الأحد, 19 نونبر/تشرين ثان 2017
الرئيسية
سيرة ذاتية
الاعمال الشعرية الكاملة
قصص قصيره
ديوانُ الأنهار الثلاثة
جِـــــــرارٌ بِلونِ الذهب
الحياة في خريطةٍ
عَيشة بِنْت الباشا
قصائـدُ هَـيْـرْفِـيــلْـد التلّ
طـيَـرانُ الـحِـدْأَةِ
الخطوة السابعة
الشــيوعــيّ الأخير فقط ...
أنا بَرلــيـنيّ ؟ : بــانورامـــا
الديوانُ الإيطاليّ
في البراري حيثُ البرق
قصائد مختارة
ديــوانُ صلاة الوثني
ديــوانُ الخطوة الخامسة
ديــوانُ شرفة المنزل الفقير
ديــوانُ حفيد امرىء القيس
ديــوانُ الشــيوعــيّ الأخير
ديــوانُ أغنيةُ صيّــادِ السّمَك
ديوان قصــائدُ نـيـويـورك
مقالات في الادب والفن
مقالات في السياسة
قصائد الحديقة العامة
صــورة أنــدريــا
ديــوانُ طَــنْــجـــة
ديوان غرفة شيراز
أراء ومتابعات
البحث الموسع
English
French
المتواجدون الان
يوجد حالياً 230 زائر على الخط
The Tormented of Heaven طباعة البريد الإلكترونى

Saadi Yousef
Translated from the Arabic by Salih J. Altoma
 
Naked
We are on our way to Allah
for shrouds we have only our blood;
for camphor, the eyeteeth of wolfish dogs. (*)

The closed cell suddenly swung open
to let in a female soldier
our swollen eyes failed to clearly identify her
perhaps she was from an ambiguous world
she said nothing
she was dragging my brother’s bleeding body, like a worn-out mat.

Barefoot
we will walk toward Allah
with putrid feet
with lacerated limbs

Are the Americans Christians?
in our cell we have nothing for anointing the prostrate corpse
in our cell there is nothing but our blood clotting in our blood
and the odor coming from the continent of slaughterhouses
the Angels will not enter here. The air is stirring
it’s the wings of hell’s bats
The air is still.

O Lord , we waited for you
our cells were open yesterday
we were lying motionless on its floor
and you, O Lord, did not come.

But we are on our way to you
we’ll find the road to you even if you forsake us
we are your dead sons
we have trumpeted our  Day of Resurrection
Tell your Prophets to open for us the doors:
the doors of cells and paradise
Tell them we are coming
we washed ourselves with dry sand (**)
the Angels know us all … one by one...

 London May 10, 2004
__

(*) Islamic method of bathing a dead body includes washing the body with a mixture of water and camphor.
(**) The poet uses here a Quranic verse which deals with ablution rituals before prayer. It recommends washing with dry sand or clean earth when water is not accessible.” And [if] ye find no water, then take for yourselves clean sand or earth, And rub therewith Your faces and hands.” The Quran IV: 43.
Sa ‘di Yusuf, (known in American poetry journals as Saadi Youssef) [b. 1934 Basrah, Iraq] is one of the most prolific and greatest contemporary Arab poets. He has published more than forty works of poetry and prose, including translations of selected poems by Walt Whitman. As a committed secular and revolutionary poet Yusuf is widely known for his uncompromising opposition to Saddam Husayn’s regime. Currently living in London, Yusuf has lived most of his life in exile in Arab and European countries. A collection of his poetry was recently published in the United States under the title Without an Alphabet, Without a Face (Graywolf, 2002). This poem is translated into English with the poet’s permission.
Salih J. Altoma is professor emeritus of Arabic and Comparative Literature at Indiana University.

 
yumyaat.jpg
سعدي يوسف على الفيسبوك

اضغط هنا

فيلم " الأخضر بن يوسف "
لمشاهدة فيلم الأخضر بن يوسف اضغط هنا
المواضيع الاكثر قراءه
البحث