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stonepicnicking_okapiTwo poems from Modern Poetry in Translation, 2019, No. 2, The Illumined Paths: Focus on Poets of the Maghreb.
Other Banks by Fatma Krouna [trans. Victoria Adukwei Bulley]
I love you more in temperate climates
away from the killing sun
and the long and boring Sundays.
I see us here, on the other banks of life
on the sands of the coastlines
among the grasses of the gardens.
We plant roses in the illuminated paths
and cultivate kisses on the trains arriving
from the happy cities;
we pick them fresh from the rain dampening
our footsteps, yet our footsteps remain light
and the paths remain lit
and the trains arrive on time
and you love me more
and you do not delay, or forget
the name of the flower I love.
Laughing Blue by Adil Latefi [trans. Adham Smart]
Maybe these words make no sense
Maybe they mean everything
Your embrace was
a flock of doves
eating from my hand
The waves have stripped off their effort
and put mine on
Like how life flows from your eyes
and my eyes lap it up
like how the ghost of poetry came falling down on me
from a window in the sky
your absence was
a thirsty glass
in your absence I was
light
drenched in dew
My sun is happy
when it sips its day from your spirit
Your absence is happy
when it slings a bridge
between the smoke of the poem
and its fire
Where are you
ghost of ink
drowned in the light of exile
or does home
still darken your soul?
Everyone for themselves
and God for everything
This loss has whitened my days
and broken the night
with the milk of freedom
My words, where does the meaning begin,
and where will it end
Letters that say everything
are lethal letters
I am a migrant bird
and love is my wings
if I see the sky tiring
I’ll tell her to rest
One ear is enough for you to hear the sea
one eye lets
your soul soak in the blue
one palm tree can
mix love and peace
in the glass of meaning
for the wind to drink
Let’s escape to love
let’s get out of the picture
let’s dangle our souls from the rope of imagining
let’s wash time, our time, in a smile
if you damage a poem
the wing of a dove will treat it
if poetry is damaged
life will die
Each time a poem escapes
it increases in wonder
Other Banks by Fatma Krouna [trans. Victoria Adukwei Bulley]
I love you more in temperate climates
away from the killing sun
and the long and boring Sundays.
I see us here, on the other banks of life
on the sands of the coastlines
among the grasses of the gardens.
We plant roses in the illuminated paths
and cultivate kisses on the trains arriving
from the happy cities;
we pick them fresh from the rain dampening
our footsteps, yet our footsteps remain light
and the paths remain lit
and the trains arrive on time
and you love me more
and you do not delay, or forget
the name of the flower I love.
Laughing Blue by Adil Latefi [trans. Adham Smart]
Maybe these words make no sense
Maybe they mean everything
Your embrace was
a flock of doves
eating from my hand
The waves have stripped off their effort
and put mine on
Like how life flows from your eyes
and my eyes lap it up
like how the ghost of poetry came falling down on me
from a window in the sky
your absence was
a thirsty glass
in your absence I was
light
drenched in dew
My sun is happy
when it sips its day from your spirit
Your absence is happy
when it slings a bridge
between the smoke of the poem
and its fire
Where are you
ghost of ink
drowned in the light of exile
or does home
still darken your soul?
Everyone for themselves
and God for everything
This loss has whitened my days
and broken the night
with the milk of freedom
My words, where does the meaning begin,
and where will it end
Letters that say everything
are lethal letters
I am a migrant bird
and love is my wings
if I see the sky tiring
I’ll tell her to rest
One ear is enough for you to hear the sea
one eye lets
your soul soak in the blue
one palm tree can
mix love and peace
in the glass of meaning
for the wind to drink
Let’s escape to love
let’s get out of the picture
let’s dangle our souls from the rope of imagining
let’s wash time, our time, in a smile
if you damage a poem
the wing of a dove will treat it
if poetry is damaged
life will die
Each time a poem escapes
it increases in wonder