Eight Poems in Translation of the Poet Saadi Youssef
A Swan May Come Flying
You are not Abu Tammam[1]; the snow can’t trap you.
You are not the prodigal[2], on his long nights in Damoun.
Not Rilke in Duino
or Hamlet in that prison of Denmark.
And not ...
And not ...
But you refuse to go out to climb the hill
as if balls of lead weigh down your feet,
as if your veins were water
and your eyes mud ...
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Don’t despair,
don’t be desperate,
A swan may come flying with wings of gold
and land on your head.
[1] Abu Tammam, one of the greatest Arab poets, lived in the 10th century in Baghdad.
[2] The Prodigal in Arabicla, or al-dhalil, is a reference to Imru al-Qais, one of great poets of pre-Islamic Arabic. In one of his poems, Imru al-Qais addresses the region of Dammoun stating, that the night has gone on for too long.
O Tree Flowering with Birds!
It’s not the kind of tree you find in a dictionary
or in poems.
This tree is not a carob tree
or an oak.
It is not a sycamore
(no sycamores here).
Not poplar
and (of course)
not one of the palms of Basra.
This tree is flowering with birds
golden birds that come from a nameless valley.
Only the birds know where it is
and the holy saints.
* Title borrowed from Juan Ramon Jemenez
Sandpiper
Over my house, here in the London countryside,
yesterday,
a sandpiper flew past.
Since the occupation of fragrant Basra, I have not heard his song.
But I caught its passing, this morning.
He says to me: Shiloa!
Should I leave then?
Tell me, where should I go?
Another country
or a trench to hide me,
and bring the exodus to an end?
Icarus
Close your eyes,
stop breathing a few seconds,
make your ears listen.
There’s a rustle
then a flapping of wings.
You are at the beginning of creation.
Don’t be afraid!
Let go.
Icarus will fly
alongside you
up there in the heights.
Starling Hunger
In the starling’s hunger I see
my days
and my years that have dispersed
like a cluster of bruised grapes.
O how the question gnaws at me: For what reason did we come?
And now,
I am certain that nothing will come from beyond the hill,
nothing except seeing the starling’s hunger
in agonizing detail.
Paradoxes
In ‘57
with sweaty palms and a shovel
I dug
with others
trenches around Damascus.
The marines were on the beaches
of Beirut,
and on the beaches too were dozens of girls
waving to the Marines,
with fragrant flowers
and ample bosoms.
Were they Christian?
The scene was not ambiguous,
but now
and from my window in London
the scene is ambiguous:
Thousands of boys
hoisting the head of some Hussein,
thousands of girls
waving the head of some Hussein
to welcome
the Marine Corps, as they cruise the streets of Baghdad.
Underwater Crossing
- Why did you choose to come to London from Paris,
on this train rumbling and choking under water?
- I don't know how to guide my feet to meet you,
and at which station?
I'm blind here, light can’t lead me there,
or the routes the buses take.
- Just choose a place nearby then.
- That’s fine, but I don't know what directions mean.
- Ok, let’s do this the right way!
Grab a cab,
give the Indian driver my address
and after an hour
you’ll see me,
worried and excited
standing by my door!
Nostalgia
Now you’ve come to
gridlocked Henry IV Boulevard.
You cut thorough it
and cross the Mirabeau Bridge
to enter the Institute de Monde Arabe,
its two thousand rooms long occupied by Syrian bureaucrats
and some French people who know very little beyond Parisian chatter.
The morning, as usual, is brisk
and you’ve come down from an abandoned attic to be among people.
You thought it’ll be easier than breathing.
But be careful,
the morning here is beyond you.
How do you get into it when you don't have enough for coffee?
When you can’t pay the metro fare?
Your woman is wearing her peculiar pair of jeans.
But what are you wearing?
The same threads you wore when you came to Paris.
Shabby, to say the least.
Leave your woman be,
my good man.
You must stay focused and walk straight:
Residence permit, then political asylum!
Saadi Youssef (1934-2021) is considered one of the most important contemporary poets in the Arab world. He was born near Basra, Iraq. Following his experience as a political prisoner in Iraq, he has spent most of his life in exile, working as a teacher and literary journalist throughout North Africa and the Middle East. He is the author of over forty books of poetry. Youssef has also published two novels and a book of short stories, and several books of essay and memoir. Youssef, who spent the last two decades of his life in London, was a leading translator to Arabic of works by Walt Whitman, Ngugi wa Thiongo, Federic Garcia Lorca, among many others.
Khaled Mattawa is the William Wilhartz Professor of English Language and Literature at the University of Michigan. His latest book of poems is Fugitive Atlas (Graywolf, 2020). A MacArthur Fellow, he is the current editor of Michigan Quarterly Review.