jueves, 6 de mayo de 2010

Crítica / Dedos de dátiles / Rafael Cabañas


La problemática de la identidad en Dedos de dátiles

Rafael Cabañas Alamán

Titulo: Dedos de dátiles. Autor: Muhsin Al-Ramli
Ed. El tercer nombre, Madrid, 2008; 237 pp.

Dedos de dátiles (2008), obra de ficción finalista del “Premio Internacional Booker” de la Novela Árabe” (2010), es la última novela del autor iraquí Muhsin Al-Ramli, quien ha vivido y trabajado en España durante muchos años. Es el autor de Migajas esparcidas (Novela, 2000), Premio Arkansas, EE.UU. (2002) por la versión inglesa, Scattered Crumbs. Su propia experiencia ha sido vertida de manera directa en su última novela, pues esos “dedos” que aparecen por todas partes en la ficción que nos ocupa (a nivel metafórico y real) arraigan en dos espacios narrativos concretos: Irak y España.
La problemática que se presenta en Dedos de dátiles nos recuerda a novelas de autores latinoamericanos que escriben o bien desde el exilio o que viven fuera de sus propios países de manera voluntaria, y el problema de la dualidad cultural invade con frecuencia a sus personajes marginales, sin duda, como reflejo de la preocupación del mismo autor. Pensemos en novelas como Maldito amor, de Rosario Ferré (Puerto Rico), La seducción de Hernán Cortés, de Luis Ponce de León (España), en varios de los cuentos de autores hispanos afincados en los Estados Unidos, como los que leemos en Se habla Español. Voces latinas en USA, texto editado por Edmundo Paz Soldán y Alberto Fuguet. También el tema de la identidad emerge en algunas obras de varios escritores árabes que escriben en idiomas extranjeros como el caso del marroquí Tahar Ben Jellon y del libanés Amin Maalouf. Muhsin Al-Ramli pertenece a esta nueva generación universal de escritores en el exilio. Con su novela, el autor iraquí lanza dardos a los sepultadores y dictadores que cercan la vida de sus personajes, pero gracias a la literatura el escritor da fe de un testimonio que se despliega como acto de denuncia y protesta para sobrevivir, o cuanto menos, para aliviar el dolor padecido.
La lectura de la novela entretiene a un lector que lamenta los terribles hechos que le acontecen a una familia iraquí, representante y víctima involuntaria de la política “del dictador”, innombrable y no nombrado en la novela. Las tres generaciones se solapan en sus espacios concretos (el abuelo, Mutlak en Irak, el padre, Noé, en Irak-España, y el nieto y narrador Selim, Irak-España). Pero todo va en función del antes, en Irak, y del presente histórico que se enclava en Madrid. Ambos planos cronológicos y espaciales se van intercambiando en entretenidos capítulos.
La chispa que promueve la acción salta ante la afrenta al honor que sufrió la nieta de Mutlak por parte de un miembro del gobierno iraquí, que conlleva a la muerte de amigos y parte de la familia de Mutlak, al querer vengarse todos ellos por el agravio. Esto conduce al desenlace fatal en el que, como casi siempre, pierden los débiles. Nieto y padre, en este orden, abandonan Irak, pero no sin prometerle Noé a su hermano que se vengará de todo, eso si, con un acto grotesco y vejatorio que no pasamos a desvelar. Pero a la vez este es uno entre varios ejemplos que aparecen en esta obra sobre la influencia del contacto entre dos culturas. Vemos que Selim intenta convencer a su padre “para que deje esa cadena de represalias y venganzas, porque el camino del principio del ‘ojo por ojo’ es muy amargo, padre.” Y continúa el hijo: “Es verdad que fuimos nosotros quienes lo inventamos, pero la experiencia humana posterior ha llegado a la conclusión de que si lo aplicáramos, al final, estaríamos todos ciegos” (p. 226).
Noé y Salim, cada uno por su lado, comienzan una nueva vida en España, y ambos se ven forzados a abandonar a su familia y a su amada patria. Alia estará en la memoria de su novio Selim hasta el final y el padre se separará de su esposa en buenos términos. Una vez en Madrid, ambos se encuentran por casualidad y retoman la relación. El lado crítico del nieto, narrador, poeta y soñador, converge con la visión del padre, dueño de una discoteca, quién ahora presenta una dualidad que le confunde a él mismo. El hijo le critica que se aleje de las pautas conservadoras que tanto defendía, y que al mismo tiempo quiera seguir fiel a unos principios, por un motivo de antaño, que ahora no parecen tener razón de ser. En esto no cambia el padre: en querer saciar su sed de venganza.
La novela ilustra interesantes puntos temáticos descritos desde el corazón, donde el humor empaña y alivia el factor trágico en ocasiones. La narrativa adquiere tonos eróticos, dejando filtrar un marco poético desplegado en los momentos más sosegados. No olvidemos que el autor es un poeta árabe y que el narrador también lo es, como en cierta medida lo son Noé y el adorado abuelo.
En la novela aprendemos del amor del narrador por su padre y su abuelo, con quienes a menudo se identifica. Averiguamos sobre Irak, de la vida de Madrid y descubrimos la admiración que Selim despliega no solamente por el país que le vio nacer, sino también por España, que le acoge y en el que parece haber encontrado la felicidad. Pero el final abierto, algo inesperado, arroja cierto misterio, pues el padre seguirá derroteros diferentes.
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*Rafael Cabañas Alamán es doctor y profesor de lengua y literatura española en Saint Louis University, Madrid Campus. rcabanas@slu.edu
*Publicada en la web de (Asociación de Corresponsales de Prensa Iberoamericana), Madrid 6 de Mayo de 2010.

*Y se ha publicado en (Asamblea de palabras), 17 de mayo de 2010 Madrid.
http://franciscocenamor.blogspot.com/2010/05/el-profesor-de-literatura-rafael.html

sábado, 24 de abril de 2010

Periodismo en batalla / Marta Díez

Periodismo en el campo de batalla

Marta Díez Alonso

“¡Boom! El estallido hizo retumbar todo el campamento. El suelo vibró y se oyeron gritos. Saqué la cabeza del saco y vi que todos habían desaparecido, excepto Walker, que como yo, había cometido el error de quitarse los pantalones para dormir, confiando por la paz de aquel oasis. -¡A las trincheras, a las trincheras! ¡Nos atacan!”.

El fragmento, aun cuando su lectura nos recuerde a los libros juveniles de aventuras, pertenece al testimonio de Mercedes Gallego, corresponsal de El Correo para la última guerra de Iraq en 2003. Mercedes trabajó como periodista empotrada en las tropas norteamericanas en los primeros meses de la invasión, que comenzó hace ya siete años y no tiene un fin real previsto. Se utiliza el término de “periodista empotrado” para denominar al profesional que se integra en las filas de uno de los bandos militares durante un conflicto armado. Las tropas le protegen físicamente y le facilitan el acceso a determinada información si acepta someter sus informaciones a la supervisión del bando militar. Los medios de comunicación evitan el uso de este término y aluden a la convivencia del periodista con la unidad del ejército, eludiendo que éste, por lo general, sólo ve, filma y cuenta lo que consiente el ejército en el que se empotra.

Información sujeta a “reglas de campo establecidas”

Otro ejemplo de este tipo de periodismo en la actual guerra de Iraq, es el reportaje de Jon Sistiaga emitido en 2008 por la cadena Cuatro del grupo PRISA. Desde el comienzo de su pieza, el periodista avisa: “voy a ver esta guerra desde el lado del ocupante, del invasor, porque es imposible hacerlo desde el otro lado”. En cambio, otros muchos periodistas han cubierto la guerra desde fuera e incluso él mismo lo hizo en 2003 con su compañero José Couso asesinado por el fuego estadounidense, el mismo que ahora supervisa la información que él ofrece como fiel reflejo de lo ocurrido en Iraq. El periodismo empotrado apenas se había utilizado desde la guerra de Vietnam pero ahora cada vez es más frecuente encontrarlo en las televisiones de todo el mundo como un novedoso y atrevido formato periodístico. En cambio, este tipo de información sesgada obliga al espectador a ver los hechos únicamente desde el punto de vista de los militares que realizan la acción, y convierte a un reportaje en algo más propio de un reality show que de un trabajo periodístico que aspire a un mínimo de objetividad.

Muhsin Al-Ramli es un poeta y periodista iraquí que ha sufrido desde España la ardua tarea de buscar información precisa, útil y objetiva que consiguiera acercarle a una versión veraz de la situación de su país en guerra. Hasta hoy, echa en falta ver representado “lo humano y lo cultural, la mentalidad del iraquí como individuo y como colectivo o pueblo” y para él la figura del periodista empotrado como método periodístico es algo “sucio, inmoral e inaceptable y cualquier periodista que lo acepte ya no puede considerarse como tal. La protección física del periodista es necesaria y tiene que ser obligatoria para todos los bandos pero sin ninguna condición y sin ningún intento de censura, revisión, supervisión o cualquier tipo de manipulación”.

Eterna guerra entre propaganda e información

El lugar desde donde se recibe la información es clave para entender qué nos están contando y por qué. Como indica el periodista Pascual Serrano, narrar la guerra en Iraq a través de la mirada de los militares provoca la humanización del ejército estadounidense y lleva a muchos periodistas a legitimar y justificar la invasión de Iraq. En cualquier caso, quien se dedica a informar es responsable de lo que cuenta así como de los efectos que de ello se derivan.
Al inicio del reportaje para Cuatro, Jon Sistiaga da fe de los inconvenientes de su presencia en la tropa; “ocupas un puesto y no llevas armas, eres un pasajero inútil, alguien que no pelea”. ¿Por qué acepta el Departamento de Defensa de Estados Unidos a un civil que sólo da problemas? Quizá porque, aunque la información que recoge el periodista no tiene ningún valor informativo o periodístico, sí tenga cierto valor económico e ideológico.
Según Javier Couso, hermano del periodista fallecido en Iraq José Couso, el 75% de la información que nos llega de Iraq procede de grandes agencias de información, la mayoría con lazos e intereses coincidentes con los ocupante; el 24% es de periodistas empotrados y sólo el 1% parte de periodistas independientes que debido a los asesinatos y secuestros (todos opacos y sin investigar) se deben limitar a los alrededores de los hoteles donde se alojan.
En consecuencia, resulta evidente la falta de independencia informativa por parte de los medios de comunicación occidentales, pero no menos preocupante es la situación en la que se encuentran algunos medios locales de los países menos desarrollados. Con aproximadamente 82 millones de dólares al año, EEUU es el mayor proveedor de financiación al desarrollo de los medios de comunicación, sin tener en cuenta el dinero que el Pentágono, la CIA o las embajadas estadounidenses ofrecen a los medios de todo el mundo. Sabiendo cuáles son los beneficios que puede aportar el financiamiento de una fuente de información, se entiende que la propaganda norteamericana pueda aparecer camuflada en cualquier parte del mundo. Por ello, y previendo que muchos medios intentarían informarse sobre la guerra de Iraq a través de medios nacionales y locales, el Departamento de Defensa de EEUU se encargó de la gestión de los mismos, según el Instituto Estadounidense para la Paz (USIP).

Para Muhsin Al-Ramli “esta guerra de Iraq ha hecho más daño al periodismo que cualquier otra. Sin duda debido al número de periodistas asesinados desde el 2003, que ya son 247, la mayoría de ellos iraquíes, y 52 cámaras o técnicos en general. 64 periodistas fueron secuestrados y 14 permanecen desaparecidos hasta el momento. Aparte hay que sumar las torturas, malos tratos, humillaciones, prohibiciones y todo tipo de recortes de libertades”. “La prueba fue hace pocos días, el 10 de marzo, los soldados americanos han matado en Bagdad a la periodista iraquí Asil Al-Ubaydy de 28 años y nadie ha dicho nada en ninguna prensa española”.

“Esta tinta derramada en vuestra prensa
es la sangre de mi país.
Esta luz diluviada de vuestras pantallas
es el brillo de los ojos en los niños de Basora.”

Muhsin Al-Ramli

miércoles, 3 de marzo de 2010

Un relato / Muhsin Al-Ramli


se puede ver todo el numero 2 de la revista aquí:
http://issuu.com/alotroladodelespejo/docs/aolde2
Relato
Risueña Noche de Bombardeo
de
Muhsin Al-Ramli
Publicada en el numero 2 de la revista
Al otro lado del espejo
Marzo 2010 Madrid







Kurzgeschichte/Deutsch / en Aleman/بالألمانية
http://muhsinalramli.blogspot.com/2009/01/kurzgeschichtedeutsch.html

en la presentación del Nº2 de Al otro lado del espejo en la librería Tres rosas amarillas.
en 2/3/2010 Madrid
Portada

miércoles, 17 de febrero de 2010

dedicatoria/Ariadna de Alejandría

4 poemas

Ariadna de Alejandría

أربع قصائد للشاعرة والكاتبة الأرجنتينية آريادنا دي آليخاندريا
مهداة إلى محسن الرملي

.. A mi querido amigo el poeta y escritor iraquí Muhsin Al-Ramli


Son cuatro poemas dedicados a ti Muhsin. No sé si numerarlos o simplemente escribir una dedicatoria, soy mala para las dedicatorias y buena supuestamente para escribir poesía, porque soy crítica conmigo misma y porque de letras no sé nada, admito mis falencias. Escribo porque fluye como el aire mi elemento. Sólo quiero expresar en palabras mis sentires. Tú alimentas desde lejos a ello. Lo que hace la lejanía no sé si será que nos sensibiliza más hacia el otro o es imaginación, me quedo con lo primero. Prefiero pensar que uno puede conectarse con otra persona a la distancia y comulgar con ella sin mediar materia.
Me encantan tus poemas porque tienes una simpleza justa para decir esas cosas que otras personas adornan y rellenan cuando dejar fluir un verso es tan fácil como respirar al menos para mí.
Fluye el verso…” Es el primer poema que te escribo querido Mus y vendrán muchos más, pues inspiras que fluyan de la fuente eterna de mi alma aquellas letras gestadas en lo profundo de mi hacia ti. Nacen con Amor de aquel simple y generoso del que da sin pedir nada siendo así como soy. Logras que la belleza del ser se exprese desde lo hondo que salga a luz. Gracias por ello amigo mío.



Fluye el verso puro de amor presente...

En cada respiro procuro palabras
que nacen de la simiente de mi río interior
que lleno de luz ilumina el camino de tu corazón...

Fluye el verso puro de amor presente
en cada letra que al unirse a la otra
se enlazan formando aquel poema
que tanto desea el viviente...

El doliente encuentra en él
la cura a su dolor...

Yo en ti...

Te lo diré susurrándote al oído
para que no se enteren los curiosos...

Pero volviendo al verso...

Quiere tener alma y que lata en cada palabra
la vida que necesita de ese aire que le da
tu existencia... fluye hacia la luz que ilumina
tu ser que no está ausente porque en presencia
en la lejanía que no está lejos
porque la distancia es relativa
no más que una convención de espacio tiempo...

Cómo puedes estar lejos si te siento a mi lado
en este momento que se llama ahora...

Simple estás en mis pensamientos
entonces estás presente y no ausente...

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Como si fuera un secreto...

Las palabras como torrente
en esa invocación del ser,
que renace en cada verso
que destella en el alma
de las cosas que la tienen...

Sueño, sueños de otros seres,
de otras vidas...

Y me cierra todo lo que he oído...

entre susurros te digo
como si fuera un secreto
desde más allá del charco
llamado Atlántico....

¿Sabes? siguen fluyendo las aguas
de ese río llamado Tigris que tanto añoras
y que transmutan en lágrimas, derramando,
dolor en tus mejillas tersas...

el mismo que hace sufrir tu corazón
aunque ya no eres el mismo
y esas aguas tampoco lo son
sigue tu alma destellando
en el fondo oscuro de tus ojos...

Esos que me hablan de lo infinito
del universo mismo en tu mirar
que sabiamente transliteras en tus palabras
esas que llegan sentida y libremente
a mi corazón...

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Para que la vida te sonría...

Te regalaría hoy un ramo de rosas blancas
cuya pureza destella desde sus pétalos...

Te bajaría estrellas de mi cielo lácteo
para que en las noches iluminen tu camino...

Te daría la luna pero si lo hago no podría mirarla
entonces no te vería reflejado en ella cuando la miro...

Te daría un cofre para guardar en él
todos tus sueños así estarían contenidos
hasta el momento en que maduren
y puedan nacer...

Te abriría la puerta de mi universo
es difícil que se la abra a alguien
pero si lo quieres... sólo ábrela...

Te ofrezco mi mano por si necesitas una
cuando te caigas así será más fácil que te levantes...

Mi hombro cuando necesites uno
para derramar tus bellas y sentidas...
lágrimas...

Mi oído para escucharte cuando lo necesites...

Mi abrazo cuando necesitas con tensión
así sabes que no estás solo
porque más allá del Atlántico
estoy yo, sí, esta mujer simple
la que te escribe estos versos
que nacen de mi alma...

Ah! ¡Me olvidaba!

¡Qué desmemoriada soy!

¡Lo siento por ello!

Olvidaba que tengo corazón
que está en equilibrio con mi mente
y mi alma...

Hablando del corazón si lo quieres
¡es tuyo...!

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Desde lo más hondo de mí...

Quedé atrapada por un segundo en tu mirada
que me hablaba de tiempo sin distancia...

De un tiempo que no es mundano
que es el absoluto... el tiempo...

Parecía él mismo eterno
como si las agujas viles del reloj
no tuvieran ganas de correr...

Fue un viaje mágico hacia tu interior
ese bello lugar que te hace quien eres...

Aunque la humanidad teñida de maldad
te haya maltratado no has perdido
el toque bello de tu dulzura
sí... como los niños que piden más...

Cómo no darte más si quiero mimarte
y que seas feliz... si lo logro seré feliz
porque tu lo eres...

Sentir lo que siento por ti
me eleva... el estado de gracia es así...
no es mundano es espiritual...

Al amar el espíritu tiene una fuerza
que viene del infinito es imparable
quiero que esa fuerza te llegue,
sanando las heridas del ayer,
curando tus dolores y sepas,
que no sos él único que ha tenido pérdidas
ellos están contigo querido mío...
no nos abandonan no estás solo...

Mi corazón llora si el dolor atenaza el tuyo...

No estás solo estoy contigo
desde lo más hondo de mi...

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*Ariadna de Alejandría, poeta y escritora argentina.

Ariadna

viernes, 29 de enero de 2010

runous / Irakin بالفنلندية en finlandés

Runoissa



Muhsin Al-Ramli

Kääntäjä: Lotta Maria Linnavuori


Ei Irakin vapauttamiselle minusta

Tämä lehdillenne läikkynyt muste
on maani veri.
Tämä valo joka tulvii ruuduiltanne
on pilke Basoran lasten silmissä.
Tämä joka nyyhkyttää pimeydessä pakoaan
olen minä;
orpo tapettuanne vanhempani: Tigrisin ja Eufratin;
leski ristiinnaulittuanne sielunkumppanini: Irakin.
Oi… sinun vuoksesi, maani: valittu ristiinnaulittavaksi kaikkien maiden joukosta.

Ai… te, sodan herrat,
kuunnelkaa minua:
Ei armeijan juhlille taloni katolla.
Ei teloittajalle jonka olette valinneet tai aiotte valita.
Ei vapaudellenne joka putoaa pommeina kansani päälle.
Ei Irakin vapauttamiselle minusta tai minun hänestä.
Minä olen Irak.

Kirjoittaminen on rohtoni ja tiedän mitä haluan.
Jättäkää minut itselleni, soitolleni ja poissaolollenne.
Palatkaa elokuvienne pariin meren taakse.
Jättäkää minulle mitä on jäänyt jäljelle
minareeteista, esi-isieni muistomerkeistä, perheeni haudoista
ja juokaa te itsenne kylläisiksi öljymaljoista.

Ryöstäkää rikin hunaja ja aavikon hiekka.
Ottakaa asiakkaanne mukaanne.
Viekää diktaattorille kaikki mitä olette ostaneet itsellenne minun verelläni.
Ottakaa mitä haluatte ja lähtekää,
jättäkää minut yksin
sisareni kaatuneiden unelmien,
Mesopotamian rannoilla palavien palmujen,
isäni luiden
ja iltapäiväteeni kanssa.

Jättäkää minut yksin
etelän surullisten laulujen
pohjoisen katkaistujen kaulojen
ja Yasidiesin riikinkukkojen kanssa.
Jättäkää minut yksin
parantamaan maani Irakin haavoja
Yksin…
Niin kuin Maria…
Yksin yksinäisyyteeni…
Minun maani: valittu ristiinnaulittavaksi kaikkien maiden joukosta.
Tiedän miten vauhdittaa hänen ylösnousemustaan.
Hän tietää miten syntyä uudelleen tuhkasta.
Ettehän ole unohtaneet, että hän on luonut Feeniksin?

Ai, helvetti teille, sodan herrat,
kuunnelkaa minua:
Älkää pelästyttäkö Bagdadin pilviä lentokoneillanne.
Älkää kylväkö sotilaita puutarhaamme.
Älkää viekö äitini huntua.
Ei. Huudan Ei Irakin vapauttamiselle minusta tai minun hänestä.
Minä olen Irak.
Kylät ovat kukkineet takistani ja tiedän mitä haluan.
Jättäkää minut itselleni, perheelleni ja unohdukseenne.
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Syntymäpäivä

Maani on kakku
ja ohjukset ovat kynttilöitä
vieraita on paljon
ja vertani tarjoillaan laseista
talo on minun
ja perheeni on murhattu
mutta, kenen syntymäpäiväjuhlat nämä ovat,
jos minut on jo murhattu
ennen syntymääni?
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Minä ja toinen

Minulla on jasmiini
ja apina, silkkipaita
Minulla on lasillinen vettä itselleni
ja Amerikalle tynnyreittäin öljyä
Minulla on äiti
ja naapuri jolla on jasmiininkukka ikkunassaan
Ja teitä varten, pankit, tornit ja kateelliset ihmiset,
minulla on astma ja savuke
ja te pidätätte veroa ilmastani.
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Patsaat

Patsaat ovat suihkulähteiden keskellä
Ja me, kaupunkien keskellä
maailman keskellä
Siis, jos patsaat ovat leikkikalujamme
kenen leluja me olemme?
Ja mitä patsaat mahtaisivat leikkiä
meidän poissaollessamme?
Mitä ne tekisivät jos me lähtisimme
sen jälkeen kun olemme sulkeneet
suihkulähteiden hanat?
------------------------------

Ainutlaatuinen nainen

Olen kykenemätön takavarikoimaan irtonaisuuttasi
Käännä rintasi
toiseen suuntaan.

Olet liittolaiseni arvostellessamme tätä maailmaa
ja olet julma
siksi pelkään rakastaa sinua.

En aio etsiä rakkauttasi
vaikka rakkauteni etsiikin sinua
Ja kysyn kuolemaani saakka:
Kuka olet?

Pelkään rakkauttasi
en aio etsiä rakkauttasi
vaikka rakkauteni etsiikin sinua,
vaikka oletkin se jota rakastan.
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Aikakauteni lapsi

Olen aikakauteni ja tämän päivän lapsi
minulla on ruokaa ja juomaa
ja minä yksin ruokin pankkeja
olen aikakauteni lapsi ja valkokankaiden seuralainen
minun ovat kartat ja lentokentät
enkä näe naapurini kasvoja
olen aikakauteni lapsi ja uskollinen julkisuuden kuluttaja
tapaamisten ja kenkien asiantuntija
enkä tunne sieluani
olen aikakauteni lapsi ja perheeni on hostelli jonka hylkäsin
olen kyvykäs puhumaan ja vuokraamaan
eikä minua liikuta sisareni suru
koska olen aikakauteni lapsi
ja aikakauteni on huoranpenikka.
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Suru

Sydämessä kasvaa
piikikäs puu.
Kasvaa,
…kasvaa
ja kasvaa,
kunnes sen ainoa hedelmä
putoaa;
mädäntynyt luuranko
…joka olet sinä.
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Sateen jälkeen

Sateen jälkeen:
aurinkoja pilvien välissä ja puroissa
manteli- ja pähkinäherkkuja
hunajataateleita ja lämmintä leipää.

Sateen jälkeen:
äitini, sisarukseni
ja savimajamme
valkeat kyyhkysemme.

Sateen jälkeen:
rauhan sateenkaaret
ilman aseita, ilman johtajaa.

Sateen jälkeen,
…sateen jälkeen.

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Muhsin Al-Ramli : Kirjailija, runoilija, kääntäjä, filosofian tohtori, julkaissut novelleja, romaaneja, runoja ja näytelmiä arabiaksi, espanjaksi ja englanniksi. Syntynyt Irakissa 1967. Asunut Espanjassa vuodesta 1995. Suorittanut tohtorin tutkinnon filosofiassa, kirjallisuudessa ja espanjalaisessa filologiassa Madridin yliopistossa 2003. Väitöskirjan aihe ”Islamilaisen kulttuurin jäljet Don Quijote:ssa.” Kääntänyt useita espanjalaisia klassikoita arabiaksi. Työskentelee Alwah-kulttuurijulkaisun parissa sekä opettajana Saint Louis yliopistossa Madridissa.

Lotta Maria Linnavuori
http://mariamalsharqiyya.com/

domingo, 13 de diciembre de 2009

En TVE / Palabras para Irak

Muhsin Al-Ramli en la televisión española

Cortoreportaje titulado (Palabras para Irak)
sobre: El escritor iraquí Muhsin Al-Ramli,
en el programa (Babel en TVE) de la televisión española.
Se retransmitió el 07/12/2009
VER

Documentary in the Spanish Channel TVE,
about: The Iraqi writer Muhsin Al-Ramli.
It was broadcost on December 7, 2009

El personaje: Muhsin Al- Ramli - Palabras para Irak
07-12-2009

Muhsin Al-Ramli es uno de los 4 millones de iraquíes exiliados por todo el mundo. Hace 15 años este profesor de universidad llegó a España huyendo de Irak con tan sólo 200 dólares en el bolsillo. Su pasión por la literatura española le ha llevado a ser el único académico en explicarnos cuáles han sido las influencias árabes en la novela de El Quijote. Por encima de todo se considera un escritor al que le es imposible olvidar las muertes y el desgarro de su país.

viernes, 23 de octubre de 2009

The text of the documentary about Al-Ramli on Tv Aljazeera


On the Arabic channel: ALJAZEERA

In the program (Mawad Fi el-Mahjarموعد في المهجر)
(Date in the exile)

Documentary about:

The iraqui writer Muhsin Al-Ramli

Shown: Thursday, July 9th, 2009
and it was repeated: Friday, July 10th, 2009

-----------------------------

Translated by: Carolina Cármenes
-------------------------------------------------------

Towards Spain alongside difficult dreams

In between cultural compromises,


worrying about exile and writing as a refugee
------------------------


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ctcuEJlD2lA

Towards Spain alongside difficult dreams

Muhsin Al-Ramli:

This ink spilled on your papers
is the blood of my country.
This light pouring out of your screens
Is the sparkle in the eyes of the children of Basora.
This one that is sobbing in the darkness of his exile
Is me;

The narrator: The poet, only he can put himself face to face with the world and show it its errors, only he can, with a few witty words, undress and give away politicians, who are able to light up a war as easily as they light up their cigarettes, whenever they see potential benefits for themselves. And in the heart of Madrid we find the Spanish/Iraqi poet Muhsin Al-Ramli declaiming:

No to the party of military men on the roof of my house.
No to the executioner that you have proposed
or are going to propose.
No to the bombs of your liberty falling over the heads of my people
No to liberating Iraq from me or me from him.
I am Iraq.

Muhsin Al-Ramli: The most beautiful part of my life is that my parents were complete opposites. My father was a self-taught man, stubborn and determined, and my mother was a woman that represented tranquillity and tolerance. I learned from my father that that which makes a man and gives him more importance is his wisdom and his service to others. A person is more valuable every time that he expands his knowledge and every time that he is more useful to other people.
My father addressed the government of the time by himself and asked to build a school in the village, and once he was granted permission, he built a school in one of our plots of land; he built it himself out of mud. He himself was the founder of the school and of the mosque in the village. With that, I learned about the value of knowledge- for he read, and he had taught himself how to read.
One’s worth is determined by their knowledge and their service to others.
We are nine children in our family. I have three brothers and five sisters. My brothers have also had a big influence over me, in particular, my deceased brother and known writer Hassan Mutlak Almost all of my brothers and I are educated and had the chance of pursuing our studies, for my father was greatly interested in our education.
My dream was to become an actor. I wished to study drama, and in fact, when I was in secondary school, I created with my group of friends a drama club, and we managed to perform a few easy playwrights for some of the villages nearby. But my father, being a religious man as he was, conservative and strict, especially when it considered our family, forbade it. During those times, any type of artist was thought to be something similar to a dancer or a clown, so my family said to me: “No! We will disown you if you leave, we firmly refuse to see the son of Mr. Mutlak dancing on television.”
Whenever I wanted to clear my mind and think, or whenever I felt upset, I would make my way to the river and I would sit down on one of the rocks and would submerge my feet in the water, and I would sit there, thinking and contemplating the flow of the water. That time, I realised that the time had come for me to decide what it was that I wanted to study, and I could postpone it no longer for if I did, I would be forced to fight in the Iran-Iraq war, and it was something I didn’t particularly want to do. I started to consider journalism, for it seemed to be similar with what I really wanted to study but unfortunately couldn’t. Then by chance, my friend Ibrahim Hassan Nasser, who was also a writer and who was killed in the war a few years later, stopped by and told me: “You don’t need to study journalism to be a journalist as long as you have the ability to write. Moreover, the majority of universally known journalists are famous because of their talent, not because of their studies. But in order to be a journalist you must, like every intellectual, speak a second language.” He was right in his words, but I despised the English language and ran away from it, so I tore apart the idea of learning it and told him: “I cant stand the English language” and he replied: “How about Spanish?”
At that time, the eighties, what was known as the Boom of Latin-American novels had just been written, and had also just been translated into Arabic as the works of Garcia Marquez or works of Vargas Llosa and others, with which we were all very impressed. My friend then asked me: “How would you like to be able to read “A hundred years of Solitude” in its original Spanish version?” and I answered: “That would be amazing”.
The execution of my brother, Hassan Mutlak, took place in 1990 for his participation in the coup d’état against the regime of the time. The consequences and torture that individuals receive by the regime for this kind of situation are well known, and the family of the victim suddenly find themselves in a very delicate situation, as did we. If you were a civil servant, or public officer, you were immediately thrown out of the country, especially if your position was somewhat important, but you would suffer pressure from every side even if you weren’t a public officer.
At the time I was serving the mandatory military service, which lasted for three years and which I completed from 1989 to 1991. Only once you had completed the military service did the Iraqi government allow you to travel, therefore, once I was done, I went to Jordan, without knowing anybody there and with only a hundred dollars in my pocket. I took on any job that came my way, and after a while, I slowly integrated myself into the national Jordanian press. I would translate articles and write for newspapers, and this start allowed me to meet and befriend many great people. As a matter of fact, most of my best friends now are Jordanian. I entered their homes, their cultural centres and I even performed in their national festival of Irbid in 1993 or 1994, yet my situation there was still complicated due to my status as an undocumented immigrant as well as the lack of jobs available.
Since I was a graduate in the Spanish language, thanks to a friend, Abdul Hadi Sadoun, who was in Madrid at the time, I decided to send him all of my documents and transcripts so that he could send them to the Universidad Autonoma de Madrid, where I was accepted. This is how I came to Spain.


The Narrator: When the young Muhsin Al-Ramli explained to his professors at the university in Madrid and that he was planning to write his thesis on “the influences of Islamic culture on Don Quixote” by Miguel de Cervantes, they all smiled in a sympathetic yet ironic way, for they thought, what else could he add, how can he being an Arab dare to write his thesis on the most important novel ever written in Spanish, on which more than half a million studies had been made in the past four hundred years? A few years later, these same professors awarded him his doctorate degree with honours, in Spanish, SOBRESALIENTE “CUM LAUDE”, and they praised him for his great job in which he did indeed successfully add more to the novel, and in which he made it very clear that Cervantes, having had lived in Algeria for a long time as a prisoner, had been greatly influenced by the Islamic culture, the same way the character of Don Quixote had been influenced by chivalrous stories in the novel.

Muhsin Al-Ramli: Sometimes I feel as if I was born a teacher, because ever since I was young I loved to teach. I would often set up a library or a study room and there I would teach my cousins, my nephews or my friends, and when I finished university, I also taught a class of bulletproof armour usage in the military for a while, focusing on how to operate tanks and other combat vehicles.
I was also a teacher at a school in Iraq for a period of time, and here in Spain, I taught at the Iraqi school in Madrid, which was built for the children of the Arab community of Madrid. Later on, I also taught Arabic and Arabic culture classes as well as writing workshops at the Williams School in Madrid.
For the past five years though, I am a university professor, giving classes about the Arabic language as well as culture at Saint Louis University, and at this university I also teach Islamic studies, drama, as well as Spanish literature, special classes about Don Quixote, but at this point in time I am currently focusing on teaching Arabic, which along with Spanish, is my area of expertise.
This university is considered to be one of the oldest American universities in Madrid, for it has been here for over 17 years and in it we find students from almost all the nationalities in the world, although the majority are Americans. It’s a well-known university in the United States, which has campuses in many places all over the world, including here in Madrid. At the university they teach both in English and in Spanish, since the majority of international students that come to this university come in order to learn, or to improve, their Spanish. As well as Spanish, the university also offers many different majors, ranging from the sciences to the languages, as well as humanities and such.
There was always great interest for the language and culture of the Arabic world by the rest of the people, but recently, this interest has been growing more and more each day now that the Middle East is becoming more popular in various ways. Whether for good news or bad news, the Middle East appears in the news almost daily, and foreigners want to understand why and for what reasons the things that happen in this region of the world happen. Also, tourism in this part of the world has risen, and now not only do tourists want sun, beach and luxurious hotels, their curiosity about the culture of this world, their traditions and their ways, has also increased, leading many to explore it. People want to know how Arabs think, how they eat, how they sleep, how they live, how they dream, and every time, the amount of people who travel to Arab countries increases. This is why I say that Arabic countries should take advantage of the experience that their citizens who live in the west, or elsewhere, experience, for it is them who know how to represent and pass on our culture the best way, they are much better than publicity itself, for their role is even more important than the role politicians play in showing everybody the wonders of the Arab world. It is us that give a broader, more real, human and cultural view of the Arab world. Most people have bad impressions of Arabs due to what they see in the news; therefore it is our responsibility to show that we are not all the same way we are typically portrayed by the media. I believe that Arab countries need to emphasize teaching their language, because there are many people all over the world who are interested in learning Arabic and learning about Arabic culture. I find it surprising that the League of Arab States has not taken the time to prepare at least a few easy-to-read, simple books about the Arab language, in which easy explanations are given in many different languages and which would facilitate learning Arabic. What I, as a teacher have noticed, is that there are very few books that teach Arabic in a simple way, so it is difficult for Arabic teachers to successfully teach, for we have to put in extra effort, to get to know each student and their level individually as well as their learning rate in order to be able to teach them Arabic. I really think that it is very important that Arab countries take the initiative to prepare such books, in order to encourage foreigners to learn our language.

[publicity]
-------------------------------------------

In between cultural compromises,

worrying about exile and writing as a refugee


The Narrator: Don Quixote once said that everyone is the son of their actions and fruit of their virtues. This is one of the truest phrases said by Cervantes’s mill-fighting hero.
Less than 15 years ago we could have found the young Muhsin Al-Ramli in this very park in order to spend the night, for he was poor and alone, and could not seem to find the beginning of a promising path to a new life.
In these types of terrible circumstances and conditions, it seems justifiable for the average person to just give up and become a vagabond, but Al-Ramli, who had previously been in Jordan, did not give up, and instead, made up a path on his own in order to accomplish his goals. He built his own path and started fresh in every way: academically, morally and culturally, and considers every morning to be a valuable gift which should be accepted and taken advantage of and which we should confront without any hesitation or regret.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Um9LrdM_h94

Muhsin Al-Ramli: At the beginning, I came here and I found myself in a precarious situation, for I only had 200 dollars with me. Along with this, at the time, my Spanish was not very good, for I had learned it the academic way which is different from the Spanish that is spoken in everyday life, and due to my years of military service and lack of practice, I had lost some of it as well. Along with this, upon my arrival to Spain, I was issued a student visa, when what I really needed was a job. Spain was facing great levels of unemployment at the time, not only for immigrants but also for Spanish as well, and I, having a student visa, not a working visa, found it impossible to get a job and faced very hard times.
I came to Spain with three Iraqi friends, and slowly, we started to help each other. We went from sleeping during the day in parks, to renting a small apartment for the three of us. This way, whenever one of us found a job, the rest of us could live, and that way we were helping each other to survive. I remember one summer when our fridge broke down and we could not afford to repair it…
Being an Iraqi immigrant is much harder than being an immigrant from any other country in the world, for imagine how difficult communicating with your family back home is, and that just for the fact of being Iraqi, you will never receive any news, or any good news at least, from back home. Your family will not be able to help you financially when you need it because their situation is usually worse than yours, and since I did not receive any scholarship or any other type of financial help, I could not bring myself to asking my family for money when I knew what situation they were in.
At first, my arrival to Spain was just as my arrival to any other country would have been; my interest was primarily on the culture of the place, and I soon began to look for places and opportunities for me to engage in this culture and learn from it. But my friend Abdul Hadi Sadoun and I did not find them. We began to look for centres or associations for Arabs and Arabic culture here, but we only found a few small and quite insignificant ones, for the bigger and more significant centres were found in other French or English speaking countries, since there were very few Arab intellectuals here in Spain. Therefore, my friend and I felt an obligation to start some sort of project to stimulate the Arabic community here and so we started a magazine and editorial called “Alwah”, although our financial situation was very difficult. At the time, he worked at a café in a small hotel while I worked at a bazaar, and although money was scarce, we felt a certain necessity to create this, to contribute, we just could not not make culture, we wanted to create something through which we could spread our culture.
With this and with the improvement of our Spanish, we began to interact with the Spanish cultural world, engaging in as many activities as we possibly could, following each cultural movement and occasionally translating everything that we could.
We soon began to earn money by translating documents from Spanish to Arabic, and it soon became a profession as well as a cultural compromise. Slowly, we began doing other things. I worked at the theatre and at the cinema as well, I even wrote a script, but unfortunately it was not shot due to the high budget it would have required. Abdul Hadi Sadoun and I also took part in a short clip called “Makbara” which took place at the Muslim cemetery here, and which deals with Iraq. It makes sense that Iraq plays a role in everything I have done so far, for it is a part of me and everything I do.

(trailer and shots of the short clip Markbara)

http://www.cinemavip.com/people/abdul/videos

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Muhsin Al-Ramli: I look at myself and I describe myself mainly as a writer, although I can say that I have had certain success as an academic, poet, actor and playwright, but I believe that the best word that I can use to describe myself, which is also the word that describes my greatest dream, is the word “writer”. In my opinion, to a writer, their most important work is almost always their last one. I have written a book, “Scattered Crumbs”, which in its English version has won a prize and has been translated from Spanish to English and French. But my latest work is “Dedos de Datiles”, which translated into English would be “Date Fingers”, and for me, this novel is the one that I feel closest to my heart, for I have expressed in it my own memories and experiences as an Iraqi in general and as an Iraqi in Spain. In it I have expressed my view on these two cultures, the similarities and differences between the west and the east, between dictatorship and liberty, the traditional and the modern, and about the question of immigrants as well. The feedback and critics I have received for this novel have been good so far, and soon it will also be published in Arabic.
With respect to the translations I have written, apart from my books, I would not be exaggerating if I said that I have translated hundreds, if not thousands of other short texts, and all of them were of the literary genre. Translation from one language to another for me is a second mission. I find it necessary, and at times I also find myself obliged to translate, because although my main mission and dream is to dedicate myself exclusively to creative writing and literature, I understand that part of my duty is to translate from Spanish to Arabic and vice versa because I am fluent in both, and I find it important for me to complete this service between the two languages and the two cultures.
I feel that my brother’s name, Hasan Mutlak, and the legacy he left behind are now my responsibility to keep and carry on, not only for me, but for my people as well. Hassan was one of the best Iraqi writers of the time and his assassination in 1990 affected me for the rest of my life. I have always been influenced by him, I am a student of Hassan Mutlak and I feel that I owe him everything I know, for when the Iraqi regime decided to take away his life, they deprived the world of a great voice, and I feel its my responsibility to bring out this voice again. I have been living my whole life for two people, for myself and for Hassan Mutlak, and for this very reason I have posed on myself the challenge of bringing together and publishing everything he wrote, and in this way rebel against the regime that wanted to silence him.
I returned to my village in 2004 for 20 days out of a sudden decision in order to see my family and friends. Upon my arrival, I realised that once you are an immigrant, you will always be an immigrant. For my family and friends I was a different person, and for me, they had all changed, my town had changed and I realised then, that I had also changed. Once you are an immigrant, you become a foreigner even in your own country. Ever since I left Iraq the first time, I never informed my parents of the difficulties I was facing in Spain, I never let them know when I needed money, when I was hungry, when I was sick, and of course I can imagine how hard all of it would have been on my family had I told them about it. Another difficulty about leaving and the most painful of difficulties is to find out that while you were gone, members of your family as well as loved ones passed away. While I was in Spain, my mother as well as my older sister and brother Husein died. We are a very close family and all of us are very emotional, and what makes this whole situation even worse is that in their last moments of breath, all three of them asked to see me, “we want to see Muhsin” they said. And of course, when you aren’t able to fulfil their very last wish and it rests in your hands, this hurts you inside forever.
Because I didn’t see my mother’s death and the death of my other loved ones with my own eyes, sometimes I feel that they are still alive, its as if their death is just an extension of their absence, and it is only when you stop to think about the fact that they are really gone that their death replays itself a thousand times in your mind. Its like you miss them, and since you have been away for a long time and didn’t witness their deaths with your own eyes in order to make sure that they really died, you keep on missing them, and it is only when you remember that they are really dead that it seems as if they have died all over again.

The Narrator: But now his small and beautiful family will be able to close this gap that rests in his heart. The love from his wife, of German and Spanish blood, and the sweetness and tenderness from his daughter Sara, who learns Arabic from her father, German from her mother and Spanish at school, so that this way she can become a citizen of the world. So that she can live wherever she pleases, as easily as pronouncing her name in all different languages is, and this way save herself from all the suffering of the dilemma that tearing yourself from something implies, from all the suffering that destiny dragged her father through, between a painful and impossible fatherland.
Muhsin Al-Ramli cannot forget and will not forgive the people who killed his brother and destroyed Iraq and forced him go into exile. Perhaps this is why his pain resurfaces each time and stays, because if he forgives and stops feeling like a victim, then he will have lost the fight that he has been fighting his whole life. We are left with the feeling that this victim will return to Iraq in the near future in order to contribute to the new Iraq being built, creative, safe and free, but for now, forgiveness is not easy, and the big fight requires time, so until then, we will wait for you dear Ramli, we will wait.

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النص بالعربية على هذا الرابط

http://alramliarabic.blogspot.com/2009/07/blog-post_07.html

La traducción del texto al español está en este enlace:

http://muhsinalramli.blogspot.com/2009/08/el-texto-del-documental-sobre-al-ramli.html

Carolina Cármenes and Muhsin Al-Ramli