حطّااب الأرض الوعرة . ترجمة : غازي القبلاوي

الكاتب والمترجم: د. غازي القبلاوي

Logger of the rough land*

By: Moftah Al Ammari**

Because I am from the sap of the rough land

My father a logger of dreams

My mother a weaver of promise 

That gives birth to meaning

I won’t migrate

To another language

Flying like deceived ashes

Snatched between the wind mills

Above towers of smoke

Overwhelmed with delusional joys

And the chatter of reckless whims

And where ever my language might wander

My song won’t fade

Over the skies of our homes

And the farms of our intimacy

And whatever mistakes my mother makes

I won’t hang out the washing of my days 

On our neighbour’s clothesline

And my mother will remain despite my bleeding wounds

Mounting the throne of my imagination

As if she is a queen

And despite the sting of the vile time

I will be drinking every morning her bitter coffee 

And no matter what

I will stay here

On this rough land

Hitting strongly my axe of imagination 

Extracting the poems from its stony roots

Granting her my soul’s flare

And my heart’s wings of usefulness

Over here I will mature my intuition wine

Drinking my goblet

The moon will be drunk

And the shadows of my companions dance

And when the ear of the night sleeps

I explore the depths of my walls

And overtake my guards

Hammering my pegs deeply

In the heart of the meaning

Thus the thrones of the planets will rumble

And the hats of the stars will fall,

The sun releases in the fields of my poems

Herds of its gleeful horses

And because I am a soldier

Carried with the lightness of eyes

Darkened with the scenes and colours of thirsty deserts

With the colour of sand watches 

Broken by many defeats

With the colour of rain of crows

And echoes of carcasses eaten by the grace of negligence

With the colour of mass cheers from the forests of killers

Despite all this

I won’t abandon the nest of my children

And the poor shadow’s retreat 

And the vine of dew

I will remain over here  

Beneath the shady tree, like a fountain of wise hoopoes 

Chanting with the call of dates 

The twin of the genuine copper 

Braiding praise to the female

Princess of the trees 

Stirring my knowledge to take bunches of revelation

And sweep the dirt of the wizards

And the spider’s webs 

To expose the genitals

And mulberry leaves fall

O, how beautiful is this death

When the fist is victorious with birds

And the juice of mysteries

And the galleries of poetry becomes

Rich with visions and mines of salt and wells 

When my hands ember 

Fades in the dough of clay

And I die over here

While my glass remains brimful with the hymn

And my words, flocks of clouds 

Pasturing on my rough land

_______

* From the collection Janaza Bathekha (A Lavish Funeral) 2002.

** Moftah Al Ammari: born in 1956, a renowned Libyan poet. Began writing short stories in the late 1970’s and by the mid 1980’s he emerged as one of the leading new poets in Libya. He has twelve published books.
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من أرشيف مدونة امتداد. الرابط: file:///D:/%D8%A3%D8%B1%D8%B4%D9%8A%D9%81%20%20%D8%A7%D9%84%D9%85%D8%AD%D9%81%D9%88%D8%B8%D8%A7%D8%AA%20%202016/%D8%AA%D8%B6%D8%A7%D9%85%D9%86%202017/%D8%A7%D8%B1%D8%B4%D9%8A%D9%81%20%D8%AA%D8%B6%D8%A7%D9%85%D9%86/%D8%AA%D8%B1%D8%AC%D9%85%D8%A9%20%D8%AD%D8%B7%D8%A7%D8%A8%20%D8%A7%D9%84%D8%A3%D8%B1%D8%B6%20%D8%A7%D9%84%D9%88%D8%B9%D8%B1%D8%A9%20%D9%84%D9%84%D8%A3%D9%86%D8%AC%D9%84%D9%8A%D8%B2%D9%8A%D8%A9.htm

قصيدتان في " الحياة والأساطير " الأمريكية .ترجمة : نزار سرطاوي

LIFE AND LEGENDS

"I love the handful of earth you are." ~ Pablo Neruda

Muftah Al-Ammari

Poetry, Translations

BIO

Muftah Al-Ammari is a Libyan poet, novelist, short story writer, playwright, literary critic, and scriptwriter for television. He was born in Benghazi in 1956. After completing his elementary education, he left school, and was enlisted in the Libyan army. As a soldier, he participated in the Chadian war.

A member of Libyan Writers Association, Al-Ammari has served as a consultant for several cultural institutions in Tripoli. He has participated in numerous literary and cultural events and festivals in Libya and other countries, including Iraq (1987, 1998), Syria (1988), and France (2001, 2003). His works have been published in Libyan and Arab print and electronic newspapers and magazines. In 2010 he received the State Appreciation Literary Award, Al-Fateh, and in 2012 he received Arcano Poetry Journal Award.

Muftah Al-Ammari’s poems are translated from the original Arabic into English by poet and translator Nizar Sartawi.


“An Old Dog barking to Give a Piece of Advice”

Like any neglected day

“an old dog is barking to give a piece of advice”

I point precisely at the direction stained with mucus and layers of nicotine,

the broken window in my heart,

at the balconies of Tripoli, throttled with the clouds of smoke rising

from the oil reservoirs that bombs have destroyed.

Like this: an old dog in a refugee room

patiently writes “Three Ants Passing Through A Book”

where the soldier’s biography will not be tolerant at all

I always think of words

as a battle between ferocious tribes

and, paradoxically:

as a lifeguard ring to defeat cancer

That’s why I’m a bad lover

and a poet who doesn’t abide by the teachings of show generals

and who is not very optimistic

not about the burden of backwardness being removed off the imagination

just because the poet, not the soldier,

is the one by who will take the death lying in ambush for languages unawares

to finally come back from the “Martyrs Square”

with a bouquet of roses and a tale glorifying the pottery maker

crafting safe homes for the nationals of emptiness.

Since water without a well-made jar is but a blind monster,

it gives clay the body of a woman with a glittering waist,

a traveling neck, and compassionate hands.

I mean the pottery maker forgotten in the clamor of war.

Since water is also fire’s twin,

it becomes a ferocious, malicious animal

if we let the canopies of grapes dry by themselves.

Thus,

Whenever we add a gallows, we lose a tree.

Whenever we build a prison, a park disappears.

Like any neglected day:

“an old dog is barking to give a piece of advice.”

.

Pomegranate Tree

He was a pomegranate tree

He gave me a branch, and said: Learn

I remained awake like sap until he grew up,

and in the twilight phase he became the breast for the prettiest female.

**

When kinship was a worship

I did not recognize him though he is my kinsman.

He gave me a name

and said: run

and I walked.

**

When he gave me an armor

my leg was amputated in the war,

and now my cane is taken from his garden

my shadow belongs to him

and I never settle down

**

Whenever I realized his worship

He became more distant

**

As if Eve has inserted embers in his nest

he went in delirium for a whole age

I listened to the voice of his hands

until his image turned into ash

and I could not see any trace of the words

while they were between water and clay

save the destinies of my face

My language was cleft into two halves

or more.

I usually walk alone

two souls in one body,

The wind gestures

and the reader gets tired.

*****

ترجمة الشاعر : نزار سرطاوي

Written by: Life and Legends on March 1, 2017.on March 7, 2017.

  Life and Legend, Muftah Al-Ammari, Nizar Sartawi, Silent River Film and Literary Society.