Moroccan poet Elhabib Louai’s Rotten Wounds Embalmed with Tar was shortlisted for this year’s Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poetry:
The other two finalists were Egyptian-American Hazem Fahmy, for Id, and Nigerian author O-Jeremiah Agbaakin for The Root of the Word Babble is Babel. The prize went to Zambian-born poet Cheswayo Mphanza for his manuscript The Rinehart Frames.
Louai is both poet, editor, and translator, and he edited and translated an anthology of contemporary Moroccan poetry that was published by Big Bridge Magazine.
They Got Nothing but Rainbow Colors in Blue Skies
I pass them everyday
Cycling at the outskirts of a shabby life
I pass them bent over in rows
picking the last ears of sweet corn
Their forlorn shacks in the middle of canebrakes
I pass them everyday
The Amazigh farmers who fought to the last drop of blood
shedding salty tears
over lands usurped by government officials in stiff suits
They got nothing except gadflies biting
& buzzing over their meek donkeys
No Gods show up in their arid lands to help them
with the harvest
They got nothing except
Seven sheepskins on hard floors
The Sultan’s black and white photograph on blank walls
A guerba of goat skin full of well water
Broken jugs, hay-stuffed rucksack pillows & clay plates
Jellabas made out of one thousand and one patches
I pass them everyday
The Amazigh farmers who fought for their native land
Their children rolling loose on crooked floors
to the corners of clay rooms, buttoned in cold,
their bones knitting shadows in dark
Dreaming of pullovers, raincoats and shoes
No representatives ever come to ask how school is going
Their dreams are drawn in sameness
No welfare checks or food stamps from phosphate revenues
I pass them everyday
The Amazigh farmers who fought for the land
Their wives never throw anything away
& their children eat last week’s greens rotting in plastic bags
They got nothing but rainbow colors in blue skies
Who Cares when you Die on Fifth Avenue
I never cared about
American Coke Zero,
Falafel or humus sandwich on McDougal Street
I called my mum
& said I am happy to subsist on Arab omelet
For two months I survived on slices of pizza
Like John Wieners on Broadway
When I think of it all now,
I tell myself misery was bliss
in the company of musicians
who played until the break of the day
I was more worried about elders in rags
sleeping in midnight subways
That made me forget about
ripe pomegranates harvested back home
I was more worried about the man
Who collapsed in the Fifth Avenue
Nobody cared! It was the American way
The sirens went on
& people lined in front of NYP Library
Since then I took every mention
of democracy with a grain of salt
Since then I understood why
Americans pray they’ll never fall sick
Since then my dreams were only about
universal healthcare for the wretched
So they can be sure
they’ll die in all the natural ways
Touched lightly by a professional angel
Prepare Thyself for Prison
Too much quiet
Is never a good sign
Life is as short as dwindling candlelight
Unless you stumble into prison
Then you get the impression
That life goes on forever
But at least, then you get rid of
Rent,
Job,
Credit,
Bills, refundable coupons,
& an endless commute.
You get three free meals a day,
A shower every Thursday
& probably a decent library
If your cell happens to be in Scandinavia
You could be re-acquainted with
Mayakovsky, Bukowski, Trotsky & Suzuki
They will teach you
The meaning of “Great Humility”
The only drawback is the lack
Of female companionship
When you get out of jail
You will imagine the life you will live:
A builder
Writer or producer of radio commercials
Hamburger or falafel seller
Blues player, diet pill advertiser
Telemarketing room manager
for dating services like Tinder
Yet, the time taken from you
By incarceration stares you in the face
Every day and late into the night
You will never be you again
A glance at yourself in the mirror
Hurts like a blade in your liver
You try to prove, at least to yourself,
You’ve been unjustly locked up
& you think of all the innocent ones
The system will never
Cough back into the street
You refuse to acknowledge
The permanence of barbed wire,
Armed guards and aluminum dishes
You attempt to prove to yourself
You did everything for the good
Of your brothers and sisters
Living in the shade of mercy
You attempt to prove
You aren’t human debris
By typing your thoughts
On a state typewriter five days a week
Locked up in the prison
of your everyday mind
on the outskirts
of your dear hometown.
A Prayer to End the War
Tonight
I shall refuse to argue or shout:
“My loss is greater than yours!”
Or even complain trivially:
“My pain is more valuable!”
As if we have not dodged the same bombs together
As if we haven’t looked the same enemy in the eye
Tonight
I will not marry the empty bed
in the empty corner of the empty shelter
Tonight
our dry skins and worn bones
that survived immeasurable distances,
that outlived sickness unto death
will unite in eternal embrace & I shall eat you with kisses
El Habib Louai is a Moroccan Amazigh poet, translator, teacher, and musician whose poems, translations, and articles have appeared in a variety of international literary magazines, journals and reviews. His first collection of poems is calledMrs. Jones Will Now Know: Poems of a Desperate Rebel.
