You are a lake. I am a willowtrunk spearing your earth . I cast anchor at your shore . Your waist is my anchorage. You are all women in one, all lovers in one.

What tides await us at the gulf? I am a closed shell , and you are my pearl . Your face is all the guide I need .

I bare day's other face . I see the opposite of night. I shout at the sea until it shatters like a reed . I say to thunder, 'Listen ! Is love the only place unvisited by death ? Are we the perishers still capable of knowing love ? Death, give me a name to call you by ! '

A space divides me from myself where death and love await me. Flesh is my baptism. From the depth of al l that perishes , I s ing of love . . . "

[86]

5. "Why did you marry me?"

"I was j ust walking with nothing of my own, nowhere to rest . I slept and awoke, and you were lying on my pillow. I thought of Eve and Adam's rib . . . I dreamed that clouds rose before me. A voice said , 'Choose whatever you wane And I chose a stormcloud , and we both drank from it . I said , 'Let my flesh shrink and stretch , appear and disappear: My clothes abandoned me, and darkness clothed me. The world made its home within me and said , 'Descend deeply into darkness : So I entered darkness itself and saw a stone, a light, sands and running water. I met myself in you and said, 'I will never leave this darkness : But the sun betrayed me by illuminating everything:'

"But how, how did you marry me?"

"My body came to you like the wind colored by the earth itself. Like planets of wind w� loved:'

6. Yesterday I closed my door at the s ight of the first star. I pulled the curtains, and I entered her.

If I'm a sorcerer, my love's l ike incense. If I'm a sorcerer, my love's a fire , an altar, an ember. I turn into smoke. I conj ure up a sign to dazzle her. Her loins conceal a wound that awes me and holds my ultimate death in a kingdom of towers and angels . . .

I see a naked man crushing hurricanes in ecstasy. Baptized by waterfalls, he drops to his knees and disappears .

I dreamed I washed the earth until it glistened like a mirror. I walled it with clouds and fenced it with fire . I held it in my hands and domed it with tears .

"What final gift are you preparing for me?"

"I'll wrap you in wedding clothes, my beautiful , and introduce you to the grave so you will have no fear of death or of the death of love. I'll swim with you and give you death to drink. I 'll give you everything between the grave and death's gratuities : '

I said, "If only a woman could be transparent as the sky. If only the world could be a stone named sex:'

And I kept imagining that she was like a sea in space until I fell in love with foam and hid it in my eyes and swore that waves would be my neighbor.

In her depths I drowned my sorrows .

Awake with me all night she whispers , "You are my angel . Beneath your skin an angel hides . Let's plunge into the deep again, my love, and leave to others the height and breadth of all the other kingdoms of the air: '

[88 ]

ADONIS

Born 1 930 in Qassabin, a Syrian village between Tartus and Latakia , Ali Ahmed Said adopted the pen-name Adonis early in his career. His formative years were spent in political organization in Syria . In the mid-fifties Adonis settled in Beirut, choosing in 1 960 to become a citizen of Lebanon.

In 1957 in cooperation with Yusuf al-Khal, Adonis founded Shi 'r, a poetry review which became the mouth­piece of the Free Verse Movement and the arena for the most innovative poetic experimentation in modern Arabic poetry. By 1 968 Adonis launched his own literary j ournal Mawaqif, which was not confined to poetry but also raised issues of liberty, creativity and change in all walks of Arab l ife . He is the author of eight volumes of poetry and four volumes of critical essays ; he is also the editor of three anthologies of Arabic poetry and the translator of numerous l iterary works from French.

The recipient of the Award of the International Poetry Forum in 1 970, Adonis' poetry has been translated into Dutch , English, French , German, Greek, Ital ian, Japanese, Persian, Russian, Spanish and Turkish.

Since 1 956 Adonis has been married to Khalida al-Said , one of the major l iterary critics in the Arab world . They have two daughters , Arwad and Ninar, and they live in Beirut, Lebanon . .

SAMUEL HAZO

Founder and Director of the International Poetry Forum , Samuel Hazo is a graduate of Notre Dame University, Magna Cum Laude. He received his M.A. from Duquesne University and his Ph .D. from the University of Pittsburgh. He is Professor of English at Duquesne University. The author of twelve books of poetry and one critical study, Dr. Hazo has also published two translations, The Blood of Adonis and The Growl of Deeper Waters. His first two works of fiction are lnscripts and The Very Fall of the Sun. His collection of poetry, Once for the Last Bandit, was a National Book Award finalist in 1 97 3 . His most recent books are To Paris (poetry) and The Wanton Summer Air (novel ) .

KAMAL BOULLATA

Born 1 942 in Jerusalem, Palestine, Kamal Boullata studied art at the Academy of Rome and the Corcoran Art Museum School in Washington, D.C. In 1 968 he moved to the United States and has since been living in Washington, D.C.

Exhibitions of h is art have been held among other places at Palazzo del Esposizione, Rome, Italy ; Gallery One , Beirut, Lebanon; Museum of Modern Art, Baghdad , Iraq ; Gallerie L'Atelier, Rabat, Morocco; National Museum of Jordan, Amman, Jordan; National Museum of Asian Arts , Moscow, USSR; Kunstnernes Hus, Oslo, Norway; Tokyo Metropolitan Museum, Tokyo, Japan; New York University Art Gallery, Binghamton, New York, and Catholic University Art Gallery, Washington, D.C.

His l ine drawings have adorned the writings of leading contemporary Arab writers , including Naguib Mahfuz, Halim Barakat, Yusuf ldris , Elias Khoury, Ghassan Kanafani, Adonis and Mahmud Darwish, among others .

Boullata's writings and translations of poetry have been published in numerous periodicals , including Muslim World, Mundus Artium, Mawaqif and Shu 'un Filastiniya. He is the editor of Women of The Fertile Crescent: An

Anthology of Modern Poetry by Arab Women ( 1 978 ) and the co-editor of Th'e World of Rashid Hussein: A Palestinian Poet in Exile ( 1979) .

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ADONIS

Poetry Qasa 'id Uta (First Poems) 1 95 7 , 1 96 3 , 1 970 Awraq Fi 'l-Rih (Leaves in the Wind ) 1 9 5 8 , 1 959, 1 970 Aghani Mihyar al-Dimashqi (Songs of Mihyar the Damascene) 1 96 1 , 1 970, 1 97 1 Kitab a/ Tahawwulat wa '1-Hijra fi Aqalim al-Lay/ wa '1-Nahar (The Book

of Changes and Migration in the Regions of Night and Day) 1 965 , 1 970 al-Masrah wa 'l-Maraya (The Stage and the Mirrors) 1 968 Waqt Bayn al-Ramad wa 'I- Ward (Time Between Ashes and Roses) 1 970, 1 97 1 al-Athar a/ Shi 'riyya at-Kamila (Complete Works) 2 volumes, 1 97 1 Mufrad bi-Sighat al-jam ' (Singular i n the Form of Plural) 1977 Kitab al-Qasa 'id al-Khams (The Book of the Five Poems) 1 980

Critical Writings: Muqaddima li 'l-Shi'r a/- 'Arabi (An Introduction to Arabic Poetry) 1 97 1 Zaman a/ Shi'r (A Time for Poetry) 1972 a/- Thabit wa 'l-Mutahawwil (Immobility a n d Change) 3 volumes : 1 974, 1 9 7 7 , 1 9 7 8 , 1979 Fatiha Li Nihayat al-Qg.rn (Preface t o the E n d o f the Century) 1 980

Anthologies: Mukhtarat Min Shi'r Yusuf al-Khal (Selections from the Poetry of Yusuf al-Khal) 1 963 Mukhtarat Min Shi'r al-Sayyab (Selections from the Poetry of al-Sayyab) 1 967 Diwan al-Shi 'r a/- 'Arabi (Anthology of Arabic Poetry) 3 volumes; 1 964- 1 968

Translations from French: Complete Works of George Shihadeh/

Histoire de Vasco (Hikayat Vasco) 1 97 2 Monsieur Bohle ( al-Sayyed Robel) 1 9 7 2 L'emigre d e Brisbane (al-Muhajir Brisban) 1 9 7 3 L a Violette (al-Banafsaj) 1 9 7 3 L e Voyage (al-Safar) 1 9 7 5 L a Soiree des Proverbes ( Saharat al-Amthal) 1 97 5

Complete Works of St. john Perse: Amers (Minarat) 197 6 Exil , Annabase Eloges, La Gloire des Rois, L'amitie du Prince

(Manfawa Qasa 'id Ukhra) 1 9 7 8 Plays by Racine:

Thebes ou les Deux Freres Ennemis (Ma'asat Tiba Aw al-Shaqiqan al- 'Aduwwan) 1 979 Phedre (F edra) 1 979

For this edition Samuel Hazo revised his previous translations of the poems of Adonis and added new ones , including a major portion of "Transformations of the Lover," and Kamal Boullata not only designe<;l the cover papers but devised four l ine drawings based upon letters in the Arabic alphabet and their relation to Adonis' most dominant themes .