Monday, 29 December 2008

الأمر بالمعروف و النهي عن المنكر

هناك كلمات في حياتنا تجردت إلى درجة الرمز، فلا نرى منها إلا ما يفيد معنى واحد. إن شيئا من تعليمنا في المدارس الحكومية قد أثر في ذلك عندما يُطلَب منا ايجاد مرادف، و نحفظ هذا المرادف للامتحان و كأنه المعنى الوحيد و بئس الحفظ كوسيلة للتعليم. في الآونة الأخيرة كنت أدرس الفرنسية، و لاحظت التأكيد الواضح و القوي على تأثير السياق في المعنى. تقريبا كل الكلمات التي ترد في الدرس مفادها من السياق حتى طريقة نطقها. انه ليس بأمر ينقص لغتنا العربية لكنه أمر لا يؤكده مدرسيها. أنا لم أتلق علما مخالفا عن قريناتي في المدرسة، إلا أنني كنت أستزيد. شاركت في نشاط الشعر العربي في المرحلة المتوسطة فكانت مدرستي أ.عواطف السنعوسي من أروع المتذوقين للشعر، كانت تشرح فتفتح لنا عوالم الشاعر و أحاديث نفسه، و كانت من المدرسات القلائل اللائي يتكلمن العربية الفصحى في شرح الدروس. القراءة الدائمة و معاني الشعر جعلت بي قابلية لتفهم أهمية السياق و لو بصورة غير مباشرة. لكن ظلت فكرة واحدة لم أفهمها في ذلك العُمر و هي مبدأ الشك فيما يُكتب و دخول السياق في تأويله

ليس كل ما يُكتب يُصَدَّق و كل ما يُكتب مُقاس بسياق، محدود كان أو متغير، و هذه القاعدة تُفاضل الأعمّ من المكتوب على الأخص

"الأمر بالمعروف و النهي عن المنكر" هي إحدى العبارات التي أنعتها بالعامة، و التي يجب إعادة التفكير في سياقها و مرامها. المعروف كلمة تفيد معنى المتعارف عليه عند قوم من الناس و ما يتفق عليه الجمع من قواعد و أساليب. المعروف ككلمة تفيد المعرفة العامة الشاملة، فإن بطلت بطل تأثيرها، أما المنكر فكلمة تفيد الإنكار الشامل و العام من المجموعة أو الكل و بغيرها يبطل الإنكار. أنا لا أفتي هنا إنما أنقل معنى. و كلنا نعلم أن السياق هو القاضي في المعاني

لقد جاء ذكر هذه العبارة في القرآن و ليس هناك شك في ورودها. لكن هناك عنصر مهم يجب أن يؤخذ بالاعتبار، و هو أن الإسلام جاء دينا جديدا منافيا للمعروف عند قوم من الناس. فلا أرى في النهي عن المنكر دحراً للجديد، لأن ما أن أتى الجديد انتفى الشرطان معا. و لذلك تكثر حروب الدين و العنصر، تلك الساحة التائهة بين منكر و معروف

إن سياق العبارة في القرآن كان أصله السلام بين الناس، مرامه التهدئة لكي لا يصل جدال هاتين الفكرتين إلى سيفين لأنهما ما زالتا فكرتين، و الفِِكَر حلّها فِكَر. تأتي علي أيام أشعر بأني مُسَيَّرة في هذه الدنيا، فالقدر يمشي بسلاسة و منطق مُعجِز، لولا فترة التمييز هذه بين المعروف و المنكر، بين الخطأ و الصواب على أساس من سياق

وجودها يجعلني أفكر، لا أقاتل أو أجادل، يجعلني أحيا و أعيش

Wednesday, 17 December 2008

ما أتاني مِن بني الشَّيْصَبانِ

The Letter Reader
فتحها يقرأ، فارتعدت الكلمات و لبّت أوامر عينيه و زحفت إلى حيث حلّ مرآها، فانكشف رمزها و صارت رسالةً أخرى، عجيب أمر ساعي البريد حين يقرأ الرسائل المحرومة، الرسائل التي تدسها النساء في صندوقه بلا عنوان

The Unexpected Performer and the Unexpected Listener
السامع: عازف غريب، جال بلدانا و قطرانا، كيف لي أن أدري ما سأسمع، أو حتى ما سأرى
العازف: من تراه سيحب موسيقى الغريب
بدأ يعزف، و بدأ جدال الطرب
و سكن السامع مع آخر ترددات الوتر، و يا لفرحة العازف فكم يحلو له ذلك الصمت، طال الصمت فاستنكر الغريب، ألا يصفقون؟
أتت فتاة من الجالسين ترقص، لم يكن يعزف، لكنها رقصت على صدى لحنه. هكذا يصفقون


أريد أن أصنع آلة موسيقية تصف الهذيان


أريد رسم وجه يضحك

Friday, 12 December 2008

Moon and yet more

1.Today is my first trial to shoot the moon.

2.This song was on my mind for about a week.


3.Someone special told me today that I remind her of Anne Frank.

4.Thoughts were telling me today that racists or people whom into ideological and physical classifications are anti-culture. I'm not explaining an anti-racist thought, but a cultural claim as a change in focus.

Culture: the arts and other manifestations of human intellectual achievement regarded collectively.
Values: a person's principles or standards of behavior; one's judgment of what is important in life.
Meaning: what is meant by a word, text, concept, or action; important or worthwhile quality; purpose.
Quality: the standard of something as measured against other things of a similar kind; the degree of excellence of something.

5. I noticed that all my childhood idols were orphans.

سنان
سالي
مغامرات عدنان
ساندي بيل
بيل و سبستيان
لبنى السريعة
نوار
ابنتي العزيزة..راوية
بوليانا
فتاة المراعي
ليدي ليدي

Or children sent to private schools. Is it the time, after lots of wars? Is it to say that childhood adventures can emerge only away from our parents, or from authority? When I was a child, I used to think that my mom will go away someday like all those children. And when my mother goes outside, I used to sit on the threshold steps and scream: MAMA MAMA! (sometimes until she comes back!) and then I grew up to have a very independent nature.
I think the time affects the stories, because in early nineties the cartoons started the concept of alien creatures introduced to a certain family or friends and how this creature affected their lives.


The 90s collection is a completely different culture than that in my time. It is even different to the late nineties collection of cartoons, which introduced the transmittance of certain people to other worlds with an ability to control certain creatures in those worlds to fight and rescue people in danger.


and I wondered how those cartoons which deeply affected our little minds, transformed to the details of our mature minds. And is the reason behind the great fascination in Maroco is being the pure representation of a girl living with her middle class family, just like me. I think that Maroco is one of the rare cartoons which adopts the very mild everyday life as the core of the story.
[I will try to write a better article on this thought]

Friday, 5 December 2008

يوم

بعد أسبوع من النوم المتقطع و العيش صباحا و مساءا بين الأوراق، بدأت عطلة العيد. أردت النوم "نومة هنية" لكنها كانت أبعد ما تكون عن ذلك. صحوت للمرة الخامسة لأراها التاسعة صباحا. ذهبت أمشي على البحر، بعد حوالي النصف ساعة، شعرت بأني لست على ما يرام. فرجعت إلى سيارتي و أنا أحدق في الوجوه المختلفة مسترجعة كتاب أمين معلوف "الهويات القاتلة".. على شارع الخليج إلى شرق ثم توجهت إلى بيت جدتي على شان الغداء

بعد الغداء

تبي أقرأ ايدك؟
تعرفين
يعني


و تجمع علي المجتمعين و كلهم ايمان بوجوب وجود معنى لكل خط، سواء البنات منهم أو الشباب

هي قرأت بيدها أكثر مما قرأت في يدي
هذا كل اللي قدرت أقرأه في ايدك
طالعي في خطوط وايد
ضحكت
انزين هذا الخط؟
يمكن اهتمام ثاني في حياتك
مرة واحد معاي بالمدرسة قاللي اني راح اتزوج ثلاث حريم، وحدة سعلوة و الثانية مسكينة و الثالثة راح تموت صغيرة
تساءلت عن مدى خيال رفيقه الواسع

بعد قليل

ديمة
نعم
شرايك نسوي قراية كف في بيتكم
من صجك
اي .. اي، صدقيني نربح
شكرا ما ابي، قلت له و انا اتذكر فيلم البيضة و الحجر لأحمد زكي


تذكرت حاجة الناس الغريبة للأوهام و السحر و الأسباب الواهية في ذلك الفيلم. ذهبت بعدها إلى مكان هادئ أقرأ فيه "الهويات القاتلة" و ما أكثر الأماكن الهادئة في العطلة، لأن الكويتيون يحبون الاجتماع في مكان واحد فتفضى الأماكن الأخرى

و انا في المقهى، تسمر أمامي طفل فليبيني الجنسية، يحدق بي بعينيه الكبيرتين الجميلتين. ثم جلس أمامي و عائلته تتطلع إليه من بعيد

he found himself a date

قلت لهم ضاحكة. بعد فترة طويلة من التحديق أخذ الكتاب مني و صار يتصفحه، أعطاه أباه الطيب دفترا آخر كي يلهيه عن كتابي، فأعطاني الدفتر و أخذ الكتاب بمبادلة بريئة. فقصصت ورقة من الدفتر و صنعت له طائرة ورقية، لكن شغفه بالكتاب كان أكبر، بعد ذلك أخذ الأب الطائرة الورقية بيد و حمل طفله بيد، و ابتعد عني مرسلا صوت طائرة تحوم هنا و هناك

أجريت مكالمة هاتفية أرهقت يومي أكثر و مررت ببنت خالتي للتمشي بالسيارة، فذهبت بي السيارة إلى فيرجين لشراء قصة موستيك

طوال الطريق إلى البيت، كانت بنت خالتي تقرأ بشغف و فرح، تضحك و تلقي عبارات استحسان و استغراب بين الصفحات، فابتسمت بإرهاق و قلت لها أني سأرجع البيت لأنام

اعطيني القصة اول ما تخلصينها
ان شاء الله


اتصلت برفيقتي أعتذر عن المجيء للمطعم، و رجعت البيت و نمت ساعتان، صحوت بعدها، بكيت قليلا، و ذهبت إلى أبي في داره، و جحا يحاول قراءة ورقة لامرأة جميلة على الشاشة أمامه

بعد أن قلّب الورقة عدة مرات قال: زوجتي المصونة، و الجوهرة المجنونة، لقد اشتقت إلى طلتك البهية
ما هذا الكلام الفارغ، ان هذه الورقة صك ملكية البيت، قل لي يا جحا بذمتك ان كان لك ذمة، أما تستحي من وجهك
اعذريني يا امرأة، فأنا أفهم قليلا من العربية و قليلا من الأفرنجية و الصك فيه من اللغتين العربية و الأفرنجية معا فلم أفهم شيئا

شلونك ديمة؟
زينة
شلون الراحة؟
مو زينة


هي الراحة زينة لكني أجبته كذلك لا شعوريا لأني لم أكن حقا مرتاحة، ففهمها أني لا أحب الراحة، و تركته على فاله، فقال

الانسان محتاج يرتاح من وقت لآخر

رجعت غرفتي و رديت أسمع غريب يا زمان و أنا أكتب هذا الكلام، بعدها قرأت حديثا عن الزهد فيما نريد من الناس، حديثا أراحني لكني ظللت غير قادرة على النوم، القريبين مني يعلمون اني لا أحب النوم الكثير، و كم تمنيته الليلة
ذهبت إلى غرفة والدي مرة ثانية، لقد ناداني قبل ساعة لأشاهد فيلما للريحاني، لكنه انتهى. كان يشاهد مقابلة مع الأديب فاضل خلف، كانت المقابلة في نهايتها

ايماءات يديه حين يتكلم، تشبه ايماءات يديك
لقد أرسل لي أبيات شعر حين كنت في كامبردج أظن مطلعها
أيها الزائر كامبردج - زدت شوقا متجدد
أظنها متأجج


فصار يحكي لي عن حياته و كيف كان له دور فاعل عندما كان ملحقا ثقافيا في تونس و عن رحلته إلى لندن، و كنت أستزيد. كنت أريده يسهب في الحكايا، فقد غادرني النوم و قلبي كله أمل في سماع قصة. عرض بعد ذلك برنامجا عن حياة روزوفيلت. شاهدناه

لقد ملك قلوب الجماهير المتحمسة لأنه كان يتكلم بالعموميات، و كان كلامه مجموعة من الاقتراحات المبهمة

ضحك والدي و قال

كل السياسيين هكذا
معتمد كليا على شخصيته
بين شخص متمرس في الإدارة بدون قدرة على الخطابة، و شخص قادر على الكلام و الإقناع، يضيع الجماهير


أخذت قرصا مهدئ و ذهبت للنوم

انتهى

Thursday, 4 December 2008

٤ ديسمبر ٢٠٠٨


ديسمبر ٢٠٠٧

لطالما حمل لي ديسمبر معاني جميلة، اليوم أجملها. الحمدلله على نعمة الأساطير، و الأحلام، و يدين

يوم تؤمن فيه بكل شيء. يوم تخجل من قدرتك أمام القدر. يوم سأظل أذكره لأبتسم و أنتشي. يوم من أيام ديسمبر
لم أعِ ما أفعل و ما أقول. أأطلب كثيرا إن عاد من جديد؟

ديسمبر، شهرٌ فرض تأثيره علي مهما حاولت تفضيل غيره. و مهما امتدحت فصولا بعيدة عنه

لا أملك ما أقول لكم في ديسمبر ٢٠٠٨ ،ليس اليوم، ليس هنا، غير هذا

Thursday, 27 November 2008

يوم

كثرت فيه مشاغلي، و تباينت فيه مشاويري

بدأت يومي بالذهاب إلى حولي، لاسترجاع لمبات كهربائية كنت اشتريتها البارحة للعرس لكنها لم تصلح. اتجهت بعدها إلى الشويخ لاستلام نموذجين لتصميم جدار

ما جيتي أمس العصر

إي كان عندي شغل ما قدرت، خلص الشغل؟

بس واحد خلص، الثاني لازم تجين العصر تاخذينه الحداد مو موجود، راح ياكل

بما أني في الشويخ، مررت بحارة النجارين لتدوين أسعار و أبعاد الخشب و أخذ "نمونة" خشب الزان. بعدما ابتعدت عن الشويخ اتجهت إلى الديرة و اشتريت لي توست و جبن و عصير من مركز سلطان، و تغديت على البحر بجانب قطة متثائبة تحت الشمس الدافئة، رفعت رأسها باهتمام لما مرت سيارة تصدح بالموسيقى

على يميني، كانت بنتان تتحادثان بشغف، و كان الشبان المارين بسياراتهم ينادونهم

كنت ذاهبة إلى المكتب حين اتصلت أمي

هلا ديمة، وينك؟

انا ما راح ايي للغداء


متى راح تردين؟


يمكن على الست، ليش تبين شي؟


يسلمك اختك متنقصة لي سمك، تقدرين تييبينه؟


ان شاء الله


كان الطريق مزدحم، استمعت في انتظاري إلى برنامج عن الموشحات الأندلسية. الأغاني في غاية الروعة، لكني لم أستفد من كلام المذيع. أخذت الغداء، و أنا في طريقي إلى البيت اتصلت بي امرأة روسية في زيارة للكويت

السلام عليكم

أهلا و عليكم السلام

Did you recognize me?

Yes sure!

How are you?


I'm fine, delivering food for my mom


Great! Well, I finished my work early and I have time to go for the tour at 3:00pm, is it possible for you?


Yes sure, I will be there at three

لما وصلت البيت، بحثت في المكتبة عن كتاب أسواق الكويت، و أخذته معي لأريه الزائرة لأنه يحوي مخططات بسيطة و جميلة لسوق المباركية. و من البيت إلى شارع فهد السالم حيث أخذتها، و منه إلى سوق المباركية، و تمشينا في أزقته و شوارعه، كانت تحمل آلة تصوير صورت فيها

بنغالي يصلي فوق مقعد خشبي فرش عليه كرتون
باب مسجد السوق
صورة بوناشي، و كان تحت الصورة شباب غطوا وجوههم، فقالت باستهزاء
I should have taken a photo of them, because they're cowards

برج التحرير أيضا من الأشياء التي صورتها بفخر
سوق واجف، و هنا عدل المهري غترته للصورة

و من سوق واجف اشترينا الكحل الذي كانت تريده، و رفضت شراء البرقع "الكشخة" على قول البائعة (لأن فيه فصوص) فأكملنا طريقنا في السوق، مرينا بعدها بقهوة الدلالوة، و مشينا بين كراسي الرجال المتقابلة، و أسمع أبيات غزل من أحد الجالسين، لكني لم أنتبه إلا عندما مررنا بمقهى آخر، فسمعت أبيات غزل أخرى يرتجلها أحد الجالسين

You hear this man talking in a higher voice?

Yes what about him?

He is improvising love verses for us

Really (smiling) wow!

أعتقد أني كنت أسعد منها بهذه الملاحظة، ثم دخلنا أحد محلات الذهب، و رجعنا السيارة لنذهب إلى المتحف الوطني

So there is no much effort to preserve the old buildings?

There are few buildings, like mosques and some important institutions, but it is only the era before oil that they tend to preserve, they don't think that the buildings from the 1960s is part of history as well.

في قاعة المتحف كانت هناك قطع جديدة لم أرها من قبل. آلات و جرائد و أواني قديمة، أشياء من الحياة اليومية آنذاك، قالت

See, they preserved the interiors of the buildings better than the buildings themselves.

في بيت السدو استنكرَت عدم علمها بأن هذا النوع من النسيج يدعى السدو، كما استغربت شكله

I never saw such technique in weaving wool. Something you always see but you never think how important it is. It is very elegant,we have a similar pattern. I believe that societies are all sharing the same methodology, but with different techniques based on their context.

في بيت ديكسون تعرفنا على شخصية فريدة. كان المسئول عن البيت من كشمير. و على معرفة تامة بتاريخ الكويت. و فخورا بذلك

I am a close friend of the family, I know them very well! You see Mrs Dickson here in the photo, she's very tall! (and he stretched his hand above his head to show how tall she is)

كانت فعلا فارعة الطول، وصف لنا قصص الصور المعلقة على الجدران، كان وصفه ممتازا لكنه يشرح بعصبية ثائر، لا أدري السبب. مشيت معها على شارع الحب و سمعتها عبدالكريم عبدالقادر، و فيروز، ذهبنا إلى أحد المناطق خارج الديرة و شرحت لها ما هي الجمعية

How much is the fuel price in Kuwait? is it expensive?

It is inexpensive compared to countries not on the Persian gulf, about 4 kd full


I see Kuwaitis love big cars


Yeah it is a hip these days, it is also good for long trips to chalets, Saudi Arabia or Bahrain.


Very nice thank you, It is the first time I try a water melon juice.


في الطريق إلى المستشفى الامريكاني قالت

You know, I think that people who are converting to Christianity are becoming less, because the religious people (nuns and bishops) live against the human nature

how so?

Because they can't get married, Islam in allowing four wives, understands more about the man's nature than allowing none in Christianity. although we as women don't like it, but it is something in the masculine nature that we have to understand.

تحول الموضوع عن الزواج فقالت

I don't like to be categorized as married or not married, people tend to give more privilege to married women even if some really act badly regarding their duties, while the unmarried is blamed on everything because she is "unsettled" in the standards of the society

I find a similar comparison of categorizing here in Kuwait also between veiled and unveiled women, it is ended up being a sign for certain thoughts and beliefs of those women, that may not be true. So some men start their request for a certain woman by what I see an invalid category.

معرض الصور في المستشفى كان مغلق لكن الحارس الطيب فتحه لنا

It is a very nice trip many thanks to you, it was very rich and lively!

It is my pleasure

أهدتني قطعتان من الشيكولاتة

One for you and the other is for your sister, I really liked her. She has a child's spirit and a mature mind

Oh, so kind of you.


You have to contact me when you come to Russia


ان شاء الله

طرت بعدها إلى الحداد متمنية وجوده، فالساعة كانت السابعة مساءً و الحدادين يقفلون دكاكينهم عادة في السادسة، وجدت نعمة الله (الحداد) جالسا على صندوق معدني ينتظر

انت ليش رحتي سيده، أنا قاعد هني ما شفتيني

لا بعدين شفتك، ظلمة ما يبين


أخذت النموذج، و ذهبت للمكتب، تحاورنا قليلا عن التصميم. رجعت بعدها إلى البيت في غاية الإنهاك

انتهى

Tuesday, 25 November 2008

archeology wonders







HYDRA
Antimenes painter
530-500 B.C.
Terra-cotta










WATER BOTTLE
Greif Factory
2008 AD
Plastic

Thursday, 20 November 2008

سامري في أزقة فينيسيا


فينيسيا فجرا، أزقتها مرايا للبيوت. تبدأ خلسة بوضوح، ثم تنتهي و تتحطم، فنسمع صوت التكسر، و لا نرى الشظايا
فينيسيا فجرا تحملك بين النوافذ و الجدران طائرا حائرا بين سماء و سماء
فينيسيا فجرا، و ابشري يا عين. شوارعها ايقاع سامري و أصوات أقدام تمشي على الماء

أرسل لك هذه الرسالة يا فجر فينيسيا، من ذكرى تراءت لي بوجل بعد سنتان من بزوغك

Monday, 17 November 2008

CIRCUS

"setting up strings, dance with strings, then pack them up and move away"

Saturday, 15 November 2008

The Torture

I was in an Incommunicado detention for two weeks. Then I was taken to a room with a window overlooking another room. In the middle of this room there was a chair on which I sat. There was a young man in the other room. He sat right in front of me, and I have never seen him before. I noticed a camera focused on me.

"You only have to watch that stranger", the police officer said, and I mimed as yes.

I was not sure whether it is a questioning, or a torment session. I could realize no difference at that stage. It was a pleasure to see a person after two weeks of solitude, but he seemed without expression. He didn't look like an officer, he was just another prisoner. I smiled to him, and then an electric shock runs over my body. I was confused and contracted my brows as a reaction, but it was followed by another one. He didn't do anything, not a single muscle in his face was moving. Thus In an imitation I froze my face just like him, and everything was back to silence. After three hours I cried. And the electric shock started again. I realized that it is a torment machine to hold me from any facial expression. I stopped and looked straight into the stranger's eyes. I studied every line in his face, every curve.

Three days later, I was back to a normal cell. Forgetting how do I look, having his face in front of mine, both without an expression, made me in half-belief that he is me. My mind was full of stories about him just to distract me from the dreadful freeze of our muscles. It was hard and fearful to adapt my relaxed face that set me in a self paranoia. The police man entered, sealed my eyes and took me in a car. I felt that we are going to another prison or so. The car stopped and we were out in the fresh air, and what a wonderful relief that was. I was almost losing my conscious.

He released my eyes from the seal, the image of the man in the last torment was still haunting me. The new room was wide and dark, and there was also a chair in the middle. I sat on that chair, and doze. The strange man came to me in the dream, he smiled but nothing was happening to him, as if he doesn't feel the electric shocks. He left the room, but I didn't want him to go, I cried: "don't go, don't go!".

I heard a child's giggle. It annoyed me. It felt like a mocking relief. I woke up terrified from a great noise, and rose my head with my eyes half open. I saw a great amount of faces watching me. I leaned to the chair and cried. In my half conscious I heard a child was crying with me. Then I lost my conscious, and my mind.

#2


المقاعد ممتلئة، لطالما انتظرت هذا اليوم. جلست على أحد الكرسيين الخاليين في الصف السابع. أطالع تصفيفات الشعر و ألوانها، و تقاسيم الوجوه المتلفتة و طفل جالس على مقربة من مكاني. العرض مناجاة للنفس، لم أحضر عرضا كهذا من قبل

خفتت الأضواء فخفت معها التهامس بين الناس

سمعنا مشادة كلامية غير مفهومة بين رجلين من الخلف حيث بهو الاستقبال، ففتح الستار: رجل يغفو على كرسي. و ساد صمت، ثم ضحكات خفيفة من الكواليس

"كيف؟" صرخ و هو نائم، ثم أخذ يتضرع بصوت حزين "لا تذهب، لا تذهب!" ثم ساد صمت طويل

سكون دام حوالي الربع ساعة، ثم تنحنح كمن سيصحو من منامه

فصفق شخص و صفقنا معه

فصحا كالمذعور، و حدق فينا كالآتي من مكان بعيد

و بكى في مكانه

فسكنت الضحكات
و دخل إلى المسرح طفل، سمعنا شهقة بيننا، وقف الطفل أمام الرجل الباكي برهة
ثم أجهش في البكاء

سمعنا أصوات مبعثرة من الكواليس

ستار

ساد صمت بين الجمهور، لم يصفق. فقامت أم الطفل الذي كان يجلس بقربي، و هرعت إلى الكواليس
فقام الناس يخرجون باضطراب غريب

خارج المسرح، ماشية إلى البيت كانت الأم أمامي، تمشي بسرعة الحانق، قابضة على يد ولدها الذي ما زال يبكي

كان هو الطفل الذي بكى على المسرح

Thursday, 6 November 2008

Imprisoned Poetry [UPDATED]

Déjeuner du matin, Jacques Prévert [Paroles: 1946]

Il a mis le café .. He pored the coffee
Dans la tasse .. In the cup
Il a mis le lait .. He pored the milk
Dans la tasse de café .. In the cup of coffee
Il a mis le sucre .. He put a piece of sugar
Dans le café au lait .. In the laté
Avec la petite cuiller .. With a little spoon
Il a tourné .. He turned
Il a bu le café au lait .. He drank the laté
Et il a reposé la tasse .. And he rested the cup
Sans me parler .. Without me speaking

Il a allumé .. He lit
Une cigarette .. A cigarette
Il a fait des ronds .. He made circles
Avec la fumée .. With smoke
Il a mis les cendres .. And put the ashes
Dans le cendrier .. In the ashtray
Sans me parler .. Without me speaking
Sans me regarder .. Without me looking
Il s'est levé .. He stood
Il a mis .. He put
Son chapeau sur sa tête .. His hat on his head
Il a mis son manteau de pluie .. He put his rain coat
Parce qu'il pleuvait .. Because it was raining
Et il est parti .. And he left
Sous la pluie .. under the rain
Sans une parole .. without a word
Sans me regarder .. without me looking
Et moi j'ai pris .. And I have taken
Ma tête dans ma main .. My head in my hand
Et j'ai pleuré .. And I've cried




مع جريدة، نزار قباني [قصائد: 1956]

أخرجَ من معطفهِ الجريده.. he brought out the journal from his coat
وعلبةَ الثقابِ and the matchbox
ودون أن يلاحظَ اضطرابي.. and without noticing my anxiety
ودونما اهتمامِ without care
تناولَ السكَّرَ من أمامي.. he took the sugar
ذوَّب في الفنجانِ قطعتين he diluted two pieces in the cup
ذوَّبني.. ذوَّب قطعتين he diluted me.. diluted two pieces
وبعدَ لحظتين and after two moments
ودونَ أن يراني without looking at me
ويعرفَ الشوقَ الذي اعتراني.. and knowing the longing
تناولَ المعطفَ من أمامي he took the coat
وغابَ في الزحامِ and disappeared in the crowd
مخلَّفاً وراءه.. الجريده leaving behind, the journal
lonely وحيدة
مثلي أنا.. وحيده like me .. lonely


Last summer my friend and I were reading for Gilles Deleuze. One of our understandings from his essay on Hume is that beauty in our perception of life resides in the impersonality of human productions or projections.

"Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West" is a bestselling novel by Gregory McGuire which is a parallel novel of L.Frank Baum's classic story "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz". "Wicked" takes the worst character in Baum's story and tells its biography before Dorothy comes in the setting, picturing her as one of a bad luck in her childhood. This is one example of Gilles Deleuze ideas on the subject, in which it is no matter whose idea was the land of Oz, but how much it can afford more stories and angles.

Impersonality is a concept that implies that we have the tendency to become 'one' and thus our childhood memory can stretch back to ancient stages of history to reach Greek mythologies. It may even reach minimal signs of human existence, so it needs a plastic process of thinking through time. It needs a cinematic flow in thinking, writing or generally expressing.

"why don't you like Tawfeeq Al-Hakeem?"
"Because most of his plays stolen from those sold in the streets of Paris"

There is a radical change in poetry during the 20th century. Photography and cinema have great effects to change literature and specifically poetry from Romanticism to Modernism in both Western and Arab regions, from a narrative poem to an movement or time poem. People had different ideals; Communism, Capitalism and struggling Colonial dreams. Cinema in its capability of cutting and interrupting events are more likely to reflect life and its complexities than romantic poems.

With everything becoming touched, heard and seen. feelings are no longer internal, they become surface -it might be described as technique- a person can easily get influenced, translate, imitate and experiment. The production of a poet is 'value' and poets experiment with values, eclectic agitations, yet remains one critical point of history; that it is multiple in nature. Events happened ten years ago can transform now into a more complex event.

What I call 'translations' made by Tawfeeq Al-Hakeem cannot express any cross-cultural context. You see pure Egypt, pure Arabic habits. He imitated French complexities in an Egyptian setting, but we don't see a cross-cultural layer that he is a part of it, we didn't see his travels within the writing.

Qabbani, is a politician and a poet. Purely wants to convey a message or to be heard. He didn't want to experiment with techniques like al-Sayyab or Nazik al-Mala'ika who represented the techniques of western poets in new ways. They understood the values expressed on the surface. It is the use of words that stimulated him, to translate mainly. I think imitators of value are students, worshipers and slaves, but in modernism because value is exposed on the surface, worshipers are easy to find.

[... The use of dramatic elements, such as dialogue, soliloquy and slogans, is borrowed from Western poetry. In fact, critics have suggested that these devices of using snatches of conversation and fleeting images -superficially unconnected- to give a comprehensive picture of an event or emotional situation are borrowed from psychology and film techniques...
Nizar Qabbani also employed the soliloquies of ladies in erotic moods, as in his poems Risala min Sayyida Haqida, Hubla, Aw'iyat al-Sadid, etc. In these poems Qabbani imitated modern French poets, mainly Jacques Prévert, to such an extent that Qabbani's poem Ma'a Jarida was described by some critics as a free translation and plagiarism of Prévert's poem '
Déjeuner du matin' in his Paroles.]*

"Can you imagine!"
"Can you imagine, that another book described the influence of Pre-Islamic poems on western poetry."

Yes I can imagine, there will be always a chain of influence, the only change here is that modern literature is naked; there is no hidden or aspired moral like in romanticism. Value in romanticism is subjective, thus the influence was defused. No one can bring up a similar trigger of the true value.

This makes me believe that the value in Qabbani's poem revealed more about modern poetry than anything else. I agree with the critics that it is a free translation of the poem. He wrote it in a woman's point of view, he imitates the setting, the weather, and the actions. There is one thing he didn't get which is the thing I couldn't imagine; ten years of difference between both poems, but nothing was added. Not even him. This results a rather imprisoned poetry than a so called 'free'.

To appreciate and develop modern literature we seek parallelism and the growth of complexities derived from time, events, cross-culture, motion, statics and the multiplicities of ego.

*Modern Arabic poetry 1800-1970:The Development of Its Forms and Themes Under the Influence of Western Literature, by Shmuel Moreh, Published by Brill Archive, 1976.
additional reference: المرشد إلى فهم أشعار العرب و صناعتها، في الأغراض و الأساليب، عبدالله الطيب- الجزء الرابع (القسم الثاني) - ١٩٩٦

Tuesday, 4 November 2008

1st floor

I visit her every month, yet I was never been expected. I wait for an hour or two, either smelling the masculine scent of her room, or try to fix her laptop. her apartment remained of a teen-aged girl from that time. She had never stayed home enough to get bored from the wall paper, neither hanged a poster or a photograph on that wall, and she hates women.

"what are you doing here?" she asked while approaching to the laptop, not me.
"It's been a month"
"already?"
"it is exactly so"

I stopped wondering why I come for a long time. We know each other already very well that a conversation would not succeed. It collapses, just like her fragile strength. She grabbed my hand and guided me to the two wooden chairs near the window. The window view was not of an interest for me, but to her is a phenomenon. I loosen her hand as it was still holding tight unconsciously, and played my fingers over the veins of her wrist and palm. We listened to each other's breath and the panoramic noise of the city, yet each of us had a different view. When the sun rays were blocked from her face I looked away to the window. "It's going to rain" I said, and her lips interrupted my cheek from any expression. I stood up to leave and she stood with me, but she remained where she was as I was reaching the door.

I usually go downstairs very fast, but today apparently I revived all my senses. Thus when I arrived on the landing, I had a pause. I sat on a step, I couldn't move as if something was holding me. "Things" like a ball on your way or door handles are better in holding a person back than people. I haven't been caught before by any of those things, except of that landing in the mid of the staircase. A sound fractured my loose thoughts. She was crying. I listened to her, and my eyes were tearing when I heard the sound of heels coming closer to the door. I ran down quickly, her heels were pounding on my heart as I was rushing out to the street. I reached the nearest alley and hid in it until she had gone.

I opened my umbrella and walked to my district.

Saturday, 1 November 2008

Economic Hijab

Recently I heard about a hip in some companies which refuse to employ unveiled women. The other day at the café I saw a woman in front of me in the queue, I thought I'm sure I saw her somewhere when she said hi to me, I smiled to her and replied. "I thought you wouldn't know me, I work in the university and I usually see you around, but I usually wear a veil for work" she said. I really appreciated her confidence, and I thought it is normal because I saw lots of women wear something different to work like Abaya while they usually don't in other places, thus I believed that her wish is of a personal decision.

On the way back home my uncle was talking to me about a fresh graduate woman who found a job and attended her first days when the manager asked for her and told her that she doesn't have to attend -since he knows her father- she replied that she wants to work, but his answer was that she has to wear a veil to stay in the job. She returned home with great depression. You know in women's hearts an issue like Hijab is of a great sensitivity, first of all it is relative, and secondly in his attitude with her, a spiritual or ethical question turns into economical. and as minimal as I know about economics is that we have to turn whats purely economics into something ethical, and in this it is not about the employers more than the work of the company and its projects.

I was searching in my father's library trying to understand the essence of the 20th century -which revealed beautifully in the books- when I found a shelf with all the Islamic researches at that time; Muhammed Qutub, Al-Ghazali, etc.. Then I found a little booklet just like those on the shelves of hospitals' waiting rooms. It was published in Kuwait during the 1970s and it is called "Segregation" the first page in the book said that the aim of this issue is to make a women's college, I said wow!

And wondered all day long, how come a person spends a life time to make an idea comes into reality. How come he/she/they never had a single moment of doubt in this idea. What makes segregation, or any other dogma becomes the infrastructure of Utopia? And were there any discussions without an offensive/deffensive method?

Getting back to that shelf, I stared at one title with wonder, "The Future is to This Religion"; the sound of it felt very economic*. As if the only great thing that Islam gave us is its political system. sorry, but I cannot see "religion" in the title fits at all. People in the time when Islamic political power was ultimate, are becoming Muslims because Muslims' good manners, and because their traders do not steal. That means respect comes at the first place, and respect doesn't mean becoming polite, it means you don't impose your ideologies on a person as if they shouldn't but agree.


* my opinion is that politics is the show business of economy, so there is no much of a difference.

Monday, 27 October 2008

The 'Cultural' Selection


There are two parallel concepts over history that describe life; one which says it is deteriorating for the previous generations are higher in class and race-and psychologically we always encounter nostalgic old men or women to the "better past"-, and another which says that survival is for the better as it is explained in the evolution theories such as the natural selection, adaptations or the genetic drifts. Another example to that can be explained socially as the sudden change in a group of people from uncivilized to civilized according to a current standard of such description. I read such relationship in a book and was stimulated.

The following day, in the early morning, I was waiting for my colleague when I took this photo above. At the same evening, I attended a lecture which started with the early European perceptions of Damascus, and how there were lots of flaws and inaccurate determinations and facts either illustrated in maps or drawn on canvases. the lecture ended with photos of the "remains" which very much reminded me of the evolution theories which made it a sensual exploration of thought.

The remains shown in the recent pictures were very fragmented, yet they identify virtual lines. The remains have different positions and value in the city of Damascus nowadays, but everyone is saying that it is a deterioration of culture. I see it more as a deterioration in realization, because even the images of the past are struggling manuscripts from the memory of geographers or explorers. and then real facts of natural deterioration of certain places in the city caused from fire or earthquakes. Then comes different eras and functions in the city that assert some new configurations.
Once "realization" overcomes the highly judged as "deterioration", the term then will transit into the recent vision in a better understanding, and therefore a better description than "good" and "bad" will emerge. Consequently, what is visually sensed as bad is invalid, as long as reason is our good. The bad therefore is a hyper active sensor for the good.

The displayed image is a practical exercise of such theory, when you see a blocked door, you really feel bad about the beautiful entrance to be treated in this manner; blocking it and ruining the overall shape of the building. In reaching the realization level you can view that whomever live inside the building couldn't care less about it or at least have thought in a logical valid way. in needing the air condition inside this old building they either have to dig a hole in the wall of the facade or find an opening, the building has no windows, so the other option is closing the door, to a little opening to allow for the unit.
and the world will always be additive, in both physical and virtual senses just like this door, it will always remain "a door" in our virtual mind added from the physical details like the steps , dimensions, and the border. Yet physically, another additive process is applied, which is "a door filled with bricks to allow for the window unit".

Thus photographers are not shooting weird or even ugly things because they are artists who find beauty in everything. It is a long process of realization that requires somethings in the world to be frozen for a while to be thought about longer than the moment they saw it.


Friday, 24 October 2008

First Rainy Day!



A few minutes after midnight, coming back from a friend's wedding. Getting off the car, I looked as usual to the dark sky but it is not dark anymore. "Clouds! Clouds!" I said happily to my mother but she was a bit anxious because we're having some construction work on the roof. For the few last days I was having a sense of rain, even though the sky was clear. I felt so great that a sign of it appeared.
with the morning I woke up and went to my mother's window, I looked to the sky and said: "Cloudy day!".
"Rainy day!" said my mother, I looked to the ground and wow! the beautiful wet ground. so excited that I wanted to dance. I went out to our courtyard to smell the scent of rain, and then to the roof. I love the white sky!

I feel myself altogether.

Even though my mother was anxious yesterday, she seems in a wonderful mood loving the weather and opening all the windows..

Happy Rain for all..

Saturday, 18 October 2008

يوم جميل تستحي أن تقول فيه يا ليت


يوم عرفت فيه أني في نعيم لأن لدي صوت به أتكلم، وطاقة أرسم بها، و أرض أمشي عليها

إني على قيد الحياة

رغم أن الجنيات يرغبن في شنقي، و جوع غريب يعتريني، فلم أعد أقرأ الوقت، و لا أفهمه

زوال الخوف
زوال الليل من عيناي
و ضجيج المكتبة كل يوم

اليوم عرفت أن الحرب طبيعة، يشعلها الرجل بأسلوب مباشر، مريح، يقتل فيه عدوه
لكن المرأة حين تحارب، تقتل كل شيء.. و لا أحد ينكر الطبيعة في العدم، مكروهة المرأة حين تحارب، حين تذهب، حين تبدأ في الكلام

كنت مخلوقا نائما، موؤدا لا يراد مني يقظة، كائن الانتظار الذي ينفث قصص الحب و الظلم و الزوال، من محض أحلام

و الآن استيقظت خائنة لذاتي، أبارز الريح لا أرجو سكنا لها، و لا خنوع للغبار الهائج بيننا، اصدحي موسيقى السيوف و انسلي من هاويات الحياة. لا تهدئي، أججيها صيحات من تراب، و ضحكات عظام، تنثر الأفراح في جرف كسيح

أعلم أن لن تدحري يا ريح فما هذا مرادي، أريدك تكرهيني، تبعديني أكثر إلى زحام لا أرى فيه أحد
فأنت وهم رعب مندفع، محظية من محظيات الروح آثرت العزف على أوتار الجسد
غضبا تعزفين بألحانك الأبدية، أعلم أنك لن تموتي و لكني مُسَيّرة أقاتل

Friday, 3 October 2008

The Suicidal Oud


"I'm sure I heard its sound!" she said fiercely as she was examining her broken Oud. I was wondering how she heard its sound among all the children's fuss tonight, but I was silent. I know she loves that Oud very dearly although she never knew how to use it. She instead took many photos with it, very symbolic indeed, the Oud in our feminine room.

It is pretty old, and was given away to her two years ago by my uncle who seemingly lost the interest.

After an ironic silence she exclaimed in rather a threatning manner: "It is certainly Khaled! but I will ask each and every little thing came in this room this night."

"But don't ask them altogether", I said.

"I will, but not after asking each one of them individually. In this way no one will have a chance to cheat on me, they can't fool me" She replied with glowing eyes from the action of detecting. She left the room afterward to show my parents the horrible accident. And I was still thinking how Khaled -the youngest of all- could have the strength to do such harm to the Oud? The Oud's neck was sheared and all the strings were pulled so violently from their normal tension. Besides, how come a child puts back the broken Oud right in its place after shattering it to pieces?
There was a song in an old Kuwaiti operate about a man got his broken Oud fixed and confronting his teasing wife by praising it. I thought maybe the Oud is destined with despair and unfortunate events.

6 pm, biting her nails and her eyes wide open staring at the thinking position. She was revising the order of her questions.

I was late to the court of justice so I couldn't witness all the trial, I reached the "altogether" part. What I realized is that the defendants felt really sorry for the judge, they were trying to make it easy for her. They all denied it and she gave the broken Oud to them as a memorial of bad deeds.

I heard rumers after that about 6 years old Zaina, she is more likely to lie with the ease of a professional criminal. Zaina told me once that she doesn't like to listen to songs "I only like to compose songs" she explained with pride.

Everything is calmed down.

Two days later, we came back to our room at night. I didn't open the light depending on the hall lamp. I got a gentle strike on the head!
"Hey! what was that?!" I thought it was a hang fell from a shelf. I touched it and it was no hang, but something was hanged. She came in opening the lights.

The Oud's neck was hanged by its strings from the chandelier. It was dangling like a swing after the hit. It was fastened very carefully to the chandelier. There was even a small wooden piece to prevent it from falling if the knots ever loosen up. She tried to open it, but I stopped her. I told her that I like it, and I want to take a photograph of it. While I was taking the photos, she was asking my brother and parents about who hanged it, but no one did.

We allowed it to swing over our heads whenever we open the cupboard to get a dress.

My elder sister called, they traveled away for a vacation. She said her husband was opening the curtains in the morning, and suddenly their 3 years old son screamed: "THEY OPENED ALONE! THEY OPENED ALONE!"
"What are they my dear??"
"MY EYES!"

9 am, again I opened my eyes as if programmed to open them everyday at this particular time without alarm sounds. Staring at the ceiling, there were two blue tacks stuck since I was a child, I remember tiny gulls flying there, one less crowded than the other. I used to wonder about them, how real they were, and how I loved to make them move, when my father lift me high. they touched like ceramics, and they sounded so as I wave my hand in the middle of the gulls troop. I solved its mystery when my mother cut my hair after the chewing gum had fallen from my mouth while I was sleeping, but I still wondered how they found a blue chewing gum.
"maybe it's blueberry flavor" I used to say.

The chandeliers were gone as soon as we started to sleep in this room. I didn't notice that, I only remember myself watching them in the living room of our chalet. I remember this image because I was crying and fascinated with the light coming through my tears from a yellowish lamp right behind the cyramic gulls. As I tighten the muscles of my eyes, the birds looked bigger, and even more real, though blury. Then from my place on the ground I close one eye and try to pick the birds by my two little fingers.

I knew later that our room used to be the play room for my elder siblings until I grew older and my sister was born. They moved the books to my grandfather's room, the dolls to the books room and me and her to the dolls room and finally the birds to the chalet because we could reach them easily by standing on the beds.

"Isn't it wonderful to make a birds chandelier to revive those blue spots in the ceiling", said to myself as I recalled the great fall of those gulls, they were my obsession and I wonder if I was the one who destroyed them at the end.

She woke up and sat on her bed next to me, watching me with empty eyes. "I think it is time to remove that hanged Oud" she said in a lazy voice "it's annoying, I'm not used to it, it always hits me in the head".

Two days later, it is still hanged.

Thursday, 2 October 2008

October Effect


I'm starting a new chapter today. The two previous weeks were awkward between sickness, childhood, silence and staring [photography too]. Today I have the needed power to hold my colored pencils, ink and crayons.

The weather is wonderful... BEAUTIFUL! I'm speechless dear weather, I bet it's the October effect.

My feelings lessen as I get smaller and smaller but wonders are getting bigger and bigger. Thus, a story should be told in all the means of expression. until we find a way to decode the scripts of shadows.

Friday, 26 September 2008

رسالة


إلى إله الشمس، إله آب اللهاب

أضم الكون قربانا إليك، و أصنع من جسدي دمية لمحرقة الشمس. كأنها كانت تُسِرَّ لي وقتا غير الذي تعلنه على الظلال، وقتا لطاقة الكون حين تسري بيننا نحن البشر فتنفرج لغات الدنيا عن طلاسمها و تنكشف للعموم كما النور، كما فرحة العيد

شمسك إلهي شاهدة على أحلى أيامي، على حياة دبّت فيّ من بعد حياتي، ما أقوى صرختها، وضوء بالنور و صلاة في حِجْرِها، صفير الريح في أوصالي، و أرواح تزاحم جسدي، و طيف، كأن أطياف الدنيا اجتمعت فيه. يتمثل لي ليخبرني ما هي العينان، و لماذا
يحكي لي أحيانا و يسكت دهرا، و في صمته تتشكل الأيام. في صمته سامرية، أرفع بها رأسي ،و يغشى دمعتي الثوب. أخط على الرمال خطوا جليلا، يذله النغم. في صمته.. نعيم المغنين

شمسك إلهي أرتني قمما من أشجار الكروم، أحاديث القطار، و عيون أثينا الزرقاء

شمسك إلهي، عانقَت كل شيء، أفقدَتني الوعي، و سلبَتني تباشير السحب. هددَتني بحياة في قاع الخليج، هدّدَتني بأمنيتي
شمسك إلهي لا تريد زوالا، على الأقل من ذاكرتي، أو عيني إن نامتا

MINUTE :22

2:22pm/22August2008/22countries/coincidentally: post222
photos from Kuwait: page 6-23
[click on image for link]

Friday, 19 September 2008

زوارة


٣ فوق الستين
٥ بين الثلاثين و الأربعين
٦ في العشرينات
٥ بين العشرة و الثامنة عشر

-

وانا طالعة من العزاء شفتها
منو قاعد بالعزاء؟
سعر البقدونس قبل الشدة بخمسين فلس الحين ٣٥٠
توهم طالعين من العزاء كاهم الحين يايين
(تعليق على محدث بالتلفزيون) بيت جيراننا كنا نلعب مع خواته، كبر الحين ما شاءالله كان شعره حلو
الأبلة سألت منو رئيس الصف
بقالي ٦ مواد علما أتخرج بس ما أدري أخلصهم على جم فصل
انا ما قاعدة أسجل المواد اللي تنزل في كيفان ..تييني قمتة لما أروح هناك
مع السلامة انا ماشية
تو الناس أم محمد
مابي أتأخر عليه
الأبلة ذاك اليوم زفتهم زف
بعد قرقيعان و دي جي .. يا حافظ ما سنّت، حوسوا على البيوت و خلصنا
يمه شوفيلي التليفون المسجات مادري شفيها ما توصل
حسافة على اللي داخل الكوسا، لولوة تحطه مع السلطة
شحلو شعرج صاير
اي اول مرة احط له سن إن ..بروحي بعدين اخترب جان اروح الصالون
وراهم ليلحين ما يو.. يقولون وايد زحمة الشوارع
الجزر صغار و غالي
طافتكم اليوم الهوشه اللي صارت عند الفرعي، نزلوا من سياييرهم و ياهم رجال يفاككهم
شنو تتابعين برمضان؟

تشويش لا أسمع شيئا

إي عزاء رمضان معروف كله زحمة
وصف مفصل حق بدلة العيد
(تحلطم) هالخير و النعمة ! لين بغيت أتسحر ماكو شي ..كله ماخذينه هالخدام.. مت من اليوع، جان آخذ عباتي و اروح المطعم الفجر

سليمان عنده واجب عربي، شنو كلمة على وزن سلمى؟
ملهى..مرسى..
على وزن سأل؟
دأب
السوالف تحولت على الصبيان اللي اشتغلوا عندهم
اثنين تخانقوا، واحد قص أذون رفيقه يوم نادوا الشرطة طلب ٥٠ دينار تعويض ..سعر أذونه
يا حلو كنتكم ماشاءالله تهبل ذاك اليوم شفتها يايتكم

ثلاثة من الحريم ساكتين طول القعدة

الله يا ذيك الحجة بالطواف، ما وعينا الا هاللي يدزونّا و يقولون "حِريم ..حِريم" و الا رياييل محاوطين حريم.. بس ملفلفين بحمر، جان يتحلطم محرمنا يقول هذيله حريم! هذيله فندال .. وايا العمايم اللي بروسهم
اي في بعد حريم يسون بين نقابهم و وجههم مثل المسافة على شان يتنسمون

اي آي فون ينباع بخالد بن الوليد

يتني وحدة توزع ماي بمنى.. تالي جان تقوم و ترقص و الناس تصفق "شدة يالورد شدة" ..الظاهر ناذرة
وحدة يت اسألتني بالحج ليش تلبسين اسود.. بعد ما اعرف غيره، بس هي حسبالها محزنين

قامت وحدة.. هذي الساعة المباركة

خطبة جديدة
فلانة شتصير حق فلانة، منو ماخذها اي بنيتها رفيقة بنتي

أمي و خالتي توهم دخلوا.. أصوات الدخول من سلام و قُبَل

يسولفون عن واحد انشهر بقصة توبة
هو حلو؟
اي! ما شفتيه؟؟
حلات السفرة شهر
شلون لبنان؟
يانا حر بس يا حلوها
يهبل اليوم الهريس
تعالي عسى وصلتكم نقصتي
طيوبة فازت اليوم بسحب بالطابور حق مسابقة رمضان

تفضلوا على السحور

Saturday, 13 September 2008

Only Yesterday


The little girl who is pushing her forward, is the ten-years old her..

Once she stepped in the train, came in running with rushing breath, an old farmer. He was the only other passenger with a bag in a hand and an old fashion record player wherefrom came out this song.. And wherefrom little she, and her friends from the 5th grade emerged to decide for her.

Some say Love, it is a river,
that drowns the tender reed.

Some say Love, it is a razor,
that leaves your soul to bleed.

Some say Love, it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.

I say Love, it is a flower,
and you its only seed.

It's the heart, afraid of breaking,
that never learns to dance.

It's the dream, afraid of waking,
that never takes a chance.

It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give.

And the soul, afraid of dyin',
that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely,
and the road has been too long.

And you think that love is only,
for the lucky and the strong.

Just remember in the Winter,
far beneath the bitter snows.

Lies the seed,
that with the sun's love,
in the Spring becomes the Rose.

-

The lyrics were written, and it was the end. I went upstairs. Beautiful night with flirty breeze. Holded my tears watching the street from the parapet. "Our house is right in front of the alley between the two schools!", little me corrected for all the friends who said that our house is near to school. The fences of that alley are changed this year, leaving no trace of graffiti along the way. "The alley between the two schools" that was it, and still, the low fence of the middle school and the high fence of the high school. Off to my room, I realized the moon, just about to complete its circle, I was busy wandering down that dark old alley, back and forth. The long walk back then with all the thoughts on the way, is a swing in my present mind. And the moon, in a counter habit, secretly watched.

Friday, 29 August 2008

الطائر الحائر


طائر أبصرته في غرفتي حائرا في سقفها يبغي الفرار

ضاربا حيطانها في لهفة وانبهار من جدار لجدار


تارة ينهار في الأرض و قد زاده اليأس ذهولا و انكسار

ثم حينا يعتلي مستطلعا عله ينفذ من هذا الإسار



فتقدمت إليه مسرعا بالذي ينجيه من هذا العثار

فاتحا نافذتيها رافعا للهواء الطلق و النور الستار

غير أن الطائر الحائر لم يدرك الفتحة من فرط انبهار

عبثا حاولت أدنيه لها كلما كاد يحاذيها استدار


أولا يبصرها؟ لكنه قد غدا في سجن وهم و انذعار

صاعدا أو هابطا حتى إذا مر بي الوقت و طال الانتظار

رحت أدنو حذرا فاصطدته ثم ألقيت به منها فطار



أوليس البعض في هذي الدُّنا مثل هذا الطير تيها في المسار؟

خابطا في ظلمة من صنعه و إلى جانبه يبدو النهار

و قريب منه تحقيق المنى و هو يسعى جاهلا نحو الدمار



شعر: محمد أحمد المشاري
رسوم: ديمة الغنيم

Friday, 22 August 2008

Hallucination

My friend is always saying that she believes in fairies, and I believe her. I believe in myths simply because we can name, describe and imagine them. They do exist. But recently I am encountering another dilemma. I read in a huge anonymous contemporary book about a new myth. It created itself to exceed all predictions. I haven't been dreaming about it because it never existed, yet, it completes the series of faces I draw.

We always assume that myths are imaginary, until a miracle happens and reassures it. But the phenomena that I read then saw, reassures nothing. It doesn't stimulate the whole humanity like rain or earth quacks. It only amazes the scientist in search for a meaning, or found in the eyes of the monk who's traveling for wisdom. It acquires an ultimate devotion. But when it's spread over many people, the myth returns to its normal cycle, when no one believes it, but they enjoy listening to the story.

My only doubt is whether it will continue to be immortal, or will vanish with the untold dreams and the hallucinations of an insane woman in a busy street.

Tuesday, 19 August 2008

نبؤة

بين منفذين.. جلست أراقص الماء بقدمي، و أغسل بالهوا شعري
بين منفذين.. أحدهما للسماء و آخر للأفق
أرقبهما بعذوبة المنكر و ذعر السكينة،
يرقباني كحارسين ساخرين، يقولان ارقصي، هاربة بقدم واحدة
عيناهما سكرى مستهامة، أغراها هدير الماء في ثغري الذي أوشك يتفجّر
ما زالت الريح تحتفل بشعري سعيدة، و ما زلت محترقة،
لم يزُل السحر رغم الماء، و لم يختف المنفذين

و ظل عنواني يبشرني، بقاعٍ في بركان المطر و طريق يوازي جدولاً متسللا

Sunday, 17 August 2008

كان و أخواتها

و هنا، كأي هنا مشكوك فيه، أتساءل إن "ما يزال" حقا أخت كان.. لا أراها إلا حاضرا واضحا بكل رسومات ماضيه. و لا أرى، حتى بإصرارها، رغبة في التذكر، كل شيء موجود.. محسوس.. ما كانت يوما محض ماضي و لا كانت ككان. "كان" لا تشبه أيا من أخواتها.. كل أخواتها متشابهات إلاها. لا أتكلم عن التصريف، إنما بيئة المعنى للظرف.. فوصف مكان بما يزال أو ظل أو أضحى، يختلف بالإجماع عن كان

ربما في ذلك اثبات أن "كان" لا تعبر عن انقطاع أثر الماضي في الحاضر و لا ينفي وجودا لشيء اختفى

Tuesday, 5 August 2008

فريخات

Dear www,

Today, me and my sister decided to open a window in our room that remained close for many years, in fact it is rarely open because there is a curious palm tree which wants to get involved with our daily activities. We opened it, and that what we found.



Thursday, 31 July 2008

إلا من وراء حجاب


كل يوم، تنتظر اكتمال الضوء المزخرف على الجدار المقابل لها. تسرح بلحظات من ماضيها لتلهيها عن حركة الضوء، فالماضي بإيحاء طوله يستميل الشمس لأن تسرع. اكتمل بدرها فالتفتت إلى المشربية، تراه، قسمه الخشب إلى صور كثيرة. وظلت لوهلة تلعب، تلملم الصور و تبعثرها. و يبدأ بالكلام، كله هذيان، يقولون "يحدث جدران الحارة".. لكنها لم تدر ماذا يقول، و لم تفسر يوما ما يقول. و مع احتدام كلماته و تداخلها، تغني، فيعود صوتها ناياً من بين الطبول. تسكت الطبول و كذلك كل شيء، إلاها. ينظر إلى لوحة الخشب المخرم بتكراره الممل، فتلثم وجهها بيديها خجلا.. تسكت. يغضب بسكون، و يذهب

Saturday, 26 July 2008

أسماء بلا وجوه


أمي: عندما تبدآ الحرب، يصبح أهم ما في الإنسان أسماء لم تكن ظاهرة عليه

أنا: السياسة لعبة أسماء

أمي: السياسة لعبة قذرة

أنا: و كذلك الأسماء

و في صمتنا و انشغال محرك السيارة .. مر في بالي شريط من الأسماء .. بلا وجوه و لا حتى أقنعة، كيف عرفناها اذا؟ و آمنا بها. أعلم أن الأسماء للأشياء فهل غادرت الأشياء مفهومها، أم أن هناك قاعدة تحول المفاهيم أسماءا يؤمن بها الناس كالأصنام. و كيف احتالت تلك القاعدة على الناس؟ بطل أسطوري في قصة خيالية، أم شارع و تمثال؟

"ذلك الموت الذي اخترنا له اسما آخر أكثر إغراء، لنذهب إليه دون خوف، و ربما بشهوة سرية، و كأننا نذهب لشيء آخر غير حتفنا. لماذا نسينا يومها أن نطلق على الحرية أيضا أكثر من اسم؟ و كيف اختصرنا منذ البدء حريتنا في مفهومها الأول" ـ أحلام مستغانمي في ذاكرة الجسد

الحرية، كالموت، كالحب كأسماء كثيرة حولنا بلا وجوه...مفاهيم صارت أسماء لأنها تلف الإنسان فألبسناها لباسه. و المفاهيم ليست أسماء انما أفعال تخضع تحت إمرة النسبية و الحركة و السكون، فأرجوك يا رسام لا تحاول رسمها فهي لا ترسم و لا تنحت، هي كالحروف التي تكتب و لا تنطق ..تكتب لتدفع الكلمة لما بعدها من أفعال أو ربما أسماء. و ما أنت يا رسام بصانعها فأنت كما الجميع سمعتها عبر الأثير أو قرأتها مع جملة الأكاذيب اليومية

لكن كلما طال سكون المفهوم، زاد اللبس في احتمال اسميته، و لهذا يصر الرسام أن تقف الفتاة بسكون، حتى تنتهي اللوحة

Sunday, 20 July 2008

the poem of the para-temporal place.


she left

shush, the lines are praying
is that what it meant?
she left
and she left
a debt
on the roses who teach walking
she left
holding her kiss in the seven skies
for now, I'm free
I shall set free
All the stories
about her eyes
to the legend of the setting suns
until the rise.

Thursday, 10 July 2008

while reading Nietzsche: A Thought


Sometimes, or rather frequently, we reach a preconception that what we reached so far is the ultimate understanding among the past knowledge we had. And following time will always for the good and better. On the contrary, a deterioration in one's life will not be ever raised, a black dot, never re concealed.

What makes this impression in human nature dominant, is the very nature of rejection of the means of communication between the knowledge of memory, the shift of understandings between your madness state to your sanity state.

the most communicative binary of states is adulthood and childhood, either when an adult remembers a perception from childhood, or a child aspires the perception of an adult, but yet we call it irony. a trigger that won't produce something new to the nature of both states, but it will.

It is then another perception to life occurs, where the plasticity of time is being experienced. where no particular time tells you how correct are you. but rather the relationship of ideas and the transmutation between them that matters. it brings us to a level beyond good or bad, which delves into the degrees of collision between this and that to the emergance of a new line or fusion of lines in the diagram of a life.

Wednesday, 9 July 2008

أيظن





نجاة الصغيرة
I can listen to this song for ever.

هذا النوع من الأغاني نادر، و أحلى ما فيه تجربة الزمن يمر عبر الأغنية فيغير أفكارا و يلمس الحركة و الافتعالات اللحظية.
لا أذكر غيرها إلا اغنية "يا سدرة العشاق" التي يبين فيها طول انتظاره باختلاف الوقت،يتضح من ترحاله من مقطع لآخر

مراسم الدفن


النخلة التي لم تر فلوحها الصفار، اقتلعت اليوم مع دعاء أمي و خوفها عليها، حيث أن هذا الموسم لا يناسب تغيير مكانها
فلندعو لها بالسكينة بعد هذا الارتباك
الصور مأخوذة من فوق السطح

Tuesday, 8 July 2008

قانون الإنسان

كان في ذاك الزمان
لحن يرن في كل مكان
في كل ما كان
كان الصوت رنان
منان
بالهدوء الصافي الحزين
يروي قصة السكون
ذلك الصوت
يهزأ بالمكان، يهزأ بالشارع
و بيت القاضي الحالم بالسلام
قصة السكون التي رواها علينا
قبل مئة عام
من حنايا الصوت القديمة
لم يكن يقصد إهانة حين رواها
و لكن الناس شدت
بألسنتها لاسعة
كانت حنايا الصوت القديمة
تحوي فواصلا بيضاء
كانت هي الرواية
التي كلما تروى
تصرخ الناس و تغضب

Saturday, 5 July 2008

A Story, of a pixel


Once upon a time there was a little pixel on a brand new TV. She was very hyper and colorful, so an old lady got that TV. She thought it would be nice for her family evening, as the old lady wasn't that interested in that TV. The pixel was only allowed to show her talent once a week. In fact, the world of pixels happens to have its ultimate excitement to watch the people in front of them. But the little pixel that is much more excited than the others (maybe because she's in the center) got extremely bored, and tried to mark some plans with her neighbors. She was very clever, whenever the TV is closed she tries her all power to keep it on, although her energy is very much lower than the major one.
The family has two brothers and one sister. The sister was always pale and sad. The family were watching their regular TV episode "days of our life" (the one that never ends) and the pixel was studying their faces very well, trying to read their glances and emotions, and happens to find a great engrossment by a little kid standing just so close that cannot be defined. So the pixel all of a sudden got REALLY SCARED of the very very close face, which made it produce a very irritating glow and made the other pixels run down except her. She couldn't maintain back her regular scheme, and the little kid was still amazed. She suddenly felt s_o free to move, she didn't know anything about 3d movement so she fell down.................. into _the _kid’s_eyes!
Of course the family didn’t give the slightest attention to what just happened. “Oh grandma!” the brother said, “can't she ever have something new”, and they changed the subject, coz the glow wasn't that significant to reach them. The kid, who is a very curious little fellow, is now playing with his eyes trying to remove this colored image he suddenly started to see! He sees life with much more saturation than ever, but doesn't know why (well, he wasn’t old enough to lay it back to caffeine). The pixel was like in HEAVAN, for the kid was able to move, which rarely happens when she was in the stupid TV. The kid went outside, it was a golden afternoon. so from the pixel power and the great amount of light outside the places around it felt so cartoonish. He got an hour of wonderment, for he started to see things with very rich colors, but after this hour his eyes got so tired. He couldn't bear this amount of light in his eyes so he fell asleep on the grass............. So the pixel started to wonder about this short and VERY exciting experience she had! She felt sorry for her friends as she cannot perform perfectly without them...... but....... she CAN perform differently!!
All those thoughts in her mind until she suddenly mocked by_a_little frog, then a bird, an elephant came and stepped on her by mistake! She freaked out “what is it about?!” she asked the frog, he replied in a royal tone "it is my pleasure to introduce you to the Queen of Nonsense!"
The pixel wasn't really sure where is the queen she looked forward but only saw herself magnified. "She is from the greatest family of lenses" the frog then explained. As you know, the pixel is a fearful little thing, when she saw her face back magnified she was terrified but this time the frog calmed her down and said: “it’s alright, her majesty is very pleased to see you here” he continued in a more dramatic way than it already was, “You are the power we were always waiting for, in the last two years of this kid’s life there was a great fight between nightmares and pleasant dreams so all our dream equipments went down, and the kid sees no more dreams so it is in your hand to bring back the dreamland for him.
The pixel felt burdened, but soon her experimental habit started to flourish, at first she was borrowing stuff from what he sees during the day and reflects it at night. Again, as the kid was very curious, he, starting to see dreams again, gave reviews to his mom every day, but only the pixel was listening. So as the day reflex was boring to him, she started to change positions, of things his father in the water pocket, his mother on the roof, but even that didn't really satisfy the little pixel. She thought and thought, and AHA! Because this dreamland has a lot of characters who lost their jobs she thought of gaining back their presence.
There was already very weird ones, and there is the ordinary life in front of her in the morning so what if a pink elephant went to work or a the clumsy dinosaur cooked the food but, no no, this wouldn’t be as exciting as when the kid moves. So .... she decided to take notes of all the places that a kid cannot reach, and until she reached this level of knowledge..... she as well gained a good traveling skills, she leaves the kid in the morning to places around him, she was there in the floor lamb, jumps to the window, just in order to see the places the little kid was ignorant about, or couldn't really have the chance or the scale to see, for you know as a little kid it is always hard to look over a crowd, or outside the window, or even in the bathroom mirror. Only since the characters had officially had jobs, for it is not a stimulation of what the kid sees... but a totally different realm, and only since, the mother started to listen to his reviews.