Before we say goodbye to 2008, I'd like to take a moment to remember poet, Mahmoud Darwish. A fellow Piscean (born March 13, 1941), Darwish died in August 2008 in the United States. He was 67 years old. As a Palestinian poet, Darwish wrote with complexity and honesty from an intersection of lived experience and politics.
Here is an original translation of one of his poems by one of my favorite American poets, Marilyn Hacker:
Now in Exile
Now, in exile – yes, at home
in the seventh decade of a brief life
they light candles for you.
Be joyful, yes, as calm as you can be
a stupid death went astray on the cluttered road
and left you a respite.
Above the ruins, an inquisitive moon
laughs like a fool.
Don't think he's coming closer to welcome you.
Like the new month of March,
as part of her endless task,
she has given the trees back their names of nostalgia
and neglected you.
Toast the breaking of the glass, then, with your friends.
In your sixties, you won't find
a leftover tomorrow
to carry on the shoulder of a song
… and let it carry you.
Say to life, as behooves an experienced poet:
Walk lightly, like those women aware
of their enchantments
and their guile. Each one makes her secret plea:
Now I am yours ! How handsome you are !
O life, walk lightly, so that I can see
your imperfection. I had so forgotten you
in the torment of my quest for you, for me.
And each time that I unravelled one of your secrets
you said to me, harshly : Oh, ignorant !
Say to absence : you let me diminish
and I have come --- to perfect you !
-Mahmoud Darwish
tr. Marilyn Hacker
Now in Exile
Now, in exile – yes, at home
in the seventh decade of a brief life
they light candles for you.
Be joyful, yes, as calm as you can be
a stupid death went astray on the cluttered road
and left you a respite.
Above the ruins, an inquisitive moon
laughs like a fool.
Don't think he's coming closer to welcome you.
Like the new month of March,
as part of her endless task,
she has given the trees back their names of nostalgia
and neglected you.
Toast the breaking of the glass, then, with your friends.
In your sixties, you won't find
a leftover tomorrow
to carry on the shoulder of a song
… and let it carry you.
Say to life, as behooves an experienced poet:
Walk lightly, like those women aware
of their enchantments
and their guile. Each one makes her secret plea:
Now I am yours ! How handsome you are !
O life, walk lightly, so that I can see
your imperfection. I had so forgotten you
in the torment of my quest for you, for me.
And each time that I unravelled one of your secrets
you said to me, harshly : Oh, ignorant !
Say to absence : you let me diminish
and I have come --- to perfect you !
-Mahmoud Darwish
tr. Marilyn Hacker
