أحزان المدينة السوداء Sorrows of the Black City

أحزان المدينة السوداء

محمد مفتاح الفيتوري
على طرقات المدينهْ
إذا الليل عَـرّشها بالعروقْ
ورشَ عليها أساه العميقْ
تراها مطأطئة في سكينهْ
محدّقة في الشقوقْ
فتحسبها مستكينة
ولكنها في حريق !
على طرقات المدينهْ
وحين يشيد الظلام
تماثيله المرمريه
ويهدمها في عقوقْ
وتهبط بالكائنات
سلالمه اللولبيهْ
لماض سحيق ، سحيقْ
وتغرق في الذكريات
سواحله العنبريه
وتوشك ألا تفيق
وينهض في كل ذاتٍ جدار
من الطين ، والماس ، والشهوات
وينعس ليلٌ ، ويصحو نهار
يصف القناديل للظلمات
هناك تجف دماء السكينة
جفاف القبورْ
ويصبح قلب المدينه
كشيء حقير
كمدفأة في الهجير
كمسرجة في طريق الضرير
كأفريقيا في ظلام العصور
عجوز ملفـّعة بالبخور
وحفرة نارٍ عظيمه
ومنقار بومه
وقرن بهيمه
وتعويذة من صلاة قديمه
وليل كثير المرايا
ورقصة سود عرايا
يغنون في فرح أسود
وغيبوبة من خطايا
تؤرقها شهوة السيد
وسفنٌ معبأةٌ بالجواري الحسان
وبالمسك ، والعاج ، والزعفران
هدايا بلا مهرجان
تسيرها الريح في كل آن
لأبيض هذا الزمان
لسيد كل زمان
وتمتدّ مزرعة في خيال الوجود
ستكسو عراة ، وتعرى عراة
وتجري كآباتها في عروق الحياة
وتصبغ لون المياه
وتصبغ وجه الإله
وتضحك أحزانها في الشفاه
وتنبت حتى الطغاه
وحتى العبيد
وحتى الحديد
وحتى القيود
وتُنبت في كل يوم جديد
ولكنهم حين يبني الظلام
على طرقات المدينة
حواجز من حجر أسود
يمدون أيديهم في سكينه
الى شُرُفات الغد
وهم صرخات سجينه
بأرضٍ سجينه
وأيامهم ذكريات طعينه
لأرض طعينه
وأوجههم كالأكفّ ، حزينه
تراها مطأطئة في سكينه
محدّقة في الشقوقْ
فتحسبها مستكينة
ولكنها في حريق !
 

Sorrows of the Black City

When night casts its net of shadows over the streets of the city
shrouding it in grief,
you can still see them —
slumped in silence, staring at the cracks.
And you think they are calm,
but you're wrong — they're on fire!
 
When darkness raises its statues of marble
on the streets of the city
then smashes them in fury
then the city will lead all the people
down the spiral staircase of the night
into the deep distant past.
The past with its ambergris shores
is dreaming of memories
too deeply to be roused.
And inside everyone something begins to stir —
a fresh wall made of clay,
stuck with diamonds and desires.
When night sleeps and day wakes
raising its candles in the dark
peace ebbs back to its home in the grave.
At that, the heart of the city
turns futile and wretched —
it is an oven at noon, a lamp for the blind.
Like ancient Africa, the city is truly
an old woman veiled in frankincense,
a great pit of fire, the horn of a ram,
an amulet of old prayers, a night full of mirrors,
the dance of black women, naked,
shouting their black joy.
This coma of sins was kept alive by the master,
ships filled with slave girls,
with musk, ivory and saffron —
gifts, all without joy, despatched by the winds of all ages
to the white man of our time
to the master of all time.
A plantation stretches out in imagination
to clothe the naked, to loosen their clothes,
flowing like its ancestors through the veins of life,
dyeing the water, and dyeing God's face,
its sorrows on every mouth
breeding tyrants and iron and slaves,
breeding chains, every day breeding some new horror….
 
And yet, on the streets of the city,
when night constructs
its barriers of black stone — they stretch out their hands,
in silence, to the balconies of the future.
They are locked-up cries
in a locked-up land.
Their memories are stab-wounds.
Their faces are sad, like the faces of the blind.
Look, there they are,
heads slumped in silence. And you think they are calm.
But you're wrong. Truth is, they're on fire….
 

The literal translation of lines 4-7 is problematic because it is not always clear what the subject of the verbs are – e.g. in line 4 the line is literally ‘you see her’ which would appear to refer to the city, which is a feminine noun. It could even refer to the roads. However, when I studied this poem previously in class we took it to mean the people of the city, which seems to fit better in light of the last stanza, which repeats the same lines, but following on from a description of the people. I imagine the ambiguity is deliberate.

Lines 12-17 also pose a problem as it is hard to show whether ‘the darkness’ or ‘the city’ is the subject. In this case the Arabic verbs are clear since darkness takes a masculine verb and city a feminine verb, but it is harder to show this in English.

The final version was produced in the workshop and then finished by Sarah Maguire.

Sorrows of the Black City

On the roads of the city
When the night erects over it/them a trellis of veins
And sprinkles on it/them its deep grief
You see them/her with bowed heads in silence
Gazing at the cracks
And you think they are/she is calm
But they are/she is on fire!
 
On the roads of the city
And when the darkness sets up
Its marble statues
And tears them down in disobedience
And it [the city] descends with creatures
Its [the darkness] spiral staircase
To the remote, remote past.
And drown in memories
Its [the darkness] ambergris shores
And it [the city] almost does not wake up
And in every being a wall rises up/is erected [unclear whether passive or active verb]
From clay, and diamonds, and desires
And the night is drowsy, and the day awakes
Lining up candles to the darkness
There dries up the blood of tranquillity/silence
Dryness of tombs
And the heart of the city becomes
Like a wretched thing
Like a stove in midday heat
Like a lamp on the road of a blind man
Like African the darkness of ages
An old woman wrapped up in incense
And a great pit of fire
And the horn of a sheep
And an amulet made from ancient prayers
And a night with many mirrors
And a dance of naked black women
Singing in black joy
And a coma of sins
Kept awake by the desire of the master
And ships laden with lovely slave girls
And with musk, and ivory, and saffron
Gifts without festival
Which the wind despatches in every time
To the white man of this era
To the master of every era
And a plantation stretches out in the imagination of existence
It will clothe the naked, and make bare the naked
And flow like its fathers in the veins of life
And dye the colour of the water
And dye the face of God
And laugh its sorrows on lips
And grow even tyrants
And even slaves
And even iron
And even fetters
And each day something new will be grown
 
And yet they when darkness builds
On the roads of the city
Barriers of black stone
Stretch out their hands in silence
To the balconies of tomorrow
And they are imprisoned cries
In an imprisoned land
And their days are stabbing memories
And their faces are like the blind man, sad
You see them with bowed heads in silence
Gazing at the cracks
And you think they are calm
But they are on fire!
 

Original Poem by

Muhammad al-Fayturi

Translated by

Anna Murison with The Poetry Translation Workshop Language

Arabic

Country

Sudan