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rosepoints's review against another edition
4.0
something that always strikes me about darwish’s poetry is the lyrical imagery in them and the vivid detail afforded to nature and its landscapes. through his words alone, i feel as though i am transported to the palestine of darwish’s memories, dotted with olive trees and scented with the aroma of oranges and figs. it is beautifully tragic when juxtaposed with the theme of exile that runs through his poetry.
something in particular that i enjoyed about this collection of poems was the attention to mythology. darwish includes homages to canaanite gods and mesopotamian legends alongside references to the abrahamic religions: cain and abel, ishmael and his lute, and the hoopoe that carried messages between king solomon and the queen of sheba in the qu’ran. for readers who may not be familiar with these kinds of references, i found the glossary in the back to be incredibly helpful.
something in particular that i enjoyed about this collection of poems was the attention to mythology. darwish includes homages to canaanite gods and mesopotamian legends alongside references to the abrahamic religions: cain and abel, ishmael and his lute, and the hoopoe that carried messages between king solomon and the queen of sheba in the qu’ran. for readers who may not be familiar with these kinds of references, i found the glossary in the back to be incredibly helpful.
misspalah's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
5.0
“I am what I have spoken to the words: Be the place where my body joins the eternity of the desert.
Be, so that I may become my words.
No land on earth bears me.
Only my words bear me, a bird born from me who builds a nest in my ruins before me, and in the rubble of the enchanting world around me.
I stood on a wind, and my long night was without end.
This is my language, a necklace of stars around the necks of my loved ones. They emigrated.
They carried the place and emigrated, they carried time and emigrated.
They lifted their fragrances from their bowls.
They took their bleak pastures and emigrated.
They took the words. The ravaged heart left with them.”
- A Rhyme for the Odes (Mu‘allaqat) : Unfortunately, It Was Paradise by Mahmoud Darwish
.
I usually dislike introductory or foreword part in the poetry book simply because sometimes it takes away my own interpretation of the poems since i have been spoon-fed of what’s the poem is all about. BUT for this book, i actually glad i read it before deep dived into his poems. Not only it was helpful in understanding the theme of his poems but it establish the link of his whereabouts and the events that happened during that time. Darwish demonstrate what its like to be an internal refugee - leaving the country to be safe and returning to it with the strange feeling. That exile status permanently embedded in his works and it shows in many of his poems. I regretted that i didn’t really study hard to excel Arabic in high school and now i just have to accept the fact that i couldn’t read his works in the original language. I am sure the english translation did well given that Darwish has been consulted on it but nothing beats reading it in the original language. Ultimately, while his 4 to 5 pages poems is excellent and the prose was penned perfectly, my favourite one usually the one that was written in one page. It may be short but it is evocative and tugged my heartstrings the most. I will list down my favourite poems in the post below this. Overall, every chapter in this book served its purpose to portray Palestinian’s struggle against the illegal occupation. From the lost of his own land, Birwe in Palestine, nostalgia of being free to suddenly being imposed of movement restriction, displacement of the land and the erasure of identity and sense of belonging, Darwish’s works was full of grace and heartfelt words. A highly recommended read!
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My Fav poems from this book :
- I will slog over this road
- The Kindhearted Villagers
- Who Am I, without exile?
- Wind shift against us
- We Went To Aden
- The Owl’s night
- A soldier dreams of white tulips
- The Death of The phoenix
- Like The letter ‘N’ in the Quran
- The Raven’s Ink
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p/s: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free. Ceasefire Now!
ayereads's review
4.0
"Lanterns, but not for us, to see our love waiting in the smoke. An express train to cross the lakes. In every pocket, keys to a house and a family photograph."
This book stands reason for the fact that we shouldn't judge authors based on Pinterest quotes. Darwish for the longest time has been on my TBR. I knew that his talents wouldn't be limited to the two lines love poems that I see on the internet. And boy, was I in for a pleasant surprise.
Darwish doesn't write only about love, yes he talks about love, he talks about love for his land, love for his language, love for his friends, love for myths, love as freedom, love as captivity, and love as the destination. Darwish is haunting and brilliant.
I do think that this book suffers from being a 'selected poems' book. Because some of these poems were breathtaking while others were good.
Anyways, read Darwish.
This book stands reason for the fact that we shouldn't judge authors based on Pinterest quotes. Darwish for the longest time has been on my TBR. I knew that his talents wouldn't be limited to the two lines love poems that I see on the internet. And boy, was I in for a pleasant surprise.
Darwish doesn't write only about love, yes he talks about love, he talks about love for his land, love for his language, love for his friends, love for myths, love as freedom, love as captivity, and love as the destination. Darwish is haunting and brilliant.
I do think that this book suffers from being a 'selected poems' book. Because some of these poems were breathtaking while others were good.
Anyways, read Darwish.
jessireads's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
hopeful
reflective
sad
slow-paced
3.75
lizetteratura's review
challenging
emotional
inspiring
reflective
sad
slow-paced
5.0
poetry is resistance!
the mural is my favourite poem among all of the selected ones but many still left me with many thoughts and feelings. i wish i was more with mahmoud darwish and his work (arabic poetry as well) as it has many references that are harder to understand. here are some of my favourite parts:
We are captives, even if our wheat grows over the fences,
and swallows rise from our broken chains.
We are captives of what we love, what we desire, and what we are.
But those who travel to nowhere have no chance of return,
to become lost again in loss.
Perhaps we will fly one day...
People are birds unable to fly.
Ignorance makes the earth larger.
The earth grows smaller when we realize our ignorance,
but we are the descendants of this clay.
You have tortured us, O love.
In vain you drive us from journey to journey.
You have tossed us away from our kin,
from our water and air, and you have ruined us.
You have emptied the sunset of sunset.
You've robbed us of our first words
and looted the peach tree of our days.
You have stripped us of our days.
O love, you have tortured us and sacked our lives.
You have tossed us away from everything
and then taken cover behind Autumn's leaves.
You sacked our lives, O love!
You've left not a thing to guide us to you,
or whose shadow we can kiss.
Leave in the wheat fields of our souls one grain of your love.
Do not break the cosmic glass prison of our supplication.
Do not worry. Do not raise a hue and cry.
Calm down, so that we may witness
the cosmic wedding of the elements, an offering to you.
O love, how bitterly you tortured us and estranged us from our very self!
You have stripped us even of our names, O love!
Longing is the place of exile. Our love is a place of exile.
Our wine is a place of exile
and a place of exile is the history of this heart.
How many times have we told the fragrance of the place
to be still so we can rest and sleep?
How many times have we told the trees
of the place to wipe off the invader's mask
so we might find a place? Nowhere is the place
that distances its soul from its history.
A place of exile is the soul
that distances us from our land and takes us to our love.
A place of exile is the soul
that distances us from our soul and takes us to the stranger.
Is there a sword that hasn't yet been sheathed in our flesh?
Poetry is a place of exile.
We dream and forget where we were when we wake.
We'll return, when we return, to see her!
I dream of white tulips, streets of song, a house of light.
I need a kind heart, not a bullet.
I need a bright day, not a mad fascist moment of triumph.
I need a child to cherish a day of laughter, not a weapon of war.
I came to live for rising suns, not to witness their setting.
An express train to cross the lakes. In every pocket, keys to a house and a family photograph. All the
passengers return to their families, but we do not return to any home.
the mural is my favourite poem among all of the selected ones but many still left me with many thoughts and feelings. i wish i was more with mahmoud darwish and his work (arabic poetry as well) as it has many references that are harder to understand. here are some of my favourite parts:
We are captives, even if our wheat grows over the fences,
and swallows rise from our broken chains.
We are captives of what we love, what we desire, and what we are.
But those who travel to nowhere have no chance of return,
to become lost again in loss.
Perhaps we will fly one day...
People are birds unable to fly.
Ignorance makes the earth larger.
The earth grows smaller when we realize our ignorance,
but we are the descendants of this clay.
You have tortured us, O love.
In vain you drive us from journey to journey.
You have tossed us away from our kin,
from our water and air, and you have ruined us.
You have emptied the sunset of sunset.
You've robbed us of our first words
and looted the peach tree of our days.
You have stripped us of our days.
O love, you have tortured us and sacked our lives.
You have tossed us away from everything
and then taken cover behind Autumn's leaves.
You sacked our lives, O love!
You've left not a thing to guide us to you,
or whose shadow we can kiss.
Leave in the wheat fields of our souls one grain of your love.
Do not break the cosmic glass prison of our supplication.
Do not worry. Do not raise a hue and cry.
Calm down, so that we may witness
the cosmic wedding of the elements, an offering to you.
O love, how bitterly you tortured us and estranged us from our very self!
You have stripped us even of our names, O love!
Longing is the place of exile. Our love is a place of exile.
Our wine is a place of exile
and a place of exile is the history of this heart.
How many times have we told the fragrance of the place
to be still so we can rest and sleep?
How many times have we told the trees
of the place to wipe off the invader's mask
so we might find a place? Nowhere is the place
that distances its soul from its history.
A place of exile is the soul
that distances us from our land and takes us to our love.
A place of exile is the soul
that distances us from our soul and takes us to the stranger.
Is there a sword that hasn't yet been sheathed in our flesh?
Poetry is a place of exile.
We dream and forget where we were when we wake.
We'll return, when we return, to see her!
I dream of white tulips, streets of song, a house of light.
I need a kind heart, not a bullet.
I need a bright day, not a mad fascist moment of triumph.
I need a child to cherish a day of laughter, not a weapon of war.
I came to live for rising suns, not to witness their setting.
An express train to cross the lakes. In every pocket, keys to a house and a family photograph. All the
passengers return to their families, but we do not return to any home.