غــفــــران Remission

غــفــــران

ثمة مايظل ملتصقا
حين أخلع الصورة عن الجدار
ماذا لو أنني أحكمت
ادخال اصابعي
في الهواء النائم تحت ورق الصورة ...؟
أكنت ساحتاج الى شفرة
لأحكّ بقايا وجهها
وبعض تفاصيل قميصها
وشظايا من الكأس
التي كانت تحاول أن تشرب منها .....؟
وماذا
لو اشتهيت أن أشرب
قليلا مما تركت في الكأس....؟
وأغوتني بقايا القميص
لأشم ما تبقى من عطرها على الجدار ...؟
وماذا لو ابتسمت
حين تقترب اصابعي
من شفتيها ....؟
هل كانتا تقبلان الجدار
ساعة فكرت بأن أخلع صورتها....
ولماذا
لم التقط الحكمة
من صمت الرسّام
وأضع صورتها في اطار ....؟
اكنت سأحتاج
الى كلّ هذا العمر
اجرح كل يوم اصابعي
وأرمم بدمي
بقايا صورة
لم أحسن خلعها
... وجدار ...........؟
 

Remission

Something stays stuck
when I prise this photo from the wall.
What if I slid my fingers into the air
that sleeps under the print?
Will I need a knife to scratch off the remains of her face?
And the remnants of her shirt?
And the shards of glass she nearly drank from?
And what if I want to drink the dregs from that glass?
Or if I'm lured by the scraps of her shirt
to smell faint traces of perfume on the wall?
And what if she were to smile
when my fingers draw close to her lips -
were they kissing the wall
just as I was thinking of taking down her photo?
Why can't I learn from an artist
and quietly place her photo in a frame?
Did I need all these years
of wounding my fingers every day,
healing with my blood what I can't remove -
the remains of a photo
and a wall.
 

The tone of Abboud al Jabiri’s poetry is quite different from the other work we’ve translated from Arabic, as you’ll see if you look at poets such as the stunning Al-Saddiq Al-Raddi from Sudan. In this poem, as in ‘Fading’, he fixes on a deceptively simple image and, when elaborating on it, manages to convey complex and delicates feelings about loss and acceptance.

Remission

There is something stay stuck
When I take of the photo from the wall
What if I consolidate entering my fingers in the pressed (sleeping) air
                                                  under the photo's paper?
Do I need to a blade to scratch the remains of her face?
And some left (details) from her shirt
And slivers from the glass that she tried to drink from?
And what if I desired to drink some
 From what she left in the glass
And seduced by her shirt remains
To smell what to last from her perfume on the wall
And what if she smiled
When my fingers draw near of her lips
Do they were kissing the wall
In same time I was thinking to pull out her photo?
And why I don't catch the wisdom
From the painter's silence
And put the photo in a frame?
Did I were in need to all this age
Wounding my fingers every day
And reaper by my blood
Remains of a photo
I am not excel to take off
And a wall?
 

Original Poem by

Abboud al Jabiri

Translated by

Worod Musawi with The Poetry Translation Workshop Language

Arabic

Country

Iraq