Perceval Press

New poems at PP to read. That's nice.


I come from there and I have memories
Born as mortals are, I have a mother
And a house with many windows,
I have brothers, friends,
And a prison cell with a cold window.
Mine is the wave, snatched by sea-gulls,
I have my own view,
And an extra blade of grass.
Mine is the moon at the far edge of the words,
And the bounty of birds,
And the immortal olive tree.
I walked this land before the swords
Turned its living body into a laden table.

I come from there. I render the sky unto her mother
When the sky weeps for her mother.
And I weep to make myself known
To a returning cloud.
I learnt all the words worthy of the court of blood
So that I could break the rule.
I learnt all the words and broke them up
To make a single word: Homeland...

—Mahmoud Darwish
____________

FROM 'PRAYERS OF ATONEMENT'

You came to me to open my eyes,
your body a glance a window a mirror,
you arrived as night comes to the owl
to show him in darkness all necessary things.


And I learned: a name for every eyelash and nail
for every hair on flesh uncovered, made light,
and the fragrance of childhood, of resin and pine,
was the sweet fragrance of our bodies' night.


If there were torments – then they voyaged toward you
my white sail on course toward your dark night.
Now, allow me to leave, let me go, let me go
to bow on the shores of forgiveness.

—Lea Goldberg

This is quite the coincidence as I was reading some poetry the other day and I came across this one. For the life of me I couldn't remember the poet but once again PP comes up with something that freaks me out. At first I thought this was a love poem until I read it again.


He’s Calm, and I Am, Too
He’s calm, and I am too
He’s drinking tea with lemon,
and I’m drinking coffee,
this is the difference between us.
He’s wearing, as I am, a baggy striped shirt
and I’m reading, as he is, the evening newspaper.
He doesn’t see me when I steal a glance,
I don’t see him when he steals a glance,
he’s calm, and I am too.
He asks the waiter something,
I ask the waiter something...
A black cat passes between us,
I pet its night’s fur
and he pets its night’s fur...
I don’t say to him: The sky was clear today
and more blue.
He doesn’t say to me: The sky was clear today.
He’s the seen and the seer
I’m the seen and the seer.
I move my left leg
he moves his right leg.
I hum a song’s melody,
he hums a song with a similar melody.
I think: Is he the mirror I see myself in?
Then I look toward his eyes,
but I don’t see him...
I leave the café in a hurry.
I think: Maybe he’s a killer, or maybe
he’s a passerby who thinks I’m a killer
He’s frightened, and I am, too!

By Mahmoud Darwish