Poem
Taha Muhammad Ali
POST-OPERATIVE COMPLICATIONS FOLLOWING THE EXTRACTION OF MEMORY
In an ancient, gypsydictionary of dreams
are explanations of my name
and numerous
interpretations of all I’ll write.
What horror comes across me
when I come across myself
in such a dictionary!
But there I am:
a camel fleeing the slaughterhouses,
galloping toward the East,
pursued by processions
of knives and assessors,
women wielding
mortar and pestle for chop meat!
I do not consider myself a pessimist,
and I certainly don’t
suffer from the shock
of ancient, gypsy nightmares,
and yet, in the middle of the day,
whenever I turn on the radio,
or turn it off,
I breathe in a kind of historical,
theological leprosy.
Feeling the bonds of language
coming apart in my throat and loins,
I cease attending
to my sacred obligations:
barking, and the gnashing of teeth.
I confess!
I’ve been neglecting
my post-operative physiotherapy
following the extraction of memory.
I’ve even forgotten
the simplest way of collapsing
in exhaustion on the tile floor.
© Translation: 2000, Peter Cole
POST-OPERATIVE COMPLICATIONS FOLLOWING THE EXTRACTION OF MEMORY
POST-OPERATIVE COMPLICATIONS FOLLOWING THE EXTRACTION OF MEMORY
© 1973, Taha Muhammad Ali
From: Never Mind: Twenty Poems and a Story
From: Never Mind: Twenty Poems and a Story
Poems
Poems of Taha Muhammad Ali
Close
POST-OPERATIVE COMPLICATIONS FOLLOWING THE EXTRACTION OF MEMORY
In an ancient, gypsydictionary of dreams
are explanations of my name
and numerous
interpretations of all I’ll write.
What horror comes across me
when I come across myself
in such a dictionary!
But there I am:
a camel fleeing the slaughterhouses,
galloping toward the East,
pursued by processions
of knives and assessors,
women wielding
mortar and pestle for chop meat!
I do not consider myself a pessimist,
and I certainly don’t
suffer from the shock
of ancient, gypsy nightmares,
and yet, in the middle of the day,
whenever I turn on the radio,
or turn it off,
I breathe in a kind of historical,
theological leprosy.
Feeling the bonds of language
coming apart in my throat and loins,
I cease attending
to my sacred obligations:
barking, and the gnashing of teeth.
I confess!
I’ve been neglecting
my post-operative physiotherapy
following the extraction of memory.
I’ve even forgotten
the simplest way of collapsing
in exhaustion on the tile floor.
© 2000, Peter Cole
From: Never Mind: Twenty Poems and a Story
From: Never Mind: Twenty Poems and a Story
POST-OPERATIVE COMPLICATIONS FOLLOWING THE EXTRACTION OF MEMORY
In an ancient, gypsydictionary of dreams
are explanations of my name
and numerous
interpretations of all I’ll write.
What horror comes across me
when I come across myself
in such a dictionary!
But there I am:
a camel fleeing the slaughterhouses,
galloping toward the East,
pursued by processions
of knives and assessors,
women wielding
mortar and pestle for chop meat!
I do not consider myself a pessimist,
and I certainly don’t
suffer from the shock
of ancient, gypsy nightmares,
and yet, in the middle of the day,
whenever I turn on the radio,
or turn it off,
I breathe in a kind of historical,
theological leprosy.
Feeling the bonds of language
coming apart in my throat and loins,
I cease attending
to my sacred obligations:
barking, and the gnashing of teeth.
I confess!
I’ve been neglecting
my post-operative physiotherapy
following the extraction of memory.
I’ve even forgotten
the simplest way of collapsing
in exhaustion on the tile floor.
© 2000, Peter Cole
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