Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Adonis

HISTORY IS RIPPED APART IN THE BODY OF A WOMAN

THE WOMAN:
 
The stars, the stars,
and a land without teachings, without chains, a land that does not know boundaries.
The stars release their gazelles in my clothes, they grow mad celebrating
my body, released on their land,
in the mist and in conjecture. And through the temptation of vanishing,
Is it a meteor approaching now? Does she see him limping
            toward me?
O meteor seeking direction
I am like you now, I live
and have nothing except this bareness.
 
            (Silence)
 
I will repeat what he says: it must be so.
What is it that must be? O liquid
that gushes between my thighs,
and you book that suffocates femininity
O pedants of Sunday, Friday, and Saturday, what is it that must be?
The belly of the day is a swelling indeed! And what of
these words that become divine on the lips of the wretched? And what of
you, breaker of words whose cleaver passed
between my body and my mother’s? What must be?
Who, O cloth wet with my tears?
You planet searching for shade in the sands of Mecca?
On rock of Jerusalem,
what is it, what is it that must be?
The night driver tumbles, and the stars wince at his horses.
The stars are an explosion that comes and goes, my head the playground where it plays.
 
            (Silence)

GESCHIEDENIS WORDT STUKGESCHEURD IN HET LICHAAM VAN EEN VROUW

DE VROUW:
 
Sterren, sterren
Een vaderland zonder doctrines, zonder boeien kent geen grenzen
In mijn kleren laten sterren hun gazellen weiden, uitzinnig mijn lichaam vierend en het uitgaan naar hun wereld
Is er een meteoor in de nevel, de gedachten, de betovering
van het geheim? Denk je dat hij in mijn richting komt?
Jij voortsnellende meteoor
net als jij leef ik nu
Ik heb niets dan de openlucht
 
(stilte)
 
Laat ik net als hij zeggen: het moet.
Wat moet? Jij afvoerpijp die aan mijn dij ontspringt
Jij boek dat de vrouwelijkheid smoort
Jij wellust van zondag, vrijdag,  zaterdag. Wat, wat is het dat moet?
De buik van deze dag is opgezwollen en wat nu
Jij woord dat god wordt op armzalige lippen? Wat is er met jou
Jij breker van woorden, jouw schietlood
ging tussen mijn lichaam en naam door. Wat moet?
Jij kleding doorweekt door mijn tranen?
Jij ster die schaduw zoekt in het zand van Mekka
in de rots van Jeruzalem
Wat, wat moet?
De koetsier van de nacht valt, sterren verschrikken zijn paarden
De hemel is een explosie die komt en gaat, mijn hoofd is zijn speelveld

من” تاريخ يتمزق في جسد امرأة“


المرأة:
 
ألّنجومُ  النّجومْ
وطنٌ لا تعاليمَ فيه ، ولا قيدَ فيه ، ولا يعرف التّخومْ
النّجوم تُسَرِّحُ غُزلانها في ثيابي ، تُجَنُّ احتفاءً بجسْمي،
بالخروج إلى أرضها
في السّديم ، وفي الظّنّ . في فتنةِ الخفاءْ
أشهابٌ ؟ تراهُ يعرِّجُ نحْوي؟
أيّهذا الشّهاب الذي يتهادى
مثلكَ الآنَ ، أحيا
ليسَ لي غير هذا العراءْ .
 
                      ( صمت )
لِأقُلْ مثلهُ : ينبغي.
ما الذي ينبغي؟ أيّهذا المسيلُ الذي يتدفّق من فَخِذَيَّ ،
وَيا ذلك الكتاب الذي يخنقُ الأُنوثةَ ،
يا غُلمةَ الأحَدِ الجُمْعة السَّبْتِ ، ماذا ، ما الذي ينبغي؟
بطْنُ هذا النّهار انتفاخٌ . وماذا ،
   أيّهذا الكلام الذي يتألّهُ في شَفَتَيْ بائِسٍ؟ وماذا ،
أنتَ ، يا كاسرَ الكلماتِ ، الذي مرّ شاقولُهُ
بين جسميَ واٍمي ، ما الذي ينبغي ؟
أنتِ ، يا هذهِ القماشةُ مبلولةً بدمعي ؟
أنتَ يا ذلك الكوكب الذي يتفيّأُ في رمْل مكّة ،
في صخْرةِ القٌدْس
ماذا ، ما الذي ينبغي ؟
سائق اللّيل يَهوي ، والنّجوم يُجَفِّلنَ أفراسَه.
السّماء انفجارٌ يحيءُ ويذهبُ ، رأسي له ملْعبٌ .
Close

HISTORY IS RIPPED APART IN THE BODY OF A WOMAN

THE WOMAN:
 
The stars, the stars,
and a land without teachings, without chains, a land that does not know boundaries.
The stars release their gazelles in my clothes, they grow mad celebrating
my body, released on their land,
in the mist and in conjecture. And through the temptation of vanishing,
Is it a meteor approaching now? Does she see him limping
            toward me?
O meteor seeking direction
I am like you now, I live
and have nothing except this bareness.
 
            (Silence)
 
I will repeat what he says: it must be so.
What is it that must be? O liquid
that gushes between my thighs,
and you book that suffocates femininity
O pedants of Sunday, Friday, and Saturday, what is it that must be?
The belly of the day is a swelling indeed! And what of
these words that become divine on the lips of the wretched? And what of
you, breaker of words whose cleaver passed
between my body and my mother’s? What must be?
Who, O cloth wet with my tears?
You planet searching for shade in the sands of Mecca?
On rock of Jerusalem,
what is it, what is it that must be?
The night driver tumbles, and the stars wince at his horses.
The stars are an explosion that comes and goes, my head the playground where it plays.
 
            (Silence)

HISTORY IS RIPPED APART IN THE BODY OF A WOMAN

THE WOMAN:
 
The stars, the stars,
and a land without teachings, without chains, a land that does not know boundaries.
The stars release their gazelles in my clothes, they grow mad celebrating
my body, released on their land,
in the mist and in conjecture. And through the temptation of vanishing,
Is it a meteor approaching now? Does she see him limping
            toward me?
O meteor seeking direction
I am like you now, I live
and have nothing except this bareness.
 
            (Silence)
 
I will repeat what he says: it must be so.
What is it that must be? O liquid
that gushes between my thighs,
and you book that suffocates femininity
O pedants of Sunday, Friday, and Saturday, what is it that must be?
The belly of the day is a swelling indeed! And what of
these words that become divine on the lips of the wretched? And what of
you, breaker of words whose cleaver passed
between my body and my mother’s? What must be?
Who, O cloth wet with my tears?
You planet searching for shade in the sands of Mecca?
On rock of Jerusalem,
what is it, what is it that must be?
The night driver tumbles, and the stars wince at his horses.
The stars are an explosion that comes and goes, my head the playground where it plays.
 
            (Silence)
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Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
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Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
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Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
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