Rubaiyat by Mahmoud Darwish, translated by Fady Joudah

PN Review 174, March - April 2007

Rubaiyat

1.
I see what I want of the field... I see
braids of wheat combed by the wind, and I close my eyes:
this mirage leads to the nahawand
and this serenity leads to lapis

2.
I see what I want of the sea... I see
the rise of seagulls at sunset, and I close my eyes:
this loss leads to an Andalus
and this sail is the pigeons' prayer for me...

3.
I see what I want of the night... I see
the end of this long corridor by some city's gates.
I'll toss my notebook on the sidewalk of cafés, and seat this absence
on a chair aboard one of the ships

4.
I see what I want of the soul: the face of stone
as it is scratched by lightning. Green is the land... green, the land of my soul.
Wasn't I a child once playing by the edge of the well?
I am still playing... this vastness is my meadow, and the stones my wind

5.
I see what I want of peace... I see
a gazelle, grass, and a rivulet... I close my eyes:
This gazelle sleeps on my arms
and its hunter sleeps near his children in a faraway place

6.
I see what I want of war. I see
our ancestors' limbs squeeze the springs green in a stone,
and our fathers inherit the water but bequeath nothing, and I close my eyes:
The country within my hands is of my hands

7.
I see what I want of prison: a flower's days
passed through here to guide two strangers within me
to a seat in the garden, and I close my eyes:
Spacious is the land, beautiful through a needle's eye

8.
I see what I want of lightning... I see
the vegetation of the fields crumble the shackles, O joy!
Joy for the white almond song descending on the smoke of villages
like doves... What we feed our children we share with the doves

9.
I see what I want of love... I see
horses making the meadow dance, fifty guitars sighing, and a swarm
of bees suckling the wild berries, and I close my eyes
until I see our shadow behind this dispossessed place

10.
I see what I want of death: I love, and my chest splits
for a horse of Eros leaping out of it white, running over clouds
and flying on endless vapour, circling the eternal blue.
So do not stop me from dying, do not bring me back to a star of dust

11.
I see what I want of blood: I have seen the murdered
address the murderer who bullet-lit his heart: from now on
you can remember only me. I, too, murdered you idly, and from now on
you can remember only me... and you won't bear the roses of spring

12.
I see what I want of the theatre of the absurd: beasts,
court judges, the emperor's hat, the masks of the era,
the colour of the ancient sky, the palace dancer, the mayhem of armies.
Then I forget them all and remember only the victim behind the curtain

13.
I see what I want of poetry: in ancient times, we used to procession
martyred poets in sweet basil and then return to their poetry safely...
But in this age of humming, movies and magazines, we heap the sand on their poems
and laugh. And when we return we find them standing at our doorsteps...

14.
I see what I want of dawn in the dawn... I see
nations looking for their bread among other nations' bread.
It is bread that ravels us from the silk of sleepiness, and from the cotton of our dreams.
So is it from a grain of wheat that the dawn of life bursts... and also the dawn of war?

15.
I see what I want of people: their desire to long
to anything, their tardiness in getting to work,
and their hurry to return to their folk...
and their need to say: Good Morning...



Nahawand : a Middle Eastern musical scale.

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This poem by Mahmoud Darwish, translated by Fady Joudah, is taken from PN Review 174, March April 2007. Further contributions from Darwish and Joudah, including the rest of the poems in this issue, are available in the archive to paying subscribers, as well as more poetry, features, reviews and reports from across the back catalogue.

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