Poem
Norddine Zouitni
The hand and the page
In the next roomFive ghosts are staying up late:
The eldest is Irish, a character
In a story by James Joyce,
The others just passers-by
From the obituary page in an old newspaper.
They’re having their nightly chat
Over a couple of bottles of cheap wine
That the old Irish guy bought
With cash he swiped from a bank in Dublin.
There’s no light in the window,
No dense and thorny dark,
Just a table and five ghosts.
I’ve been there
With a thousand-year-old page in my hand,
Reading an old manuscript
By a medieval monk,
Perhaps Thomas A Kempis,
Or Saint Aquinas.
And I don’t know
What made me think for a second that I was
This writer’s ghost
And that the other ghosts surely knew.
When I woke the next day,
The place was as calm
As reed-beds after a storm.
The five chairs in place,
And the room neutral.
© Translation: 2011, Norddine Zouitni and Lavinia Greenlaw
ليد والورقة
ليد والورقة
في الغرفة المجاورةيسهر خمسة من الأشباح
أكبرهم شخصية إيرلندية
في قصة لجيمس جويس،
والآخرون عابرو سبيل
في صفحة للوفيات في جريدة قديمة.
كان الجميع يسمرون
حول زجاجتي خمر رخيصة
اقتناهما الإيرلندي العجوز
بقطع نقدية اختلسها من مصرف
بدبلن.
لم تكن النافذة مضاءة
ولا الظلام شائكا كثيفا!
فقط طاولة وخمسة من الأشباح.
كنت هنا
وفي يدي الورقة الألوفيه،
أقرأ في مخطوطة قديمة
لراهب قروسطي
لعله توما آكيمبس
أو القديس أكويناس
ولست أدري ما الذي جعلني
في لحظة أظن أنني شبح كاتب
المخطوطة
وأن الخمسة أشباح دون شك يعرفون...
في الغد عندما استيقظت
كان المكان هادئا
كحقل قصب من بعد عاصفة
الخمسة كراسي فس مكانها
والغرفة محايدة.
From: Qalbu thalj
Publisher: Dar Kitabouna, Beirut
Publisher: Dar Kitabouna, Beirut
Poems
Poems of Norddine Zouitni
Close
The hand and the page
In the next roomFive ghosts are staying up late:
The eldest is Irish, a character
In a story by James Joyce,
The others just passers-by
From the obituary page in an old newspaper.
They’re having their nightly chat
Over a couple of bottles of cheap wine
That the old Irish guy bought
With cash he swiped from a bank in Dublin.
There’s no light in the window,
No dense and thorny dark,
Just a table and five ghosts.
I’ve been there
With a thousand-year-old page in my hand,
Reading an old manuscript
By a medieval monk,
Perhaps Thomas A Kempis,
Or Saint Aquinas.
And I don’t know
What made me think for a second that I was
This writer’s ghost
And that the other ghosts surely knew.
When I woke the next day,
The place was as calm
As reed-beds after a storm.
The five chairs in place,
And the room neutral.
© 2011, Norddine Zouitni and Lavinia Greenlaw
From: Qalbu thalj
From: Qalbu thalj
The hand and the page
In the next roomFive ghosts are staying up late:
The eldest is Irish, a character
In a story by James Joyce,
The others just passers-by
From the obituary page in an old newspaper.
They’re having their nightly chat
Over a couple of bottles of cheap wine
That the old Irish guy bought
With cash he swiped from a bank in Dublin.
There’s no light in the window,
No dense and thorny dark,
Just a table and five ghosts.
I’ve been there
With a thousand-year-old page in my hand,
Reading an old manuscript
By a medieval monk,
Perhaps Thomas A Kempis,
Or Saint Aquinas.
And I don’t know
What made me think for a second that I was
This writer’s ghost
And that the other ghosts surely knew.
When I woke the next day,
The place was as calm
As reed-beds after a storm.
The five chairs in place,
And the room neutral.
© 2011, Norddine Zouitni and Lavinia Greenlaw
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