الفراشة بغزارة Butterflies in abundance

الفراشة بغزارة

 
 
هناك
 
حيث شجرةٌ
 
لا تصلح أن تكون سُلّماً..
 
رجلٌ ما. يبدو مألوفاً.
 
أراها في يديه..
 
يَسُلُّ بَتَلاتها
 
رويداً
 
رويداً
 
كأنما يمنحُها فرصةً للاعتراف
 
أو يمنحُ الأُخرياتِ فرصةً للبكاء.
 
لا أقول (البَتَلاتُ أجنحةٌ عقيمةٌ).
 
لا يقول (إنما أحكُّ جرحاً).
 
هناك
 
حيث المطرُ حبالٌ معقودةٌ بإهمال..
 
لا يبدو عليه ارتباكٌ أو انتظارٌ؛
 
كإله.
 
لا أقول (محلولٌ رباطُ حذائكَ).
 
لا يقول (ضيّقٌ حذائي).
 
أراها في يديه صامتةً، صاغرةً..
 
وأنا،
 
كأني حنجرةٌ
 
شُنِقَتْ بحبالها الصوتية!.
 
هو ليس على جزيرة مهجورة ونائية
 
لأخمّن بأنه يحصي ما تمضي من الأيام.
 
لا أقول (النجومُ أمّهاتُنا المطلَّقاتُ
 
يخشين علينا من جهةٍ كائدةٍ).
 
لا يقول (كلُّ نجمةٍ مشلولةٌ).
 
الرجلُ
 
هناك
 
بشعره الطويل
 
بعينيه / المظلّتين المثقوبتين
 
مضى...
 
فيما الوردةُ لا تنسى
 
أن تفوح هناك، حيث
 
شجرةٌ صغيرةٌ
 
لا تشي بأيّ طائر..
 
ورجلٌ كان يوجزُ العالم.
 

Butterflies in abundance

There
where there is a tree 
(no use as a ladder)
there is a man. He seems familiar.
I see her in his hands.
He pulls off her petals
one
by 
one
as if offering her a chance to confess
or offering the others the chance to cry.
I don’t say ‘petals make ineffective wings’.
He doesn’t say ‘I am only scratching a wound’.
 
There
(where cords of rain are carelessly knotted)
like a god 
he doesn’t seem to be waiting or confused. 
I don’t say ‘your shoelaces are untied’.
He doesn’t say ‘my shoes are too tight’.
 
I see her in his hands silent, meek.
And I,
as if I were a throat
was hanged on her vocal cords.
He is not on some far-flung deserted island
where I could speculate that he is counting the days.
I don’t say ‘the stars are our divorced mothers
afraid of schemes against us. 
He doesn’t say ‘every star is paralysed’.
 
The man
there
with his long hair
with his shadowy, pierced eyes
left. 
But the rose doesn’t forget
to give off her scent there, where
there is a small tree
(which doesn’t tell of any bird)
and a man giving a brief outline of the world.
 

Moth/ Butterfly in Abundance

There
 
Where there is a tree 
Not suitable to be a ladder . . .
There is a man. He seems familiar.
I see it in his hands . . .
 
He pulls off its petals
 
One
 
By
One
As if giving it the chance to acknowledge
Or giving the others the chance to cry.
I don’t say ‘Petals are ineffective wings.’
He doesn’t say ‘I am only scratching a wound.’
 
There
Where the rain is ropes knotted carelessly . . .
That doesn’t seem to have confusion or anticipation;
Like a god.
I don’t say ‘Your shoelaces are undone.’
He doesn’t say ‘My shoes are tight.’
 
I see it in his hands silent, subservient . . .
And I,
As if I’m a voice box
Was hanged from her vocal cords!
He is not on an island desolate and remote
For me to estimate that he is counting what have passed of days.
I don’t say ‘The stars are our divorced mothers
 
Fearing for us of a scheming side.’
He doesn’t say ‘Every star is paralysed.’
 
The man
 
There
With his long hair
In his eyes / the shadowy punctured
Left . . . 
While the rose doesn’t forget
 
To emit scent there, where
A small tree
Doesn’t betray any bird . . .
And a man who was summarising the world
 

In the third and last of our workshops at the International Agatha Christie Festival we looked at a
poem by Ameer Hussein, a Syrian-born poet currently living in Iraqi Kurdistan. We could tell from
the literal that we were in for a challenge and our translator, Alice Guthrie, had to admit that this
was a very oblique poem even in the original. Still, we were all instantly intrigued by this enigmatic
piece. It was obvious that Hussein is playing with the inherited meanings of the language he uses;
butterflies, roses, birds, are all as familiar and freighted in Arabic as they are in English.

One immediate issue was the gender of pronouns. The ambiguity possible in Arabic could not be
carried over into English. It was painful to lose such subtlety but we chose to underline the
suggestion of gender power dynamics rather than risk losing it altogether. Perhaps we tried too
hard to tighten the linguistic knots, but they gave us a framework. The other thing we could hook
onto was the precision and clarity of the directions, the repeated ‘There’. The objects – the tree, the
man, the unspecified ‘her’ in his hands – may shift and escape us, seeming to slide between
multiple symbolisms, but we know their relation to each other. We retained this as it is in the Arabic
to give the structure to our translation and tried to carry over the simplicity of verbs such as ‘say’
and ‘see’ to allow the strangeness of what is seen and said to speak for itself.

-Emily Hasler, Poet Facilitator

Original Poem by

Ameer Alhussein

Translated by

Alice Guthrie with Poetry Translation Workshop - Torquay Language

Arabic

Country

Syria