the final act without longing ... not because of anything
other than that the play was not written
skilfully ...
Chaos
as in the war days of those in despair, and an autobiography
of the spectators’ impulse. The actors were tearing up their scripts
and searching for the author among us, we the witnesses
sitting in our seats
I tell my neighbour the artist: Don’t draw your weapon,
and wait, unless you’re the author!
—No
Then he asks me: And you are you the author?
—No
So we sit scared. I say: Be a neutral
hero to escape from an obvious fate
He says: No hero dies revered in the second
scene. I will wait for the rest. Maybe I would
revise one of the acts. And maybe I would mend
what the iron has done to my brothers
So I say: It is you then?
He responds: You and I are two masked authors and two masked
witnesses
I say: How is this my concern? I’m a spectator
He says: No spectators at chasm’s door ... and no
one is neutral here. And you must choose
your part in the end
So I say: I’m missing the beginning, what’s the beginning?
Mahmoud Darwish,
A Palestinian poet who lived through the Palestine-Israeli conflict. His ties to this historic issue go back to 1948 when he was just 7 years old and his family was forced to flee their village in Western Galilee after Israeli soldiers arrived to establish the State of Israel. A year later, when his family came back, Darwish found his home completely destroyed and without a single book to read. Soon, he learned that his homeland wasn’t his anymore (he had trespassed it illegally), and it now belonged to the State of Israel. From that point and on, he felt a sense of frustration and injustice that he could only express through words – words that together created beautiful passages of poetry.
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I have a seat in the abandoned theatre
in Beirut. I might forget, and I might recall
the final act without longing ... not because of anything
other than that the play was not written
skilfully ...
Chaos
as in the war days of those in despair, and an autobiography
of the spectators’ impulse. The actors were tearing up their scripts
and searching for the author among us, we the witnesses
sitting in our seats
I tell my neighbour the artist: Don’t draw your weapon,
and wait, unless you’re the author!
—No
Then he asks me: And you are you the author?
—No
So we sit scared. I say: Be a neutral
hero to escape from an obvious fate
He says: No hero dies revered in the second
scene. I will wait for the rest. Maybe I would
revise one of the acts. And maybe I would mend
what the iron has done to my brothers
So I say: It is you then?
He responds: You and I are two masked authors and two masked
witnesses
I say: How is this my concern? I’m a spectator
He says: No spectators at chasm’s door ... and no
one is neutral here. And you must choose
your part in the end
So I say: I’m missing the beginning, what’s the beginning?
Mahmoud Darwish,
A Palestinian poet who lived through the Palestine-Israeli conflict. His ties to this historic issue go back to 1948 when he was just 7 years old and his family was forced to flee their village in Western Galilee after Israeli soldiers arrived to establish the State of Israel. A year later, when his family came back, Darwish found his home completely destroyed and without a single book to read. Soon, he learned that his homeland wasn’t his anymore (he had trespassed it illegally), and it now belonged to the State of Israel. From that point and on, he felt a sense of frustration and injustice that he could only express through words – words that together created beautiful passages of poetry.