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Born on 13 March
1941 in Al Birweh, a quaint village in the Galilee,
Mahmoud Darwish went on to live a life that is a poignant example of how far
talent and determination, combined with a precarious life, can carry an
individual from a simple background into the international halls of fame. At
the early age of seven, Darwish and his family were forced to flee to
Lebanon to escape the ongoing massacres by the Israeli Army as it occupied
Palestine and, in the process, destroyed the poet’s village (in addition to
over 400 other Palestinian villages). Returning “illegally” to their country
the following year, he and his family were subjected to military rule and
emergency regulations of the State of Israel established over expropriated
Palestinian land. They were given the status of “present-absent
alien,” a status that will mark the poet from that point onwards, preventing
him from ever finding his homeland, except in his language and his
ever-loving audience.
It was as early as 1950 that
the poet first realized how the poem can be “a threat to the sword” as he
was harassed by the Israeli military governor for writing and reciting
poetry that expressed his strong sense of Arab and Palestinian identity.
These “harassments” were to continue until 1970 when he left to Moscow and
then to Egypt, to finally settle for a while in Beirut until the Israeli
invasion in 1982. After Beirut he became a “wondering exile” in Arab
capitals, settling in Paris for a while, then Amman, and finally Ramallah,
moving a step closer to the home which he still cannot reach. The circle is
not yet complete….
“There is no age
sufficient for me
to pull my end to my
beginning.”
(Mural)
His life in the exodus
somehow helped to ignite the poetic flame within him and exile became one of
the sources of his literary creation. However, despite his geographic
separation from his homeland, Darwish continued over the years to disrupt
the status quo in Israel through the medium of poetry. In 1988, his widely
circulated militant poem “Passers by in Passing Words,” a poem that he does
not think highly of in literary terms but that nevertheless was met with
great acclaim amongst the Arab public, was cause for a great uproar in
Israeli circles, both the right and left wing alike. A book in French
entitled “Palestine Mon Pays: L’affaire du Poeme,” published by Les Editions
de Minuit in 1988, documents some of the articles that were written in
defence of Darwish and his poem. In a similar manner, but this time in March
2000, Yossi Sarid, then the minister of education in Israel, suggested the
inclusion of Darwish’s poetry in the Israeli high school curriculum. This
suggestion resulted in a very close no-confidence vote for the Barak
government.
The year 2000 witnessed the
publication of Darwish’s twentieth book of poetry, Mural, a
masterpiece epic poem which synthesizes his experience and poetry spanning
36 years as he contemplated impending “eternity” in a hospital bed after
having undergone life-threatening surgery in 1998. In addition, he has five
books of prose, and his work has been translated into more than 22
languages.
His most recent translations
in English, “Mahmoud Darwish: Adam of Two Edens” (Jusoor and Syracuse
University Press, 2000) and “The Raven’s Ink: A Chapbook” (Lannan
Foundation, 2001) include a host of Darwish’s most acclaimed poems written
between 1984 and 1999. Even though “he is known the world over as the
poet of Palestine,” as Margaret Obank says in her review of “The Adam of Two
Edens,” Darwish’s poetry “has been published only sparingly in English.”
These two volumes are an excellent introduction, in English, to this poet
who is considered to be “indisputably among the greatest of our century’s
poets.” (Carolyne Forche)
It is perhaps Darwish’s very
special relationship to the Arabic language that has set him apart from
other Arab poets of his time. Putting the political cause aside, a
double-edged sword in the case of the poet’s literary career, Darwish has
created a new zone in the Arabic language that he can call his own: he
constructs his kingdom – homeland in language. Considered by one prominent
Arab literary critics as “the saviour of the Arabic language,” Darwish
manages to describe mundane events and uncover his (and his people’s)
innermost feelings through words juxtaposed in the most idiosyncratic of
contexts, creating fascinating new images. The symbols, metaphors, and style
in his poetry are carefully chosen; yet at the same time they reflect an
integrity and clairvoyance that are a unique characteristic of this writer.
A number of his poems have even been called “prophetic.” With his artistic
intuition and acute political common sense, he manages to see and read what
very few people can. When that understanding finds its way into a poem, it
gains a totally new significance to the readers, because it usually is an
expression of what they fear most but are unable to utter.
This is true of his
character even in politics. In 1993, when Darwish resigned from the PLO
executive committee to protest the Oslo Accords, he could see at the time,
as very few people within the PLO could, that there was a structural problem
with the accord itself that would only pave the way for escalation. “I hoped
I was wrong. I’m very sad that I was right.” (New York Times
interview)
His relationship to language
remains unsurpassed by any relationship he has with anyone or anything.
Having a special talent for uncovering and creating the music in language,
his poetry has been a fertile ground for musicians all over the Arab world
to compose the most beautiful and popular of songs. The fact that his words
translate so easily and splendidly into musical lyrics resulted in a
wide array of beautiful songs that are as much a credit
to the poet as they are to the musicians.
Choosing to spend most of
his time during the recent Palestinian Intifada in Ramallah, under siege,
Darwish wrote three extraordinary poems of resistance slightly reminiscent
of his early poetry. “Mohammad,” “ The Sacrifice” and “A State of Siege”
were published in newspapers in Palestine and the Arab world during 2001 –
2002. The last one, “A State of Siege,” is currently being published in a
book in Arabic, to become Darwish’s 21st book of poetry. In this
last poem, he describes the siege of Ramallah and the Palestinian land in
profound images that invoke daily life in a vivid and multi-layered way:
A woman asked the
cloud: please enfold my loved one
My clothes are soaked
with his blood
If you shall not be
rain, my love
Be trees
Saturated with
fertility, be trees
And if you shall not be
trees, my love
Be a stone
Saturated with
humidity, be a stone
And if you shall not be
a stone, my love
Be a moon
In the loved one’s
dream, be a moon
So said a woman to her
son
In his funeral
He goes on to add:
During the siege, time
becomes a space
That has hardened in its
eternity
During the siege, space
becomes a time
That is late for its
yesterday and tomorrow
(A State of Siege)
Often called “the poet of
the resistance,” and sometimes accused of writing in defence of Palestinian
mainstream politics, Darwish still manages to constantly defy any strict
definition of who and what he is or wants to be. He wrote the
Palestinian declaration of independence in1988 and many poems of resistance
that are an integral part of every Arab’s consciousness. But he also wrote a
lot about love and death; he wrote poems that can be easily understood, and
others that are so mystifying that many critics could not begin to decipher.
In all this, he remains confident in his open and honest relationship to his
readers. “When I move closer to pure poetry, Palestinians say go back to
what you were. But I have learned from experience that I can take my reader
with me if he trusts me. I can make my modernity, and I can play my games if
I am sincere.” (New York Times interview) This intricate
relationship with his ever-increasing audience is best described in this
excerpt:
Whenever I search for
myself I find the others
And when I search for
them
I only find my alien
self
So am I the individual-
crowd?
(Mural)
Darwish is the recipient of
many international literary awards including the Lotus prize in 1969, the
Lenin prize in 1983, France’s highest medal as Knight of Arts and Belles
Lettres in 1997, and the Moroccan Wissam of intellectual merit handed to him
by King Mohammad VI of Morocco. In 2001, he won the Lannan prize for
cultural freedom. This prize recognizes people whose extraordinary and
courageous work celebrates the human right to freedom of imagination,
inquiry, and expression. As defined by the foundation, cultural freedom is
the right of individuals and communities to define and protect valued and
diverse ways of life currently threatened by globalisation.
His reputation all over the
world as a highly esteemed poet and individual is partly due to the fact
that Mahmoud Darwish affirms an open conception of what being an Arab is.
Arab, to him, is not an identity closed unto itself, but a pluralism totally
open unto others. In his oeuvres, he dialogues with a group of cultures
(Canaanite, Hebrew, Greek, Roman, Persian, Egyptian, Arab, French, English,
Ottoman, Native American) as well as with myths of the three monotheistic
religions. These dialogues create multiple layers within
the poem that may be difficult to appreciate unless the
reader can develop a full understanding of the “I”s and the “others” of the
text.
When Darwish gives a poetry
reading anywhere in the Arab world, a rare event, he easily draws thousands
of people from all walks of life and social classes. It is as if he has
become a personal possession, a national treasure, for every Arab,
regardless of age, education, background, nationality, or religion. Now in
translation perhaps he will also be embraced elsewhere in the world. No poet
has been expropriated as Mahmoud Darwish has been over the past thirty
years. No one realizes this more than him:
And history makes fun
of its victims
And its heroes
Takes a look at them
and passes by
This sea is mine
This moist air is mine
And my name-
Even if I spell it
wrong on the coffin –
Is mine
As for me,
Now that I am filled
with all the possible
Reasons for departure –
I am not mine.
I am not mine
I am not mine…
(Mural)
Serene Huleileh.
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