jueves, 4 de diciembre de 2008

poems/in english

Muhsin Al-Ramli
Translated by Samantha Lewis


It is you that has created it
and you that it has dominated.
Therefore, stop yourself,
…one moment,
…a little.
Purify yourself in the water of silence
…a little.
Later,march towards another path.


My country is a cake
And the missiles are the candles
There are many guests
And my blood served in cups
The house is mine
And my family murdered
But, whose birthday party is this
If they have already murdered me
Before my birth?


Because my existence is in silence,
they punish me with speaking

The magic of her caress drives the electricity crazy
Then who sells for the music
The fruit of the milk?

She has taken my water and my email
She has joined my lethargy with her dream
…She has robbed my advice for another

OH, cry of the conquered iron
Chains of talks
If for me, the shadow of a butterfly on my watch wounds me,
Then, imagine…
Your planes have already covered my sky!

What is the difference between these soldiers
And these bearded men?
They are both in my country
And I am in exile
They are killing my people together
And I am speaking of the right
To breathe.

I exchange kisses with her
And these eggplants
A drop of oil on her chest
Like a spacecraft
Oh, I wish I was Noah’s age,
To work one thousand years
To be able to buy a spacesuit.

Your path to my house
Closer than a dinner on the table
And my path to my house
Farther away than choosing a destination
Your house is for you
… and mine also Then where shall I sleep tonight?

The cars are bombs
The dogs and the donkeys are bombs
The streets and minds are bombs
The air and the birds are bombs
The fear has mined us with bombs
…Here we are a collection of souls waiting for the explosion.

Time consumes me
and my dreams are postponed
My road are thorny
and my destiny without direction.

My women are many
but my love is one.


The statues are in the middle of the fountains
And us, in the middles of the cities
In the middle of the world
So, if the statues are our toys
Whose toys are we?
And what would the statues play
In our absence?
What do they do if we leave
After turning off the trickle of the fountains?


After the rain:
Suns between the clouds and in the streams,
sweets of almonds and hazelnuts,
honeyed dates and hot bread.
After the rain:
My mother, my brothers and sisters
and our house of clay,
our white doves.
After the rain:
Colored rainbows of peace,
without weapons, without a president.
After the rain
…after the rain.
*Muhsin Al-Ramli: Born in Iraq in 1967. Has lived in Spain since 1995. Doctorate in Philosophy and Letters, Spanish Philology. Universidad Autónoma of Madrid 2003, thesis topic: The Imprint of Islamic Culture in Don Quixote. Translator of several Spanish classics to Arabic. Published works: Gift from the Century to Come (Short stories) 1995. In Search of a Live Heart (Theater) 1997. Papers far from the Tigris (Short stories) 1998, Scattered Crumbs (Novel) 1999, Arkansas Award (U.S.A.) 2002 for the English version. The Happy Nights of the Bombing (Narrative) 2003. We Are All Widowers of the Answers (Poetry) 2005. Fingers of Dates (Novel) 2008. Coeditor of the cultural magazine ALWAH. Currently a professor in Saint Louis University, Madrid.