On the Choice to Write in Colloquial Arabic

On the Choice to Write in Colloquial Arabic

In Conversation with Sayed Abolela

When Egyptian poet and playwright Sayed Abolela sent in his poetry to ArabLit, he wrote — in his covering letter — that he had chosen to write them in 3ammiya, or colloquial Egyptian Arabic, as “a deliberate philosophical choice.” Yesterday, we ran one of his poems, “Cinema“; today, a conversation about that choice.

Can you take us back to when you made this choice? Where were you in your career? Have your thoughts about writing in 3meya changed at all over time?

Sayed Abolela: My relationship with art began on the stage, before I entered university. I acted in plays produced by the Ministry of Culture, which gave me my first experience in front of an audience. When I started university, I came to know the poetry of Salah Jahin and Ahmed Fouad Negm, and I fell in love. I began imitating them, and then that work developed into something resembling poems. This period coincided with the January Revolution [of 2011].

To my surprise, my fellow students loved these poems, and I found an audience eagerly awaiting my work, which resembled long monologues that offered both political criticism and humor. When performing them, I used my theatrical experience to elicit applause, and I enjoyed this part of it. This period yielded student awards and enough poems to fill two collections.

The turning point came when I happened to visit the Qena Cultural Palace and met poets there who presented their verse, not in an attempt to garner applause, but rather to create artistic masterpieces that stir both the mind and the heart. Although their works were written in classical Arabic, they drew my attention to a paradise I’d known nothing about.

I began to feel that everything I had written up to that point was meaningless, just my personal opinions in the form of song lyrics. So I decided to test my theory. I joined the university’s literary club, where I had already cultivated an audience of students who appreciated my performances. I started improvising nonsense that had nothing to do with poetry or anything else. Just meaningless drivel, but I used a theatrical performance to embellish it. And they applauded, as usual. I felt miserable.

I tore up everything I had written over the previous four years and stopped writing altogether. I spent about two years reading and reflecting before I returned with a new piece of writing in Egyptian colloquial Arabic—not spoken colloquial Arabic, but rather the colloquial Arabic that’s for reading. It lacked any captivating melodies, and I didn’t present it with theatrical flair. I deliberately maintained a completely expressionless face so that the text spoke directly to the audience without any intervention from me that might affect the listener.

From then until now, I have used colloquial language like a sculptor crafting a statue. I don’t rely on rhythm but on honesty and brevity. My reward is the reader’s or listener’s astonishment, not their applause.

What role do you think 3ammiya literature plays in Egypt and how is it different from colloquial literatures elsewhere in the region? 

SA: Every people enjoys its local language and uses it in different ways, through songs, proverbs, or even poems.

In Egypt, as elsewhere in the world, people’s love for their language manifests in various forms. They have used it to express love, to resist injustice and occupation, to immortalize wisdom in proverbs, to craft songs sung by workers, to create chants.

Colloquial language is material for art, and the marvel lies in the art itself, not in its genre. The colors are not the most important element of a painting; rather, it is how the artist uses them to create a painting.

The difference that may distinguish literature in Egyptian colloquial Arabic today is its evolution to offer something deeper than “conveying information” or “entertainment.”

Playtexts seem to naturally lend themselves to 3ammiya. What about short stories and novels? Have you experimented with short stories or novels in 3ammiya? 

SA: I have tried many forms of writing. I have written plays and performed in colloquial and classical Arabic, and I have also tried writing short stories in colloquial and classical Arabic, although I have not yet written a novel.

Tell us about a favorite writer who works in dialect?

SA: Fouad Haddad.

Can you tell us about a favorite poem or poems by Fouad Haddad (1928-1985)?

SA: I love the collection من نور الخيال وصنع الأجيال في تاريخ القاهرة. It’s one of his works closest to my heart.

You say that “writing in 3ammiya is not a concession to accessibility” — do some people describe it that way?

SA: This is a point of ongoing bone of contention between poets who work in colloquial and classical Arabic. Some classical poets feel that the popularity of colloquial writers has nothing to do with the quality of their work, but rather because they have chosen the easier path.

As for me, I chose a colloquial language that is read and not spoken; mine are not simply poems of catharsis.

Do you think there is a different audience for 3ammiya poetry, vs. the audience for poetry written in a more standard register? 

SA: I believe that most of the current audience for colloquial poetry is looking for disposable poems, like tissues, to help them release their emotions. But for those who genuinely seek art, neither language nor artistic form will be a barrier to creativity. They will appreciate both classical and colloquial Arabic if it offers them genuine art.

What are the particular challenges (of being published, read, and distributed) for an author who writes in 3ammiya?

SA: The biggest challenge is that publishers currently find colloquial poetry unprofitable, and naturally it is one’s right as a businessperson to look to profit.

The problem is that seeking out what people prefer, without adhering to any ethical code, indirectly contributes to the public’s ignorance. Publishers may profit more in the short term by providing what people expect they want, but in so doing, they are contributing to the disappearance of the act of reading itself. This is because people will then find other forms of entertainment that don’t involve reading at all.

From my point of view, it is logical for public and private institutions to promote genuine creativity in all its forms, because what we really need to invest in is people’s minds, to push them to become hooked on the search for beauty.

How do you see the relationship between your work as a poet and your work as a playwright? Does your poetry inform your playtexts and vice versa?

SA: Sometimes, poetry is influenced by theater or theater by poetry, I have no authority over that; the creative idea is born free in the mind and heart of the creator, and it freely chooses its path, pulling what suits it from the author’s toolbox so that it can see the light.

When an idea comes to me, I don’t know whether to write it in colloquial or formal Arabic, whether it’s for a play or poetry. I enjoy writing as an act. I see it as my duty to make my work accessible to as many people as possible, but I’m not saddened if it doesn’t bring me fame or fortune, because I’ve already received my full share of happiness simply by finishing the writing.

Can theater and poetry overlap? Yes, it happens sometimes, but unintentionally on my part. Art is like sweat, a human secretion. I don’t try to restrict it with my mind or direct it, because the mind sometimes loses the freedom and truth of the idea.

If you could create additional support for authors who write in colloquial dialects, what would it be? Prizes, publishing houses specifically dedicated to 3meya, workshops, YouTube channels, events, literary festivals, something else?

SA: Awards are undoubtedly helpful, but they can become politicized. What’s more important is opening up academic pathways for them, in the form of grants, that help them learn and write freely without being preoccupied with fear of poverty or the future.

Poets deserve to be celebrated and cared for. Poetry is a trick of universe, one that temporarily disables our world’s cancerous growths.

Interview translated by ArabLit.

Sayed Abolela is a poet and playwright based in Cairo. His first poetry collection, Jumbo: The Childhood of a Charlatan (جامبو.. طفولة دجال), was published by the Egyptian General Book Authority in 2019.