العالم نسيج الأصابع Weaving a World

العالم نسيج الأصابع

صورة
خارجٌ ـ من كهوفٍ بذاكرتي
للفضاءْ
بعصافيرَ ميّتةٍ
عبر ثقب الظلام الوحيدْ
 
بمعادن
شكلتها بدمي شجراً
لا يظلٌ مرايا تماثيلها
للهواء
بنفسي وأجنحتي
من يخبٌِئُ لي شارعاً
حين أخطو وحيداً إلى وطني
حين أحمل شمساً
وأمشي إلى جسدي
أخضرَ في عراء الحريقْ ؟!
 
يتم
لأنّي وحيدٌ هنا بالعراء
ولا سُرَّ لي
منذ أكتوبر المحترقْ
كان لابدَّ لي أن أفتِّش عن قمرٍ
أن أواجه امرأةً
في الحقول البعيدة : عرياٍ لعريْ
أن أفتِّش عن وطنٍ يحتمي
 
من شتاء الغياب بوهج أصابعها
بالحليب المقدس من شطرها
لأخبئ ابريل من دمه
في دمي
كان لابد لي
أن أقول وداعاً وسهلاً
لعرش السماء المضئْ
أن افجر جرحاً
بنسيانه
ضد
هذا الفضاء!
 
وقت آخر
كان لابدَّ لي
أن أعرِّف نفسي بأشجارها
أن أزوّج نفسي فكاهتها ـ نفسها
من مخيط الهواء العميقْ
بالدموع
التي لا تخيط الكفنْ
 
كان لابد لي أن أقول وأمضي
إلى كهف روحي
غريباً بفاكهتي وأصابعها
لأنِّي ـ أنا الضوء
يلبس أجنحة الأرض
والجرح
يرفو دم القلب
لأنِّي ـ أنا الليل
واسمي فسيحٌ على الأمكنةْ
النهارُ الذي يتسخْ
بالنهار على خطوتي
أخلعُ الليل عنه
وأمشي على الوقت متسعاً في طريقي !
 
نسيج الأصابع
المُعَّلقُ
سقفاً
على صمته وحنين سلالاته
دائماً يشتهي دمه
 
تربةً للغناءْ
دائماً يشتهي
مَنْ يقود أصابعه
مَنْ يكون الطيور التي لا تغنّي جنازته
كأنَّ الذي لا يموت وحيداً
هو الكائنُ ـ الخيطُ
يخلع مسماره عن نسيج الجدار
كأنَّ الذي لا يكون وحيداً
هو الكائن ـ العنكبوتْ
 
إضاءة
كيف كنت تقودين لي قمراً
حين أطفئ دمعك بين الأصابع
بين الأصابع حين أضئ حنينك
حين تقودين لي خنجراً
كيف كنت هنا وهناك
كيف كنا معا ؟!
 
حنين
حين كنت خليعاً بنفسي
 
بلا همّ قوتْ
وأنا أشتهي سرّك المُلْتَبَسْ
ورق التوتْ ـ نفسه
لم يكن نفسه
كيف ألبسه
في الحنين الغريب إلى كائن لا يموتْ ؟!
 
حلم
ولتكن جسداً أخضر، يا أيها الشعر
كن لغةً أتغرب فيها
بنفسي وأجنحتي
نـَفـَساً
في لساني لأرعى
قبائلَ صوتي — على صمتها
ساهراً
ووحيداً أرى
لن تكن جسداً أخضر، لم تكن
سيداً طيباً كي تشترى، لم تكن
ربةً
أيها الهذيان الذي أشتهي، يتها الذاكرة!
 
هيكل
لِمَ كنتِ معي جسداً ظامئاً
في فراشي
وعاريةً بالسماءِ
ومسقوفةً بالنجومْ ؟!
لِمَ كنتِ المياه الغريقة في جسدي
حين كنت الغيومْ
 
الغيومُ التي كالحمائم تطّاير الرّوحُ منها
الغيومُ التي أرتوي نومها ساهياً
في الشتاءِ البعيدِ عرقْ
لِمَ كنت سهام الأرقْ
ضدّ قلبي
وكنت الرياح الصديقة في جسدي
حين كنت الغيومْ!
لم كنت الوحيدة
عاريةً
تحت هيكل كينونتي
حيث أقبض ـ حين أزيح السماء ـ طيور الأبد !
 

Weaving a World

An Image
From the dark spaces of memory
                        I emerged, rising through a pinprick of light
in the gloom, on all sides the falling
bodies of dead song-birds: these trees
that cast no shadow on their own reflections – I
fashioned them, forging, hammering, working the metal.
 
            And so I found myself, in the wind, fully fledged…
            Who
will keep clear a road for me, care
about the solitary journey
I make, torch in hand, in search of home,
or stride towards this body when it’s
blackening in the blazing desert heat?
 
Lost
Out of reach, stripped bare, orphaned,
betrayed by the secret fires
that October ignited,
I set about searching, searching
            for a consoling guide like the moon: for a woman
            also stripped bare, in a distant field,
            whose fingers might cradle, whose body
            might shelter, whose breast
            might nurture this aching for home.
 
Further,
I had somehow to hide
the frail, blood-stained shoots of April
inside me; I had to allow the crimson night-sky
its majesty; I had
to learn how to stain
the space of the present
with what seeps from a forgotten wound.
 
Another Time
Feeling my way through an inner forest, I practised
the art of self-possession: at times my own jokes
had me laughing out loud.
 
From the dense air
that surrounded me I gathered
the tears that stitch no shroud.
 
I bequeath to strangers all
I had to say, and the touch of my loves; the cell
or cave of my retreat is the shape of my soul.
 
What am I there? The light that floats
or the wound that streams or the dark
itself? Can words name it? What am I there?
 
To walk through day and night, both in time, and on it…
 
Weaving
Swaying beneath the ceiling, silent, brooding
on ancestors, all the time longing
                        to hear
                        his blood sing –
or for someone to take and guide
his fingers, and sing songs that refute dying…
he likes to think that those who spin
and weave won’t die alone. Slowly
he removes a leg from the wall.
Others may live alone, but not spiders as patient,
as industrious as he is.
 
Close Up
How beautifully you offered
me the moon, as I caressed
away your tears, and you, alight
with love, thrust
at my vitals with a kitchen knife.
Was I here       or there?
How one we were!
 
Longing
I got undressed.
I was beyond hunger, obsessed
with the mystery of you.
How, why should I
conceal my longing with senseless
fig-leaves? While I
was naked, you were immortal.
 
Sacred
You were the thirsty body
next to mine in bed, the sky
your blanket and the constellations your roof: why?
 
You were the deep waters in my body
when, sweating through winter, I daydreamed I was a cloud
of rain, dove-white, aflutter with souls: why?
 
You were the barbs of insomnia
tearing my breast, and the friendly winds
coursing through me, driving these streaming rain-clouds: why?
 
You, naked, were the only one present at the sacred
instant when, moving the sky to one side,
I reached out and caught hold of the birds of eternity: why?
 
Dream
Poem – may you be green
and alive, a world
through which I wander aloft
on wings, with my whole
being. Inspire my tongue
until the tribes that inhabit my voice,
long silent, are fed again.
 
Poem – alone and sleepless,
I find you are neither green
nor alive, nor a kind master
nor a muse-figure, but an addictive
fusion of delirium and memory!
 

Weaving a World

An image
Emerging — from caves in my memory
to the space
with dead singing birds,
through the only hole in the darkness,
(emerging) with minerals I shaped with my blood into trees
(trees) that won't throw shades onto the mirrors of its (own) figures
emerging to the wind (air) with my self and wings,
Who will be (treasuring) a road for me
as I walk alone
towards my homeland
when I bear a sun
and stride towards my body
darkened in the open fire?
 
Alone
Because I am here, alone
in the wilderness, and without a secret
since (last) burnt
 
October
[1]
I had to search for a moon
to face a woman
in the distant fields: nakedness facing nakedness
to search for a homeland that shields itself
from the winter of absence
behind the glow of her fingers
(a homeland that feeds itself) from the sacred milk of her breast
I had to shield
 
April
from its blood
(with)in my own blood
I had to say farewell and welcome
to the throne of lit sky
and to let (the blood of) a wound gush out
(by forgetting it)
against this space!
Another Time
I had to be acquainted with my own trees
To wed my self (and) its own anecdote
From the dress of the dense air
To tears
that won't sew a coffin (suit)
I had to say my word
And head off to the cave of my soul
A stranger (with/carrying) my fruits and (led by) her fingers
Because — I am the Light
wearing the wings of Earth
and I am the Wound
sewing the blood of the heart
Because — I am Darkness
and my name is vaster than (all) places:
The Day that is soiled by Day(light)
on my step
I strip the Night of it
And walk on Time expanding on my way.
 
The Weave of the fingers
The one suspended from the ceiling
Though silent and longing for his ancestors always
desires for his blood to
sing
Always longs for someone to lead his fingers
to be the birds that won't sing his funeral (death)
As if the only creature who won't die alone
Is the creature of thread
He pulls his nail off the wall texture
As if the only creature who won't live alone
s the spider creature
 
Lighting
How were you leading a moon towards me
when I distinguish (wipe) your tears (between) my fingers
between my fingers as I light up your longing
as you lead a knife (dagger) towards me?
How was I here and there?
How one we were?!
 
Longing
When I was naked (completely stripped) by myself
Without need for food
desiring only your illusive secret(s )
mulberry leaves themselves were not mulberry leaves
how can I wear them
in my strange (mysterious) longing
to a creature that never die?!
 
Dream
May you be a green body O poem
May you be an utterance/ a language
In which I stray with
my wings and self
A breathe on my tongue
So that I graze
the tribes of my voice - silent as they are
Alone
insomniac I see
That you will not be a green body you were not
a kind master to be bought
not a goddess
O my desired delirium my memory!
 
Altar
Why were you a thirsty body next to me
in my bed; naked only the sky is your cover
and the stars are your roof?! (your roof is a sky studded by stars)
Why were you the deep waters in my body
when I was the clouds of rain
clouds akin to the doves from which souls flutter
clouds that quench my thirst from its sleepiness
daydreaming
sweating in distant winters?
Why were you the (bristly) spears of insomnia
against my heart
the friendly winds in my body
when I was the clouds of rain?!
Why you were the only one there
naked under the altar of my being
when I move the sky aside and hold the birds of eternity (with my hand)
 
Sacred
You were the thirsty body
next to mine in bed, the sky
your blanket and the constellations your roof: why?
You were the deep waters in my body
when, sweating through winter, I daydreamed I was a cloud
of rain, dove-white, aflutter with souls: why?
You were the barbs of insomnia
tearing my breast, and the friendly winds
coursing through me, driving these streaming rain-clouds: why?
You, naked, were the only one present at the sacred
instant when, moving the sky to one side,
I reached out and caught hold of the birds of eternity: why?
…
 

April and October: References to two successful peaceful uprisings, in October 1964 and April 1985, staged by the Sudanese people against the military dictators, General Aboud (1958-64) and General Nimeiri (1969-85), both of which introduced brief periods of democracy (Sudan has been ruled by the dictator, Omar al-Bashir since 1989).

Original Poem by

Al-Saddiq Al-Raddi

Translated by

Hafiz Kheir with Mark Ford Language

Arabic

Country

Sudan