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. III. Series.
PJ 862.A519A24 1983
7 892'.716 83-13283
ISBN 0-8214-0754-6
ISBN 0-8214-0755-4 (phk.)
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 Arthu r
Lund kvist's Agadir tran slated and with an in tro­
d uction by W illiam J ay Sm ith and Lei f Sjo berg .
Yann is Ritsos' Subterranean Horses in a tran slation
by Min as Savvas and with an in trod uction by
Vassilis Vassilikos was the third selection . The
fou rth and fifth were Bulg arian selection s
published s im 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
Lau reate 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 s am e trad ition
of provid ing tran slation s of som e of the m os t
sign i fican t poets in t h e 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 II
A Tree I2
A Mirror for Khalida I3
A Mirror for My Body in Love I6
A Woman and a Man I8
Voices I9
The Stage and the Mirrors 22
A King, Mihyar 23
His Voice 24
Mount Suneen 24
A World of Magic 25
Presence 25
Finally 26
The Traveler 26
Death 27
Thunderbolt 27
Adam 28
A Memory of Wings 28
The Song 29
The Martyr in Dreams 29
Song of a Man in the Dark 30
The Crow's Feather 3I
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

(Al i 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 ellif 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 es pecially
liked the way the fin al lin 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 otherd ay ? " To say
"Is here , is there . :• is a con st ruction that d oes violen ce
.

to ourg 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 pers uad 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 s pirit of the poem
as I und erstood or felt it. At still other tim es I let literally
tran slated phrases or l in es stand as rend ered s in ce I could
thin k of n o way to im prove them , as in the s u perb
im ag e in "The Captive" where Ad on is d escribes a n etted
bu tterf 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 Syria­
Leban 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 lchas 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 trans­
formative 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 glorifi­
cation 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 dif­
ference, 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 es truct i on
of all . L et poetry then be a total and enveloping presence
like the very air we breathe so that it can become, like
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 ed ition 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 d ies
of the work of A donis , I refer them to innu merable
stu d ies by A rabists , A rabic literary critics as well as critics
in Engl ish, French and other langu ages ; any good
reference work on contemporary M iddle Eastern L itera­
tu 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 d istingu ished artist Kamal Bou llata, who
also devised t he cover des ign 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 b roke 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 a fter w all
ofd 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 i nnocent years revolve
like life within a womb .

I s e e in the west a light

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 heave n .
 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 hand s .

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 like snails
within their shel l s .
0 cities
o f rej ection, come !
Discover u s ! "

[3]
 TREE OF F IRE

The tree by the river

is weeping leaves.
It s trews 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 b ran ches from a shore.
Harbors d is solve. Black lin es
un weav e them selves . I pass

between the barriers and s pring s

of lig 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 ofd ying wing s .

[4]
 HUNGER

The hung ry p lan ted a for est

where w eep ing be cam e tree s ,
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 fores t turn ed to ash es

w ith their cries th at cam e

as i f from t owers ofd 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 d ream .
I saw
a child d riving 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 d id 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
prod igal brother riding
the s tallion of death to fi nd
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 it s ghost t hat rises
from t he grave demanding
vengeance .
N ot from et ernit y
bu t from a bit 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 it comes ,
and on it s face is t he hu nger
of pigeons and parching flowers .

[7 ]
 A B OVE T HE 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 w ind , 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 d ried trees
shielded us like children
under their d ried shadow s .

D o you s e e t h e 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 d ressed
and come and knocked
on the woven door of darknes s ,
parted a curtai n ,
f lung windows open
and retreated to the sinuosities
of branches-
as if we had pou red
from the brims of our eyelids
such d reams, s uch tears-
as if we had stayed
in a country of b ranches
and never chose to retu rn .

[ 9]
 IN THE F ORE S T

L eave m e alone.
L et birds come .
L et stones be laid on stones .
L eave me alone.
I waken streets
when I walk throu gh process ions
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 fi nd
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 s umm 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 es s,
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 eyes­
a 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 ofd us t.. .
Cym bals and alleluias
chorus
in our blood.
Und erwater s un 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 q uest
they d esired .
Nearer,
n earer you breathed ,
you r 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 fir st 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 com ing.
I scou t the hou se ,
interrogate t h e plants ,
pray for a gl impse of it
and wonder how, why, where .
The wind s ,
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 d ies .
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 ofg 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 s t like 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 d res s ?
W hen you lay nu de, I read m y 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 o. D 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 life
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
cha ptered 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 o f day,
ris i ng throug h seclu s ions
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 us t 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 s ign ed with our footp rin ts .

W e will s tay lik e 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 ace­
an 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 t­
and 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 roa d ,
I s a w m y face in h i s .
M y t hou ght s resembled locomot ives
st 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 hand s , 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 hand s , here, there ,
a n d the g a p 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 IH Y AR

M ihyar, the king . . .

alive in a dream of castles , gardens
and days in service to his word s .

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 s ky

m y m oun tain
read s
to the nig ht,
to the trees,
to al l who cann ot sleep­
hi s hig h sorrows .
 A WORLD OF MAGIC

Between the l ord of d ays and m e­

n o hatred , n o vend etta .
E verything 's over.
He's barricad ed tim e
behin d 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 in g
burn s the m umm ies of the cen turies .
 F INALLY

For once,
for the last time,
I d ream of falling in s pace . . .
I live su rrou nded by colors ,
simply,
like any man.
I marry the blind gods
and the god s of vision
for the last time .

THE TRAVELER

The glass shade of my lamp

reflects me
even after I 'm gone.
M y gos pel is denial,
and my map-
a world I 've yet to make .
 DEATH

"W e must make gods or die.

W e must kill gods or d ie, "
whisper t he lost stones
i n their lost kingdom.

THUNDER B OLT

M y green thunder bolt,

my spouse in the s u n ,
my madnes s ,
change the face of things .
I 've fallen under rocks .
I 'm blinded and beseeching
in a land without a s ky.

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

0 m y thunderbolt,
change everything,
change all the maps .
Be in a f lash
my likeness i n the s u n ,
my t w i n 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 ME MORY 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 field s ,
I leave so little t o the sand s ,
less t o 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 ascend ing wings
and name the earth my prophet .

Stripped of seasons , bu ds and field s ,

I wake with s prings of du st in m y blood ,
and in my vein s ,
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 eye s ,
a n d m y eyes su stain m e .
I liv e m y life ou t waiting
for the ship of destiny
to rise from its grave.

I s this a d ream ?
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 n not 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 fes tival 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 s ummers 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 like 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 s kull 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 u s .
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 u s
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 s s , 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 s pot 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 s wo rd an d d agge r.
Let him t ake eve ry ank let ,
bran d an d we lt.
We pe ddle d
diamon d s in t he market place
fo r blin d and u se le ss e le phant s.
A man ble sse d himse lf
wit h t he sandal of a k ing.
Anot he r
was split , alive.
A t hird
e sc ape d on broken leg s.
A fo u rt h d ie d of a t hre at.
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 recogn ized 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 .
A dead
eunuch received seventy
lashes plus ten .
A woman
with one breast dared a gauntlet
of eye s .
A child wore
vestments to his crucifixion .
The lord s of the land were Ahmad ,
C afour and Timurlane.
The father of knights , the musk­
man , the ravishing princes
were our own people .
They wore
as crowns the consecrations
of our lives .
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 ru in

r lH1
of our land .
"0 G od , let victory
come to our masters
and to their son s .
Let them
be lords of all the lands
and all the sea s .
Let w i s e men
bring us saviors from abroad .
Let them be men of lightning.
Their names and faces shall be
minted on our coin s .
O u r women
shall sleep on a pillow of lil ies ."

3.
Here is a people turning
thei r very faces to the hoofs .
Here i s a land humil iated
like a coward's house.
Who shall
tender us a bird , j ust
a bird ?
J ust a tree ?
W ho shall teach us
the al phabet of air?
We wait
at the crossroad s .
We watch the sand
submerge our beacons .
The sun
d is integrates within the wrinkles
of our hand s .

fwl
 0 my co untry . . .
Yo ur s kin is a lizard ' s .
Yo ur perf ume
is the stenc h of rubber sco rc hed .
Yo ur s unrise is a weeping bat.
Yo u bring s uc 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 h a .
Sheet his bed ."
And I, rej ec tio n's master,
turn f ro m my windo w ,
shiv ering, to write my so u l .
Tarantula's tears are webbing
my eyes .
Death flutes
in my thro at .
I c ro wn m y 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 d i rt of o bliv io n my steps
shall gro w .
I am co ntent
to be a f lo ating co rpse.

[ 40 ]
My l ife has bee n o ne to ur
of te rro r.
To night the dove
of fa rewe ll burns i n 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 h ris 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 ri nces ove r no thing.
Our h is to ry d isso lves like foa m .
I wa rn yo u . Go away."
M ud e ngulfs us like a ne t .
We d row 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 .
Inva de
us
Inva de o ur sac re d
l ives .
Our wo me n wa it
for you behind the bushes
of their d reams , i n c hambers ,
on the gra s s .
Their loins a n d 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
you r fate beneath this tree
of my despair, but the roots
of the plague are c lear to me.
Blink by blink, I wait
a d a rker eagle.
Behind
my shoulde r stands the shepherd
of no hope.
His flu tes break
in my c hest.
 The ro ad befo re me
bleeds with no thing but anemo ne
and weed s .
I hear a rasp
o f tho rns .
Des pair, I c all yo u
by yo ur right name.
We were never
strangers , but I
refuse to walk with yo u .

5.
Rej ec tio n's banners guard
me as I weave these wo rds ,
b u t in m y 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 b reathe 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 s ky."

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 everyth ing 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 wal l s .

Or are these carriages

the battering s ighs of my v erses ?

Cyclones hav e crushed u s .

Sprawled in t h e ashes of o u r d ays ,
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,

d isaster 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 trou sers 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
rej ec ts u s .

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 applaud s the m .
Thro ugh t h e c lay o f m y eyeshells,
I see what any man c an see:
libatio ns at the grav es o fc hildren ,
inc ense fo r ho ly men ,
to mbsto nes o f blac k marble,
fields sc attered with s keleto ns ,
v ulture s ,
mushy co rpses w i t h t h e 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 island s .

[ 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 u t ?

A l l 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 ru ins ,
wash the corpses, wash our history.
Let the poems strangled on our lips
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 s pear returns to strike me
d ead .

J.
B raid your hair, my boys, with greener leaves .
We still have verse among u s .
We have the sea .
We have our d reams .
"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 u s .

Remember,
we are greener than the sea,
younger than time.
The sun and the day are d ice
between our fingers . "

U nder the exile's moon

tremble the first wings .
B oats begin to d rift
on a dead sea, and s i roccos
rus tle 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 u s to sacrifice,
name u s anew.
The eagle of the future waits ,
and there are ans wers 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 hu rc 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 h s 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 l k
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 i l ,

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 vineyard s ,
a n d 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 rej oices .
A new voice s peaks my word s .
M y poems bloom naked as roses .

Find me some paper,

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

"Where is you r 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 m e .
Tell m e what silence follows
the final silence
spun from the very fall of the s u n ?
What is it, phoeni x ?
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 you r 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 h ment 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 a nts 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 cross­
exti ng uish ed .
He bur ned i n poo ls of ch err y
li ke fir e withi n fir e­
exti ng uish ed .
Yet fro m th e d ar 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 u s .

Dying with h i s wings outsprea d ,

he gathered a l l w h o buried
him in ashes
and became, like you ,
the s pring 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 fou r legs
head ing for murder
while the d rowned already moan
in the distance.
New York is a woman
holding, accord ing to history,
a rag called liberty with one hand
and s trangling the earth with the other.
New York
is damp as phalt
with a s urface like 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 ! "
B u t n o w 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 weariness­
when pain is born of the s u n ,
a n d daylight pierces us
with its blue, yellow, rose and j asmine s pears ?

[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 l ing v ict i ms
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 i n t he orc har ds o f language
w ho st amp o n poetr y ?
In Pitts bur gh , Balt imore , C ambr idge ,
Ann Ar bor , M anhatt a n , t he U nite d Nat io ns
Pr i nceto 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 l l ,
d iscover ing t he c he mistr y o f K ir kukz ahr an a n d Afro -As i a .
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 h is name .
In t his tree , a s ingle b ir 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 hi ps ,
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 i ns .
I s aw names i n 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 a n d 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 s tone of M ecca
and the waters of the Tigris .
I n s pite o f all thi s ,
y o u p a n t i n P alestine a n d 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 s prout nails
in the manner of flowers .
An eastern wind u proots 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 s u s pended in a hammock,
s w inging 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 ilence­
locked doors , all .
If I seduce B eirut or a sister capita l ,
s h e 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 bu rned .
So, I seduce B eirut.
Some say that words are dea d ,
that action is everything.
B ut I tell you that only their words are dead .
Their tongues have traded s peech 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 d rea ms . . .
T hus I discove r yo u , my fi re , my capi ta l ,
my poe try.
I se d uce 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 u rces .
Amo ng the m I saw Arab rive rs
bea ri ng huma n re m na 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 u ry 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 s ky,
o ne thigh in the c lo ud s , 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 i s 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 i n 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 s now .
I loo k at yo u and w ait fo r autumn.

Yo u r s now is the bearer of night.

Yo u r night bears so uls aw ay like dead bats .
Yo u are a to m b .
Eac h o f yo u r d ays d igs i t s 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 s treets suppo rted by the bac ks of rats ,
w hite guard s multiply like mushroo ms .
Seco n d , 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 ed ford-Stuyvesant
people are storied on people.
Time weaves their faces .
Refusals are children's meal s ,
a n d the meals of rats are children­
death-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 road way the wal kers pass
like invertebrates embalmed
in alcohol and d rugs .
In Harlem or on B road way
a festiv al of chains and sticks
makes force the seed of time.
O ne shot: ten pigeons .
B oxed eyes q uiver 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 fi re 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 su bway
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 s pace.
It moves by faces that are not faces
but wound s ,
b y figures that are not figures
but d ried 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 hu rrying to witness the resurrection
of t he Indian past
· in P alestine and her sister countries .

Is s pace merely a pathway for bullets ?

Is earth's pu rpose only to screen the dead ?

I am an at om s pinning on a beam
and ai med at the horizon.
I t crosses my mind to doubt the roundness of the ea rth .
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 m y 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 s t like a cro w
disgu ised as a nightingale .
Dawn adv anc es , wo unded a n d 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 s hr 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 begi n .
I want to s e t 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 d iv ine mad ma n.
Niff ar i m ade 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 d iv ide my bo dy in many bo d ies: '

[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-Al a ?
T he p rop het s' birt hp lace always de n ies h i m .
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 i n 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 eyes­
you 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 word s .
B ut when I write the letters of D amascu s ,
I m i m i c nonsense .
I create nothing.
D amascus- a sound, someth ing of the wind .
Years back, she stepped out of my pages
and has not retu rned .
Time guards the threshhold
and wonders when or i f she will retu rn .
The same is true of B eirut, C airo, B aghd ad­
so 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 anx iety.
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 .
T h e cafe fills with stones a n d 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 chemis try 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 anhatta n .
T h e moon w a s an oranges kin 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.
Whitma n ,
a clock announces t i m e t o N ew York
like garbage thrown to a woman
who is nine parts as hes .
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 b u t 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 x pec 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 d us t a nd dynam ite .
B u t 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 u re 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 u r 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 i ngl e trunk
unites branch with branch and l eaf with l eaf.
I say now and again
that poetry is the rose of all winds­
not 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 Beir ut 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 s u n ,
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 s tifled 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 fir st water

that wounds Descartes or Aristotl e ,
I share mysel f between m y home in Ashrafiah
and the Ras-Beir ut 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 s tone, J ameel purs ues his destiny,
forever searching,
forever unfulfilled .
And no one discovers Kaiss . *

Still
I salute the dusk flowers
and the flowers of the sand .
B ei rut,
I still salute yo u .

*Leyla, Buthaina, Jameel and Kaiss are legendary figures from

Arabic tales of unrequited love.

[75 ]
 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
1.
. . . Faster than the air I ran
beneath the j ailing sky until I disappeared in darknes s .
The wind kept calling m e b y name .
I heard the echo of an old man's voice:
"You will discover a mountain filled with your neces sities .
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, wes t .
I t grew u pward t o n e w depth s .
Like a s pring she welcomed me,
and like a tree she s urrendered to me.

Sus pended 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.

[77 ]
M y lips and fingers were pens on her flesh .
I memorized her in every al phabet
and memorized my memories until they multipl ied .

M y s ighs were clouds that made their own horizons .

I wove her a robe from the s u n .
T h e light of midnight traveled m e t o her.

I hid in the folds of her robe.

We learned the world together.
At the sound of doorbells we disappeared .
I sat bes ide her while she read .
I slept like 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 s tones .
We sang with trees,
and the earth was like the fruit of love for us .

C louds were our friend s .

Stonehouses unders tood u s .
The memory o f d aylight 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 u r eyelids tighten ed like knots .
The s un light stri ped an d bann ered our bod ies
befo re it flamed across ou r pillow s .

O u r 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 fi re .
I was a wave advancing toward her shore .
Her back was a continent, and the world's compas s
h i d beneath h e r 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 listened to her at passion's brink . . .
the sigh of her waist, the s urge of her hips .

O vercome, I entered the desert of panic

and whis pered her name.
I descended lower and lower
until I reached her na rrower 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 enci rcled 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 su pernatu ral thorns
as the lord of the flesh commanded .

[ 7<> ]
"My be love d , who se bo dy I have sc ript u re 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 l l .
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 i n 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 i nv 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 s i re 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 u s an opening of f rontiers .
No longer c aptiv es of ourselv es ,
w e started the c lock of the sun we s topped together.
We let it s ummon f ru i t and f lowers with its light.

We seemed more q uietly 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 s e e a k night w h o 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 groun d .
We said , ' B e 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 d i d 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 l m trees .

Yo u g ive me yo ur fr u it , be love d .
I a m p l ucke 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 d we l l 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 d ru 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 s pu 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 , listened to wav es ,

c ro ss ed b ridges to the bo tto m o f 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 d ream 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 ? "

T h e c hild-go d beneath m y garments sc reamed fo r lo v e .

He w a s tired o f bearing the bu rd en 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 h ing beyo nd all brinks
u ntil it tu rned into the s ky, 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 bird s ,
a n d love gloried in h e r pulse.

Doors became trans parent.

Windows raised themselve s .
Closets glittered l i k e gardens or piazzas .

"Do you remember, my beautiful,

how our home bloomed in orchards of olives and figs ,
how the spring slept bes ide it
like the apple of you r eye ?

Do you remember, my beautifu l ,

h o w the branches fluttered with butterflies ,
and every night was a new beginning on earth ?

Every night you embraced me,

and I touched the s mooth 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 q u iver's a country,
and the road to every country beckons me.
We bow, we meet, we pass or sit opposite each other.
You a re my garments , and I am yours .
Our muscles tense .
O u r skins taste l i k e a violent sea
that sails u s in its welcome.

We hear beds moaning like 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 wed d i ngs !

A magic brighter than the s u n illuminates u s .
T h e spring w e s w i m i n purifies u s .

Let there be wed d ings !

We avenge death with the sacrifice of ourselves .
In love or out of love, awake or asleep,
we serve the all-seeing god of d a rkness .

Let there b e wed d i ngs !

Each time we lose ourselves in sex,
we face a d ream of cities
revolving like globes beneath our eyelids .

Love begets love as distance begets distance

and you are that love, that d i s tance, 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 b reasts with word s ,
a n d w e d rowned in love's waters .

[Hs 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 d reams .

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

You are a lake.

I am a willowtrunk s pearing your earth .
I cast anchor at your shore .
Your waist is m y anchorage .
You are all women in one, all lovers in one.

What tides await u s at the gulf?

I am a closed shel l , and you are my pearl .
You r 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 s pace d ivides me from myself

where death and love await me.
Flesh is my bapti s m .
From the depth o f a l l that perishes , I s i n g of love . . . "

[ 86 ]
 5.
"Why did you marry me?"

"I was j ust walking with nothing of my own ,

nowhere to rest .
I slept a n d awoke,
and you were lying on my pillow.
I thought of Eve and Adam's rib . . .
I d reamed 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 d arkness clothed me .
The world made its home within me and said ,
'Descend deeply into darkness :
S o I entered darkness itself
and saw a s tone, a light, sands and running water.
I met myself in you and said,
'I will never leave this darkness :
B u t t h e sun betrayed m e b y 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.
Yes terday 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 like incense.

If I'm a sorcerer, my love's a fire , an altar, an ember.
I turn into smoke.
I conj ure u p a sign to dazzle her.
Her loins conceal a wound that awes me
and hold s my ultimate death
in a kingdom of towers and angels . . .
I see a naked man crushing hurricanes in ecstasy.
Baptized by waterfalls, he d rops to his knees
and disappears .

I d reamed I washed the earth

until it glistened like a mi rror.
I walled it with clouds and fenced it with fire .
I held it i n my hands and domed it with tears .

"What final gift are you preparing for me?"

"I'll wrap you in wedd ing clothe s , my beautifu l ,

and i ntroduce you t o t h e 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 gratu ities :'

I said, "If only a woman could be transparent as the s ky.

If only the world could be a s tone named sex:'

And I kept imagining that she was like a sea in space

until I fell i n love with foam
and hid i t in my eyes
and swore that waves would be my neighbor.

In her depths I d rowned my sorrows .

Awake with me all n ight she whis pers ,

"You are my angel .
Beneath your skin an a ngel 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 i n Qassabi n , a Syri an village between Tartus

and Lataki a , Ali Ahmed Said adopted the pen-name
Adonis early i n his career. His formative years were
spent in political organization in Syri a . In the mid-fifties
Adonis settled i n Beirut, choos ing i n 1 960 to become a
citizen of Lebanon .
In 1 9 5 7 in cooperation with Yusuf al-Kha l, Adonis
founded Shi 'r, a poetry review which became the mouth­
piece of the Free Verse Movement and the arena for
the most i nnovative poetic experimentation in modern
Arabic poetry. By 1 96 8 Adonis lau nched his own li terary
j ournal Mawaqif, which was not confined to poetry but
also rai sed issues of li berty, creativity and change i n all
wal ks of Arab life . He is the author of eight volumes
of poetry and four volumes of critical essays ; he i s also
the editor of three anthologies of Arabic poetry and the
transl ator of numerous literary works from French .
T h e recipient of the Award of the International Poetry
Forum in 1 970, Adonis' poetry has been transl ated i nto
Dutch , English, French , German, Greek, Ital ian,
Japanese, Persian, Russi a n , Spanish and Tu rki sh.
Since 1 95 6 Adonis has been married to Khalida
al-Said , one of the major literary critics in the Arab
world . They have two daughters , Arwad and Ninar, and
they live i n 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 a n d h i s P h . 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 fi rst 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
i n 1 97 3 . His most recent books are To Paris ( poetry) and
The Wanton Summer Air ( novel ) .
KAMAL BOULLATA

Born 1 942 i n Jerusalem, Palesti ne, Kamal Boullata

studied art at the Academy of Rome and the Corcoran
Art Museum School in Was hi ngton, D . C . In 1 968 he
moved to the United States and has since been living
in Washi ngton, D . C .
Exhibitions o f h i s art have been held among other
places at Palazzo del Esposizione, Rome, Italy ; Gallery
One , Beirut, Lebanon ; Museum of Modern Art, Baghd ad ,
Iraq ; Gallerie L'Atelier, Rabat, Morocco ; National
Museum of Jord a n , Amman, Jord a n ; 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 C atholic University Art Gallery, Washington , D . C .
His line drawi ngs have adorned the writings of
lead ing contemporary Arab writers , includ ing Naguib
Mahfuz, Halim Barakat, Yusuf ldri s , Elias Khoury,
Ghassan Kanafa ni, Adonis and Mahmud Darwish,
among others .
Boullata's writi ngs and translations of poetry have been
published i n nu merous period ical s , 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 97 8 ) 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 96 5 , 1 970
al-Masrah wa 'l-Maraya (The Stage and the Mi rrors) 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) 1 9 7 7
Kitab al-Qasa 'id al-Khams (The Book o f t h e 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) 1 9 7 2
a/- Thabit wa 'l-Mutahawwil (Immobility a n d Change) 3 volumes : 1 974, 1 9 7 7 , 1 9 7 8 , 1 9 7 9
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-Kha l ) 1 963
Mukhtarat Min Shi'r al-Sayyab (Selections from t h e 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) 1 9 7 6
Exil , Annabase Eloges, La Gloire des Roi s , 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 (Fe d r a ) 1 97 9
For this ed ition Samuel Hazo revised his previous translations
of the poems of Adonis and added new ones , i ncluding a major
portion of "Transformations of the Lover , " and Kamal Boullata
not only designe<;l the cover papers but devi sed four l i ne drawings
based upon letters in the Arabic alphabet and their relation
to Adonis' most dominant themes .