Loading ...The Birds Die in Galilee by Mahmoud Darwish
By: Luke McMahan / Arab America Contributing Writer
Luke McMahan has been a student of Arabic for two and a half years, and throughout this time, he has been told how wonderful Arabic poetry is. Because not many translations exist online of anything but the most famous poems, he had to wait to progress in his language ability to begin to interact with these works. In this article, he confidently translates poetry and hopes he can give non-Arabic speakers a chance to read it as well. Though not fluent or a professional translator, he hopes to maintain as much of their lyricism, ambiguity, and beautiful imagery as possible. Presented here is “The Birds Die In Galilee,” a poem by Mahmoud Darwish.
| The Birds Die In Galilee | العصافير تموت في الجليل |
| Mahmoud Darwish | محمود درويش |
| We meet after a bit | نلتقي بعد قليل |
| After a year | بعد عامٍ |
| After two years | بعد عامين |
| And a generation… | وجيلْ… |
| And she threw into the camera | ورَمَتْ في آلة التصوير |
| Twenty gardens | عشرين حديقهْ |
| And the birds of Galilee | وعصافيرَ الجليل |
| And she kept searching, under the sea, | ومضتْ تبحث، خلف البحر |
| For a new meaning of truth | عن معنى جديد للحقيقهْ |
| My homeland a clothes line | وطني حبل غسيل |
| For the handkerchiefs of blood shed | لمناديل الدم المسفوك |
| In every minute | في كل دقيقهْ |
| And I stretched on a beach | وتمددتُ على الشاطئ |
| Sand… and palm trees | رملاً … ونخيلْ |
| She doesn’t know | هِيَ لا تعرف |
| Oh Rita! Death and I gave you | يا ريتا ! وهبناكِ أنا والموتُ |
| The secret of happiness faded in the customs gate | سِرَّ الفرح الذابل في باب الجماركْ |
| And we were renewed, death and I, | وتجدَّدنا، أنا والموت, |
| In your first front | في جبهتك الأولى |
| And in a window of your house. | وفي شبّاك دارك. |
| And death and I are two faces | وأنا والموت وجهان |
| Why do you flee now from my face | لماذا تهربين الآن من وجهي |
| Why do you flee? | لماذا تهربين؟ |
| And why do you flee now from | ولماذا تهربين الآن ممّا |
| What makes wheat into the eyelashes of the land | يجعل القمح رموشَ الأرض، ممّا |
| What makes the volcano another face of jasmine… | يجعل البركان وجهاً آخراً للياسمين؟.. |
| And why do you flee? | ولماذا تهربينْ؟.. |
| Nothing tired me in the night except her silence | كان لا يتعبني في الليل إلاّ صمتها |
| When stretched out before the door | حين يمتدُّ أمام الباب |
| Like a street… like an old district | كالشارع … كالحيِّ القديمْ |
| Let it be what you want oh Rita | ليكن ما شئت ياريتا |
| The silence becomes an axe | يكون الصمتُ فأساً |
| Or frames of stars | أو براويز نجوم |
| Or an environment for the laboring of a tree | أو مناخاً لمخاض الشجرهْ |
| I sip the kiss | إنني أرتشف القُبلَة |
| From the edge of knives | من حدِّ السكاكين, |
| Come, let us belong to the massacre…! | تعالي ننتمي للمجزرهْ…! |
| They fell like excess leaves | سقطتْ كالوَرَق الزائد |
| Flocks of birds | أسرابُ العصافير |
| Into the wells of time… | بآبار الزمنْ… |
| And I gathered the blue wings | وأنا أنتشل الأجنحة الزرقاء |
| Oh Rita, | يا ريتا, |
| I am a witness to the grave which grows | أنا شاهدةُ القبر الذي يكبرُ |
| Oh Rita, | يا ريتا , |
| I am the one the shackles etched | أنا مَنْ تحفر الأغلالُ |
| Into my skin | في جلديَ |
| The shape of the homeland… | شكلاً للوطنْ… |
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