Friday, December 16, 2016

from A Cloud in My Hand



سَبْعُ سنابِلَ تكفي لمائدةِ الصَيْفِ…”
سَبْعُ سَنَابِلَ بين يديَّ. وفي كل سُنْبُلَةٍ
يُنْبِتُ الحقلُ حقلاً من القمح. كانَ
أَبي يَسْحَبُ الماءَ من بئرِهِ ويقولُ
لَهُ: لا تجفَّ. ويأخذني من يَدِيْ
…لأَرى كيف أكبُرُ كالفَرْفَحِينَةِ
أَمشي على حافَّة البئر: لِيْ قَمَرانْ
واحدٌ في الأعالي
آخرُ في الماء يسبَحُ … لِيْ قمرانْ
 


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…Seven sheaths of grain are enough for the summer table
Seven sheaths of grain in my hands. And in each grain
a wheat field makes another grow. My father
drew water from his well. Don’t dry up, he
told it. He took me by the hand
to see how I’d grow like rose moss…
I walk at the edge of the well: I have two moons
one above
and another in the water swimming… I have two moons

[…] A cloud in my hand wounds me. I don’t
want from earth more than
this earth : the scent of cardamom and hay
between my father and a horse
In my hand is a cloud that wounded me. But I
don’t want from the sun more
than an orange seed and more than
the gold that flowed from the call to prayer



Mahmoud Darwish
Why Did You Leave the Horse Alone?
Jeffrey Sacks translation





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