Ashraf Fayadh - Dimitris Troaditis
Ashraf Fayadh
Tense Times
Tense times for me,
and sleep’s acting like a newly love-struck teen.
I shall disregard the state my heart’s in
and my mind’s upheavals like water bubbling
past the boiling point.
I am a part of the universe with which the universe is angry,
a part of the earth of which the earth feels utterly ashamed,
a wretched human towards whom
other humans cannot maintain neutrality.
Neutrality: an illusion
like all the graces of which humans speak, so shamelessly theoretical.
Truth is an inadequate term, just like Man,
and love bumps about,
a miserable fly
trapped in a glass box.
Freedom is very relative:
all said and done we live in a ball-shaped prison
barred with ozone.
Set free, our fate
is certain death.
Tense Times was published in The Guardian for world poetry day, 2016.
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/mar/21/tense-times-poem-by-ashraf-fayadh-world-poetry-day
Ashraf Fayadh is a Palestinian artist and poet living in Saudi Arabia. He cofounded Shatter artists collective in Abha in 2003, was active in the British-Arabian arts organization, Edge of Arabia, has organized and curated art exhibitions in Saudi Arabia and Europe and was co-curator of Rhizome: Generation in Waiting for the 55th Venice Biennale 2013. His collection of poetry, Instructions Within was published in 2008.
Dimitris Troaditis chose to foreground Ashraf Fayadh's poem above
Dimitris Troaditis
ΣΤΑ ΚΡΕΜΑΤΟΡΙΑ ΤΟΥ ΥΠΕΔΑΦΟΥΣ
Τις έχω ξαναδεί
τις γυναίκες
με τα μαύρα ρούχα
μοιάζουν σαν καταδικασμένες
πηγαίνουν σε παράταξη
όλες στα σκοτάδια
φαίνονται κίτρινες
κι οι σταγόνες χτυπάνε
αλύπητα το πρόσωπό τους
ψάχνουν τους άντρες τους
που έπεσαν στα πεδία
των μαχών
τους αδελφούς τους
που ακρωτηριάστηκαν θανάσιμα
στα λιμάνια
και τα χυτήρια
στήνονται στη γραμμή
στις εθνικές παρελάσεις
βυθισμένες στη σκόνη του χρόνου
την πάχνη των περασμένων
και την οδύνη
των μελλούμενων
που δεν λένε να έρθουν.
In the crematoria of the overground
I've seen them before
the women
in black clothes
They look like they're doomed
They go into line
All in the dark
They look yellow
And the drops are beating
Their faces mercilessly
Looking for their men
Who have fallen in the fields
Of the battlefields
Their brothers
who were mortally maimed
in the harbors
and the foundries
are lined up
in the national parades
submerged in the dust of time
the dew of the past
and the pain
of the future
that do not say to come.
ΔΕΝ ΥΠΑΡΧΕΙ ΦΩΣ ΣΤΑ ΜΑΤΙΑ
Στον αγωνιζόμενο λαό της Συρίας
Δεν υπάρχει φως στα μάτια
τρέμουλο στα δάχτυλα
τα πουλιά δεν φτερουγίζουν
όλα πυρακτωμένα
αίμα της καρδιάς
λάβα σε ρίζες δέντρων
πληγές από πύρινα βέλη
πυρκαγιές σε ατέρμονα σχήματα
ψυχές ξεριζώνονται
σ’ ανασκαλεμένη γη
με σύνεργα καλοφτιαγμένα
για θάνατο και φρίκη
ποιους νεκρούς ν’ αναστήσεις
και σε ποια ιδέα να μυηθείς
ποια μορφή να τραγουδήσεις
και ποια φωνή να βγάλεις
σε εκτάσεις αλλόφρονες
που το λιοπύρι στέγνωσε
που τα δάκρυα και οι βρύσες
γίνονται ηφαίστεια
που τα νάματα της ζήσης
στοιχειώνονται
τα άλλοτε ανένδοτα τοπία ενέδωσαν
στα ρουμάνια τους τα νυχτοπούλια
λικνίζονται σ’ αγέρηδες
κεραυνούς που τα κυνηγούν.
There is no light in the eyes
To the struggling people of Syria
There is no light in the eyes
trembling in the fingers
the birds do not flutter
all aglow
blood of the heart
Lava in tree roots
Wounds of fiery arrows
fires in endless shapes
souls torn apart
in excavated earth
with well-made paraphernalia
for death and horror
which dead to raise
and what idea to initiate
what form to sing
and what voice to make
in lands of madness
where the snow is dry
where tears and fountains
become volcanoes
where the seeds of life
are haunted
the once unyielding landscapes have given in
To their romances the night birds
swaying in the sway of the wild
lightning chasing them.
Dimitri Troaditis was born in Athens, Greece, and he lives in Naarm (Melbourne). Working with the Greek-Australian media. He has been extensively published, mostly in Greece, in numerous literary journals, websites, blogs and anthologies. He has organised poetry readings in Naarm/Melbourne. He has published 10 poetry collections and three social history books. He runs the poetry website (in Greek) http://tokoskino.me
Olive leaves cast shadows against a pale pink surface
