poetry diary
LightNews LightNews
memorical.bsky.social
poetry diary
@memorical.bsky.social
7 followers 1 following 2 posts
free palestine
Posts Replies Media Videos
memorical.bsky.social
rustling by mahmoud darwish from a river dies of thirst: journals
#poetry #mahmouddarwish
Rustling by Mahmoud Darwish Like one responding to a hidden inspiration, I listen attentively to the sound of the leaves in the summer trees . . . a shy, soothing sound descending from the far reaches of sleep . . . a faint sound smelling of wheat from an isolated spot in the countryside . . . a fragmented sound divided into improvised sections on the strings of a leisurely breeze, no part too diffuse or longwinded. Leaves in summer whisper modestly, call out shyly, as if to me alone, stealing me away from the burden of material existence to a place of delicate radiance: there, behind the hills, and beyond the imagination, where the visible equals the invisible, I float outside myself in sunless light. After a short sleep like an awakening, or an awakening like a short sleep, the rustling of the trees restores me to myself, cleansed of misgivings and apprehensions. I do not ask the meaning of this sound: if it is a leaf whispering confidences to its sister in the emptiness, or the breeze longing for a siesta. A voice without words rocks me, kneads me and forms me into a vessel which exudes a substance neither from it nor in it, like a feeling searching for someone to feel it.
February 18, 2025 at 2:17 AM
Reposted by poetry diary
litbowl.bsky.social

From Ted Kooser's book, Cotton Candy: bookshop.org/a/862/978149...

#poem #poetry #tedkooser #books #writing
December 10, 2024 at 4:27 PM
memorical.bsky.social
tent #50 by rashid hussein, translated by naseer aruri & edmund ghareeb

#poetry #rashidhussein
TENT #50 (SONG OF A REFUGEE) Tent #50, on the left, is my new world, Shared with me by my memories: Memories as verdant as the eyes of spring, Memories like the eyes of a woman weeping, And memories the color of milk and love! Two doors has my tent, two doors like two wounds One leads to the other tents, wrinkle-browed Like clouds no longer able to weep: And the second - a rent in the ceiling, leading To the skies, Revealing the stars Like refugees scattered, And like them, naked. Also the moon is trudging there Downcast and weary as the UNRWA, Yellow as though it were the UNRWA Under a load of yellow cheese for the refugees. Tent #50, on the left, that is my present, But it is too cramped to contain a future! And -"Forget!" they say, but how can I? Teach the night to forget to bring Dreams showing me my village And teach the wind to forget to carry to me The aroma of apricots in my fields! And teach the sky, too, to forget to rain. Only then, I may forget my country.
October 22, 2024 at 10:39 AM