,

‘The Silent Poets’: Three Poems by Da’ad Haddad

The iconic Syrian poet Da’ad Haddad (1937-1991) was known by fellow Syrian artists in her lifetime, but — as Ibtihal Rida Mahmood wrote in a profile of the poet — her work spread further after her death. “Although Da’ad Haddad published two poetry collections—Correcting Death’s Mistake and A Crumb of Bread is Enough For Me—in the 1980s, the Latakia native’s literary influence and renown were to be posthumous, ushered in by the publication of The Tree Leaning Towards the Ground and There is Light after her passing in 1991 in Damascus, where she died at the age of 54.”

Haddad date and often time-stamped her poems, which were usually written in the small hours of the morning. These three in the mid-1980s, a few years before her premature death.

Burst these Arteries

By Da’ad Haddad

Translated by Ibtihal Rida Mahmoud

Write… Write… Write

Burst these arteries

Spurt over the rotten wooden boards

Until the earthworms emerge

From all the cracks

Leap over the fences

Lift this earth… off my chest

Do not… lull me…

December 31, 1985

فجري هذي الشرايين

اكتبي… اكتبي… اكتبي

…فجّري هذي الشرايين

انسفحي فوق الألواح الخشبية المتآكلة

…حتى يخرج دود الأرض

…من كل الشقوق

…اقفزي فوق السياجات

…احملي هذه الأتربة… من فوق صدري

…لا… تهدهديني

The Silent Poets

By Da’ad Haddad

Translated by Ibtihal Rida Mahmoud

How do they ruin the world—

these silent poets?

How do they spell out Jealousy

and stand like a goddess?

How do they trade—in breadcrumbs?

Ah, how do they cry from too much love?

Ah, the corners of these eyes

These sweetnesses

These laughs.

Take this iris

Take this intoxicating drink

And take freedom

Night of February 23, 1986

الشعراء الصامتون

…كيف يُخرّبون العالم

!هؤلاء الشعراء الصامتون؟

…كيف يُهجّون الغيرة

!ويصمدون كآلهة؟

!كيف يتداولون… فتات الخبز؟

!آه، كيف يبكون من كثرة الحب؟

…آه، هذه الزوايا العينية

…هذه الحلاوات

…هذه الضحكات

…خذ هذه السوسنة

…خذ هذا الشراب المُسكِر

وخذ حرية

Diving While Clothed

By Da’ad Haddad

Translated by Ibtihal Rida Mahmoud

Ah, Tchaikovsky…

Diving while clothed—

Meeting the nightly sea—

that heavenly—weeping—

of the khamsin winds.

How the dust cries!

Is it from the cruel chill of prison walls?!

I don’t know why I did this.

How do hands cry?!

I don’t know why I did this to my hand—

To my mind.

Kiss this lonely old woman—

Surrender a little to the devil—

Stop these massacres.

Night of March 24, 1986

الغوص في الملابس

…آه… تشايكوفسكي

…الغوص في الملابس

…ملاقاة البحر الليلي

…ذلك البكاء… السماوي

…لرياح… الخماسين

!كيف يبكي الغبار

!من قسوة برودة جدران السجن؟

…لا أعرف لم فعلتُ هذا

!كيف تبكي اليدان؟

…لا أعرف لم فعلتُ هذا بيدي

…بفكري

…قبّلوا تلك العجوز… الوحيدة

…استسلموا قليلاً للشيطان

…أوقفوا تلك المذابح

Ibtihal Rida Mahmood is a Jordanian American writer and translator based in New England, USA.