An Anthology of Palestinian Poets within the Green-Lines- Edited and translated by Jamal Assadi- With Assistance from Simon Jacobs
Edited By Jamal Assadi
The poets, arranged alphabetically, depict a faithful picture of the various aspects of Arab life among what is called, paradoxically, Israeli-Palestinian societies. They present new arenas where opposing factors harmoniously join to struggle for dignity, freedom, and justice. Readers of this volume will encounter serious poems strewn with light and humorous themes and poems of sensual and spiritual love interwoven with poems of the unusual and political. These Israeli- Palestinian poets’ distinctive flavor emerges from their ability to challenge norms, fight oppression, and burst open closed doors to tell their own stories – the stories of their plight, alienation, marginalization, and hopes and dreams – in a new magnified voice, first to their community, then to their people and nation, then to their country, and now to the wider English-speaking public.
Makhkhūl, Marwān 158
Marwān Makhkhūl (b.1979) A civil engineer, poet and playwright, Makhkhūl was born in Boqai’ah in 1979 but lives in Tarshīḥā now. His poetry and plays brought him fame and awards. He was awarded Maḥmūd Darwīsh’s prize for his The Land of Sad Paceflora and the award of the best playwright for his play Not Noah’s Oak A Fly’s Journal There was a fly over the ash-tray Rubbing her palms Ready For what may arrive on a delicious Tray, which embarrasses the different parts of Paradise From excessive available pleasures Rather than promises. She flew down.. To the red apple; Seizing the opportunity to taste it as if she Were an old man.. distancing senility To drink wine at an age About to be complete. She flew... assadi.indd 158 28/10/11 1:21 PM Marwān Makhkhūl 159 To the cupboard shelf Like one climbing the lofty tower To observe the enemies come To his premises.. Riding upon greediness. How wide the window is; it refreshes her And protects her if the host discovers Her panting; She relaxes her bottom on his lips Letting what seems to be Of wastes and sugar Fall into it. The host slept.. On beds.. resting From a supper it almost had killed him So she went to call the remainder Of the flies in order to have fun As if they were gangs on a holiday’s night Entertained by the snoring of the flute On the top of the...
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