Asmaa Azaizeh
FACE
For Amjad Naser
You are the first ever to look back,
and see his own face.
While the rest of us, hollow-eyed,
died before knowing the wielder of the axe,
that split open our backs,
plunging us into the pool of fear.
This axe-man, was he like us?
Human, with a mouth capable of smiling,
with eyes capable of shedding tears?
You are the first to lift God’s Gaza,
seeing us, for the first time,
and the last.
I am one of those who saw and kept quiet.
How will I be punished?
I saw the thorns, said they’re just angry roses.
Evil, isn’t it just Good that’s lost hope?
Why then are we pushed,
despite ourselves, to desperation,
then held accused in its gallows?
And who are those judges
who hammer our heads
with the hammers of ethicality?
The Karate classes of my childhood
have not made me a warrior,
nor have the Marxist parties.
I am just a dramatic lump of meat,
that dreams of diving into
a pool of sweets and love.
I handed over my merchandise,
and never received its price.
I spent years of my youth reciting:
one state from the river to the sea
The holy river crossed
by freedom fighters in their boots,
is now a sewer for nine million bladders,
and the sea, like a fairy, has fled.
Many a poem I carefully crafted
on loneliness and stillness,
writing manifestos
on injustice until it turned into water,
on borders until they turned into a home,
on blood until it turned into a clown.
I am still searching for he who slipped
his hand into my pocket,
blasting the river’s source.
My face is covered in unholy water,
and I cannot see.
Forgive me for not looking back.
I left you alone like a hyena at night,
looking back
maybe,
just maybe,
seeing my face.
GEZICHT
Voor Amjad Nasser
Jij bent de enige die achteromkeek
en een glimp opving van zijn gezicht
terwijl wij stierven, deze massa’s lege steengroeven en ik
zonder te weten wie de eigenaar van de bijl is
die onze ruggen spleet en ons in de poel van angst gooide
Was het iemand zoals wij?
Menselijk, met een mond in staat te glimlachen en ogen in staat om te tranen?
Jij was de enige die Gods wil ophief
ons voor het eerst zag
en voor het laatst
Ik ben één van de mensen die zagen en zwegen
Wat zal mijn straf zijn?
Ik zag de doorns en zei dat het boze rozen waren
Het kwaad? Is dat geen wanhopige goedheid?
Waarom worden we naar wanhoop gedreven als we veroordeeld worden tot zijn kooi?
En wie zijn de rechters die op onze hoofden bonken met hun hamers van moraal?
De karatelessen uit mijn jeugd hebben geen strijdster van me gemaakt
ook de marxistische partijen niet
ik ben maar een dramatisch hoopje vlees
dat ervan droomt in een meertje van suikergoed en liefde te springen
Ik heb mijn goederen afgeleverd
ik ben er niet voor betaald
Jaren van mijn jeugd heb ik verspild terwijl ik herhaalde:
één staat from the river to the sea
De heilige rivier, gespleten door offers van de vrijheidsstrijders
werd de uitmonding voor de blaas van negen miljoen mensen
de zee vluchtte als een geest
Ik liet me gaan in nauwkeurige gedichten over eenzaamheid en stilte
terwijl ik verklaringen schreef over onrecht totdat het water werd
over grenzen tot ze een huis werden
en over bloed tot het een clown werd in een circus
Ik zoek nog steeds naar degene die zijn hand in mijn zak stak
en de bron van de rivier opblies
mijn gezicht is omringd door vervuild water
ik ben niet in staat te zien
Vergeef me als ik niet omkeek en je achterliet
zoals hyena’s worden achtergelaten in de nacht
je keek achterom
en misschien
misschien
zag je mijn gezicht
وجه
إلى أمجد ناصر
أنتَ الوحيد الّذي تلفّتَ إلى الوراء
ولمح وجهه
بينما متنا أنا وهذه الجموع مفرغة المحاجر
قبل أن نعرف مَنْ يكون صاحب البلطة
الّتي شقّت ظهورنا ورمتنا في بركة الخوف
أكان صاحبها مثلنا؟
بشريًّا بفمٍ قادر على الابتسام ومقلةٍ قادرةٍ على إفراز الدمع؟
أنتَ الوحيد الّذي رفع غرّة الله
فرآنا لأوّل مرّةٍ
ولآخرها
أنا من بين هؤلاء الّذين رأوْا وصمتوا
فماذا سيكون عقابي؟
رأيتُ الشوك وقلتُ ما هو إلّا وردٌ غاضبٌ
والشرّ؟ أليس خيرًا يائسًا؟
لماذا إذن نُدْفَعُ إلى اليأس دفعًا ثمّ نُتَّهَمُ في قفصه؟
ومَنْ هؤلاء القضاة الّذين يدقّون رؤوسنا بمطارق الأخلاق؟
دروس الكاراتيه في الصغر لم تصنع منّي مقاتلة
كذلك الأحزاب الماركسيّة
أنا مجرّد كتلة لحمٍ دراميّةٍ
تحلم بالقفز في بركةٍ من الحلويّات والحبّ
سلّمتُ بضاعتي
ولم أقبض ثمنها
أسرفتُ سنين من شبابي وأنا أردّد:
دولةٌ واحدةٌ من النهر إلى البحر
النهر المقدّس الّذي شقّه فدائيّون ببساطيرهم
صار مصبًّا لمثانة تسعة ملايين إنسان
والبحر فرّ هاربًا كجنّيّة
أسرفتُ قصائد عالية الدقّة عن الوحدة والسكون
وأنا أكتب بياناتٍ عن الظلم حتّى صار ماءً
وعن الحدود حتّى صارت بيتًا
وعن الدم حتّى صار مهرّجًا في سيرك
ولا زلتُ أبحث عن هذا الّذي مدّ يده إلى جيبي
وفجّر منبع النهر
وجهي محاطٌ بماءٍ مدنّس
ولا قدرة لي على الرؤية
اعذرني إن لم ألتفتْ
وتركتُكَ وحيدًا كما تُتْرَكُ الضباع في ليلها
تلتفّتُ إلى الوراء
وربّما
ربّما
ترى وجهي
From: The body I once climbed
Publisher: Dar Alahliya, Jordan
FACE
For Amjad Naser
You are the first ever to look back,
and see his own face.
While the rest of us, hollow-eyed,
died before knowing the wielder of the axe,
that split open our backs,
plunging us into the pool of fear.
This axe-man, was he like us?
Human, with a mouth capable of smiling,
with eyes capable of shedding tears?
You are the first to lift God’s Gaza,
seeing us, for the first time,
and the last.
I am one of those who saw and kept quiet.
How will I be punished?
I saw the thorns, said they’re just angry roses.
Evil, isn’t it just Good that’s lost hope?
Why then are we pushed,
despite ourselves, to desperation,
then held accused in its gallows?
And who are those judges
who hammer our heads
with the hammers of ethicality?
The Karate classes of my childhood
have not made me a warrior,
nor have the Marxist parties.
I am just a dramatic lump of meat,
that dreams of diving into
a pool of sweets and love.
I handed over my merchandise,
and never received its price.
I spent years of my youth reciting:
one state from the river to the sea
The holy river crossed
by freedom fighters in their boots,
is now a sewer for nine million bladders,
and the sea, like a fairy, has fled.
Many a poem I carefully crafted
on loneliness and stillness,
writing manifestos
on injustice until it turned into water,
on borders until they turned into a home,
on blood until it turned into a clown.
I am still searching for he who slipped
his hand into my pocket,
blasting the river’s source.
My face is covered in unholy water,
and I cannot see.
Forgive me for not looking back.
I left you alone like a hyena at night,
looking back
maybe,
just maybe,
seeing my face.
From: The body I once climbed
FACE
For Amjad Naser
You are the first ever to look back,
and see his own face.
While the rest of us, hollow-eyed,
died before knowing the wielder of the axe,
that split open our backs,
plunging us into the pool of fear.
This axe-man, was he like us?
Human, with a mouth capable of smiling,
with eyes capable of shedding tears?
You are the first to lift God’s Gaza,
seeing us, for the first time,
and the last.
I am one of those who saw and kept quiet.
How will I be punished?
I saw the thorns, said they’re just angry roses.
Evil, isn’t it just Good that’s lost hope?
Why then are we pushed,
despite ourselves, to desperation,
then held accused in its gallows?
And who are those judges
who hammer our heads
with the hammers of ethicality?
The Karate classes of my childhood
have not made me a warrior,
nor have the Marxist parties.
I am just a dramatic lump of meat,
that dreams of diving into
a pool of sweets and love.
I handed over my merchandise,
and never received its price.
I spent years of my youth reciting:
one state from the river to the sea
The holy river crossed
by freedom fighters in their boots,
is now a sewer for nine million bladders,
and the sea, like a fairy, has fled.
Many a poem I carefully crafted
on loneliness and stillness,
writing manifestos
on injustice until it turned into water,
on borders until they turned into a home,
on blood until it turned into a clown.
I am still searching for he who slipped
his hand into my pocket,
blasting the river’s source.
My face is covered in unholy water,
and I cannot see.
Forgive me for not looking back.
I left you alone like a hyena at night,
looking back
maybe,
just maybe,
seeing my face.
Sponsors
