Poem
Adonis
HISTORY IS RIPPED APART IN THE BODY OF A WOMAN
THE WOMAN:Here I am spilling into everything . . . shattering
and I still do not know myself.
Who am I? Stranger, have you hidden me
in my own words, in my heaving?
How can I see what I hold secret, how can I make peace with my own face,
and embrace myself?
My desire shames me. My desire has separated me from me.And I know the hell of this earth as if I were a hell of my own.
© Translation: 2013, Khaled Mattawa
GESCHIEDENIS WORDT STUKGESCHEURD IN HET LICHAAM VAN EEN VROUW
DE VROUW:Hij daar is aanwezig in alles
Ik ken mezelf nog niet
Wie ben ik? Vreemdelinge, heb je mij
in mijn woorden, in mijn hijgen verstopt?
Hoe kan ik zien wat jij verbergt? Hoe kan ik vrede sluiten met mijn gezicht?
Mijzelf omarmen?
Mijn verlangen heeft mij te schande gemaakt, mij van mijzelf vervreemd
Ik ken de aardse hel zo goed alsof ik zelf een hel ben
© Vertaling: 2013, Kees Nijland en Assad Jaber
من” تاريخ يتمزق في جسد امرأة“
المرأة:
هو ذا أتبدّدُ في كلِّ شيءٍ
وما زلتُ أجهلُ نفسي
مَنْ أنا؟ أخْفيتِني
أيّهذي الغريبةُ في كلماتيَ في شهقاتي؟
كيف لي أن أرى ما اسْتَسَرَّ ، ومن أين لي أن أُصالحَ وَجهي ،
وأُعانِقَ ذاتي؟ ،
رغْبتي فضحَتْني . رغْبتي فصلّتني عنّي.
وأنا أعرف الجحيمَ على الأرض حتّى كأنّي جحيمٌ .
© 2007, Adonis
From: Tarîkhun yatamazzaqu fî jasadi imra`a
Publisher: Dâr al-Adâb, Beirut
From: Tarîkhun yatamazzaqu fî jasadi imra`a
Publisher: Dâr al-Adâb, Beirut
Poems
Poems of Adonis
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HISTORY IS RIPPED APART IN THE BODY OF A WOMAN
THE WOMAN:Here I am spilling into everything . . . shattering
and I still do not know myself.
Who am I? Stranger, have you hidden me
in my own words, in my heaving?
How can I see what I hold secret, how can I make peace with my own face,
and embrace myself?
My desire shames me. My desire has separated me from me.And I know the hell of this earth as if I were a hell of my own.
© 2013, Khaled Mattawa
From: Tarîkhun yatamazzaqu fî jasadi imra`a
From: Tarîkhun yatamazzaqu fî jasadi imra`a
HISTORY IS RIPPED APART IN THE BODY OF A WOMAN
THE WOMAN:Here I am spilling into everything . . . shattering
and I still do not know myself.
Who am I? Stranger, have you hidden me
in my own words, in my heaving?
How can I see what I hold secret, how can I make peace with my own face,
and embrace myself?
My desire shames me. My desire has separated me from me.And I know the hell of this earth as if I were a hell of my own.
© 2013, Khaled Mattawa
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