And the rising
Begins—
And the reign
Of innocence
Became denial
In their heads
And death
Became the lead
And truth
Met its match
And the rising
Fed their
Nimble brains
And the reign
Of innocence
Died that day
And it became
The beginning
The end
Again.
I wanted to share excerpts from this document I came across, as I’ve been researching historical literature and poetry from my Palestinian heritage. Not exactly easy for me to find, as a lot has been destroyed, or lost over the years to the occupation.
Here is an excerpt, and also a piece from poet, Fadwa Tuqan:
PALESTINIAN LITERATURE Translated from: Resistance literature In Occupied Palestine By Ghassan Kanafani
The fall of Palestine to the Zionists in 1948 led to a disastrous change both in the number and the social structure of the Arab population in occupied Palestine. Nearly three quarters of the 200,000 Arabs who continued to live in their homeland were peasants. The cities were mostly evacuated either during the war or soon afterwards. This led to a shocking deterioration in Arab social conditions due to the fact that the cities had been the centers of both political and cultural effusion. As the Zionist occupants closed their military ring, they started to impose their oppressive measures; the atmosphere was convenient for them. Their chief purpose was to eradicate every trace of the Arab personality and to implant the seeds of new trends which might grow and integrate within the Zionist political and literary life.
Palestinian Literature, up to this tragic fall had been part of the mainstream of the Arab literary movement which flourished during the first half of the century. It had got its sources from and had been influenced by Egyptian, Syrian and Lebanese writers who led the literary movement then. Even renowned Palestinian writers had been indebted for their fame mostly to the Arab capitals which used to receive them and patronize their productions. Several factors had in fact contributed to diminishing the value of Palestinian literature at a time when Palestine was enjoying a prominent position in the political arena and the struggle for Arab nationalism. After 1948, Palestinian literature succeeded in laying the foundations of a new literary movement which may be better described as the literature of Exile rather than Palestinian or Refugee literature.
POETRY OF RESISTANCE IN OCCUPIED PALESTINE
TRANSLATED BY SULAFA HIJJAWI
Published by the Ministry of Culture
Baghdad- Iraq 1968
(This is a revised and edited version- 2009)
EVER ALIVE
Fadwa Tuqan
My beloved home land
No matter how long the millstone
Of pain and agony churns you
In the wilderness of tyranny,
They will never be able
To pluck your eyes
Or kill your hopes and dreams
Or crucify your will to rise
Or steel the smiles of our children
Or destroy and burn,
Because out from our deep sorrows,
Out from the freshness of our spilled blood
Out from the quiverings of life and death
Life will be reborn in you again………
Loss fungal/ passed away
Time gave me a gift and I held tight
Helix band tightened/ screwed
Deep pools of wondrous/ blue
Moments lost in parallax/ broken concrete
Eyes set/ fixed on you/ spinning
Over the moon/ under my bed
Sealed on the edges
The smack talk/ backwards
I remember the happy times
Lost then gained/ over then under/ then over
then under/ then lost again.
Saturation comes in quiet realizations
blanketing the soul you left behind/ in haste
on annunciations of your lack of caring/ of giving a shit
about the effect it had on you—
to jolt you like a wicked bolt of lightning/ into a reckless oblivion
a mainlining of pure rage/ into your veins/ then lost
to that perpetual joke of a chase/ of the good life.
Hell—the saturation blessed you/ it pummeled into you
an existence of God/ God in your way/ slow/ steady/ feeling the pain
not by happenstance/ by southwest by 66/ but by love—
it saturated you like a slow-moving train
an experience of electric/ shooting into me/ a wave/ of enlightenment
saturating my brain/ unlike all those moments—
I neglected to care for/ back in the day.
I’m excited to announce my poem, IN THE HOURS OF CARE, is published in MasticadoresUsa today.
I want to thank the editor, Gabriela Marie Milton, for selecting and publishing my piece in today’s post. It is an honor to be part of this publication, please make sure to stop by and give them a visit.
IN THE HOURS OF CARE
in the hours of care a rabbit dodges a shooting and hobbits into a hole in the ground
grasses burn and pencil a path crooked footings land grounded in sand
I would like to thank Kristiana Reed over at Free Verse Revolution, for editing and publishing this fantastic looking second edition: hermes (the kaleidoscope).
The summer issue celebrates the abstract, surrealism and the multi-faceted with many contributors reflecting upon life and death
You can download a free copy below, to read all the other talented poets and artists included in this summer edition.
Lately, since being vaccinated and also working on some other writing projects, I’ve taken some time to take stock of this past year and the immense gratitude I feel now, to get back to visiting in person with my mom, and some other outings we weren’t comfortable taking before the vaccine.
In that vein, I’ve been revisiting some older poetry I wrote, while reflecting on what’s ahead of us. This past year, as traumatizing as it was, has allowed me to shift my perspective to understand on a deeper level – what, where, and how do I want to spend my time moving forward. As an artist and poet, this is the “good” part where being alone and holed up can produce some good results, I suppose, in this collective trauma we faced/face.
The poem below was first posted to my blog August 2020, in the height of this pandemic.
I wrote this poem several years ago when I was still very much into handwriting everything. Things have definitely changed since those days. I can’t recall the last time I picked up a pencil to write any poetry or other writing, except to jot down some lists etc…
this pencil is my savior, it is my voice this pencil sings of lost love of lost hope the tree of life that grows the garden of the dark fruit this wood; it is my (Read Poem)
someone please tell me, where has all the humanity gone? nothing now but scum fronting like a hu-man! i can’t take the cruel profane, of ‘a Lot of a man’ gone insane, or a wo-man acting like an ali-en! stop the purposeful targeting of the asian community, the asian elderly, the asian humanity, a humanity lovelier than you and the despicable hate you propagate, for god’s sake, you inhumane fake. an elderly woman beat for no reason, shocked from dis-belief at her ungodly beat-ing. blond-haired scraggly beast felt the need to assault a lovely, elderly lady, who lived long and hard, punched like garbage, in-humane, only to please the backward grunt of a brainless mutant nut! what message are you sending you long-knuckled-hairy, well, I won’t…but you get my rant…my plea…mycut it out! who made you the way you are, to lay a fist between her eyes, unseen to her sad surprise. long-knuckled-hairy-blond-grunt of a man, hit a lovely lady without a care for her humanity. i’m disgusted by the sheer lack of love and distaste for the sanctity of her life, now living in utter fear, the end of her life near, to live in such fear, who are you? you inhumane beast, you stole her freedom, left her eyes a-bleeding, who the, where the, tell me please, where has all the humanity gone? Please…
Thank you to Kristiana Reed, for including me in this great first edition, alongside many other talented poets, writers and artists.
The Riddle of Death Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Burst forth the ships! Time has come, forever traced, the legend, the place where life lives to never-cease. She strokes the night and whistles through daylight, the legend of prowess and praise, her locks flowing like honey, sweet and free. The deserts welcome the quenching rain, the love from fountains above, pouring like wine into chaliced mouths in an endless time. The forests and mountains share their love forever-more, dipping backwards and…read more