Walihadha Astaqil

It saddened me to hear it then, long ago.  It saddens me even more now.

The Palestinian people still have not been given a return to the homeland, and the birds still 'inhabit the nest of the impossible' in dreams that flee upon awakening.  

So much betrayal, so much corruption.  Darwish is dead.  He wrote about it all for decades, sensitive to every nuance.

'Walikadha Astaqil'

Poem by Mahmoud Darwish,

Music by Admad Qabour

When the applause breaks out in the hall,

And the shadow tilts towards my chest,

The makeup falls off the face of Galilee

And that is why... I resign!

Tonight I find myself naked

Like a massacre.

My acting was far from my father's style,

My acting was strange to the birds of Galilee,

And my arms are a fan.

That is why... I resign!

They taught me everything the director asked

Who danced to the rhythm of his lie.

I am tired now.

I hung my legends on a clothesline

And that is why... I resign!

In your name, I now admit that the play

Was written for entertainment.

The critics were satisfied,

But the eyes of the Magdalene were closed.

It dug into my body,

The form of the sublime,

And that is why... I resign.

My dear...

Their brushes paint pictures of Lydda,

And you are the ink.

Jaffa is nothing but drums

And my bones are like a stick in the director's grip.

But I say,

Master the role tomorrow, sir.

And that is why... I resign!

Ladies

Ladies

Ladies

Ladies

Gentlemen

I entertained you for twenty years.

It is time for me to leave today

And to escape from the crowd,

And I sing in Galilee

For the birds that inhabit the nest of the impossible,

And that is why I resign.

I resign.

I resign.

And the curtain falls,

And the curtain falls.

عندما ينطفئ التصفيقُ في القاعةِ

والظلُّ يميلْ

نحو صدري

يسقط المكياج عن وجه الجليل

ولهذا… أستقيل !

أجدُ الليلة نفسي

عارياً

كالمذبحة

كان تمثيلي بعيداً عن مواويل أبي

كان تمثيلي غريباً عن عصافير الجليل

وذراعي مروحهْ

ولهذا أستقيل

لقّنوني كل ما يطلبه المخرج

من رقص على إيقاع أكذوبته

وتعبتُ الآن ,

علَّقتُ أساطيري على حبلِ غسيل

ولهذا .. أستقيل

باسمكم , أعترف الآن بأن المسرحيهْ

كُتبتْ للتسليهْ

رضي النقّادُ لكنَّ عيون المجدليَّهْ

حَفَرَتْ في جَسَدي

شكل الجليل

ولهذا …. أستقيل

يا دمي…

فرشاتُهم ترسم لوحات عن اللدِّ

وأنت الحبرُ

ما يافا سوى طبول

وعظامي كالعصا في قبضة المخرج

لكني أقول :

أتقن الدور غداً يا سيدي

ولهذا … أستقيل

سيداتي..

آنساتي..

سادتي !

سلَّيتكم عشرين عامْ

آن لي أن أرحل اليوم

وأن أهرب من هذا الزحامْ

وأغنّي في الجليل

للعصافير التي تسكن عشَّ المستحيل

ولهذا.. أستقيل

أستقيل

أستقيل ..

…

 

ما ينطفئ التصفيقُ في القاعةِ

والظلُّ يميلْ

نحو صدري

يسقط المكياج عن وجه الجليل

ولهذا… أستقيل !

أجدُ الليلة نفسي

عارياً

كالمذبحة

كان تمثيلي بعيداً عن مواويل أبي

كان تمثيلي غريباً عن عصافير الجليل

وذراعي مروحهْ

ولهذا أستقيل

لقّنوني كل ما يطلبه المخرج

من رقص على إيقاع أكذوبته

وتعبتُ الآن ,

علَّقتُ أساطيري على حبلِ غسيل

ولهذا .. أستقيل

باسمكم , أعترف الآن بأن المسرحيهْ

كُتبتْ للتسليهْ

رضي النقّادُ لكنَّ عيون المجدليَّهْ

حَفَرَتْ في جَسَدي

شكل الجليل

ولهذا …. أستقيل

Wadihadha Astaqil

Ahmad al 'Arabi

When Marcel Khalife returned from his study of classical music in Russia, he created the operatic masterpiece, 'Ahmad al 'Arabi'. His is the music, but the words were written by Mahmoud Darwish. Translation into English words printed on a page is woefully inadequate to convey the magnificent power of the operatic work, which bridges classical traditions of East and West and embodies all the passion and longing of Arab Nationalism.

I believe these words were written during the first invasion of Lebanon by the Zionists. Now, over two decades later, we still look for the face of Ahmad. So many martyrs have watered the soil with their blood, but there yet is no end to the foreign occupation of the Arab homeland.

I salute those who endure the siege, who maintain their steadfastness in the face of deprivation, torture and threat of death.

'To those hands of zatar(thyme)
and darkened stone,
I voice this cry:
To Ahmad
Forgotten and alone.
The passing clouds have left me
Homeless and unknown,
And only mountains
Dare to hide me
In a barren home.

I emerge once more
From the ancient wounds.
I approach until I see
The details of the land.
I emerge once more
In the year the sea was breached
From the cities of ash,
When I found myself alone.

Ahmad was the sea,
Foaming among the bullets,
A camp that fiercely grew,
Raining thyme and fighters
On us.

'I am Ahmad al Arabi,'
he said:
I am bullets
And oranges
And dreams.'

'I am Ahmad al Arabi
LET THE SIEGE COME!
My body is the fortress,
LET THE SIEGE COME!'

'I am the line of fire
And I will besiege you in turn,
For my breast
Is the shelter for my people.
LET THE SIEGE COME!'

.... Oh Ahmad, born of stone and of thyme,
You say : 'NO!'


...Dying close to my blood
And rising in the wheat...

The birds have willed
Their songs to me,
And I have been gathered
To the heartbeat of the fields...

Go deep into my blood,
Go deep into the bread,
So that we will have
A simple homeland
And a dream of jasmine yet to come...

Ahmad al Arabi,
RESIST!
We will journey
In this struggle
Until we reach the shore
Of bread and waves.
We will die
For the dream of a homeland
And of jasmine yet to come.

Oh Ahmad,
Secret like forests and flame,
Make your face known to us:
Read us your last will.

We will disperse in silence
To step back
That the dead may hear your words,
That the living may know
The features of your face.

Ahmad,
My brother, Ahmad,
We await your hero's death,
When will it be?
When will it be?
When will it be?'

Ahmad al 'Arabi is available now on CD. As a cri de coeur of Arab Nationalism but more than that, as an incredible musical achievement, I would recommend it to every one. The text in three languages, Arabic, French and English is included with the recording.