Mahmoud Darwish, the Palestinian poet (1941 - nine August 2008), used to be a chum. i used to be on Gorée Island whilst I discovered of his demise through the process an open-heart intervention in Houston, the United States. We have been jointly a number of weeks past in Arles, the south of France. Even at midday the lobby of the lodge the place we stayed was once as though tired of sunshine by way of nightfall. He knew how severe his situation was once – it was once both the very dicy operation or the potential of loss of life at any second from an exploding aorta - and with an ironic smile he speculated approximately his probabilities of survival. That evening, because the sunlight was once surroundings in a yellow flood over the traditional outside Roman theater and as birds begun making a song the accrued sweetness of a summer’s day, he publicly learn one final time from his paintings. The poems have been shot via by means of an ongoing dialog with loss of life. instantly after his passing, i began writing the above sequence as fragments of a continuous discussion. In West Africa it used to be then the onset of the wet season relocating north, the ‘petit hivernage,’ whilst black-blue clouds may skitter and shut the skies. . . .The trip maintains and the dialog will keep on, within the try to search for Mahmoud Darwish one of the words.
Breyten Breytenbach
New York, December 2008
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Extra resources for Voice Over: a nomadic conversation with Mahmoud Darwish
D. , and that i, whether I have been the final 1 in case you die, Mahmoud while your aorta thrashing all gradual and crinkled like a red snake bursts as the strains can not slither the fitting metaphor, and your center as poem spurts the ultimate blood in that medical institution in international elements of the barbarian land, whilst your center is eventually a sundered vowel a moon grows above the island between scudding clouds of this ‘little iciness season’ which quickly will spill danker ink in lengthy verses over the waves in order that crows and goats and dirt-poor young ones in track may perhaps plash within the madder as though celebrating birding 3, 4, 5 days and nights cordage by means of day, invisible like loss of life or the grope surfacing sew via sew in a stanza to unbind darkness whilst time has its tidal time as reaper with the fields of the physique until eventually the veiled fleece fades to shrouded likeliness and schedules over the nacre land fall away like rags of rotting flesh and the mandolin moon bloats virginally complete a sloop of bone your cranium, Mahmoud 2 disguise me quick, you acknowledged no wailing and no grandiloquent reveal skywrite at top a stunning quatrain in order that the beef and the degree of your poem’s discomfort should be eclipsed there is not any identification only a soughing area of shiver in a ripened rind and rime of being all is flow until eventually it stops among to sing time is the undying minaret lover over photograph styles of the outside drape no flag over my coffin or my kiss a flag is to have a blouse snipped from its fabric for the homeless a flag is the rag with which the clown teaches a circus baby the laughter of colour and the blur of betrayal our flag blows unfastened to recollect the Nakba whilst olive timber have been wrapped in useless fireplace simply this, simply this enable tune weep, you stated a ceremonial dinner with shiny laughter for my neighbors and a tumbler of wine lifted excessive to the day and the wind as crimson because the ringing throb and break of a center three six, seven, 8 days and nights: to maneuver throughout the land of in-between is to be the passage of holification within the air going again to the place Catalonia’s dipped and dirty and somber earth is determined to smoke with the fertile articling of fall beguiled by means of a pealing of frogs in a poem, via this endless evening in a celestial pod jam-packed with humans dislocated as puppets with cloths over their faces above a wilderness the place the solitary bramble bush flames tongue-high as though at conflict and sacred crocodiles of therapeutic squirm fifteen ft down into sand in seek of gray coolness and a vow of water that might support perpetuate the dream of existence, within the eyelike timeline of shimmering nightfall with stars taking pictures prior portholes to head darkish in tunnels of oblivion, for abeyance with the top of days can't be advised, you got here to sit down in coma by means of my aspect verbosed by way of the rate with which every thing flees i feel it used to be Saturday whilst I made the gesture of demise, you acknowledged, and that i: you need to have left whatever in a will and testomony yet there has been not anything, and also you stated i must name a chum to notify him of my demise yet not anyone opened the phone, and that i: i have to visit my grave to put it naked for you with laurel leaves and jasmine and honey yet I misplaced the graph of the grove, and also you stated: i must write a final mild line at the coming and going of shadows over the moon’s blind face as though relocating via a panorama with the voweled wings of birds yet seeping water light letters to ink, and that i: i have to dedicate a deed the following and now yet can consider no motion awarding a lifeless man’s weight – then you definitely known as out: this doom has no tokening!