New Poetry in Translation: ‘From a Country That Was’
“The temperature dipped a little / but the country’s still burning—”
“The temperature dipped a little / but the country’s still burning—”
“I survived—came out of yesterday / alive, carried out on the shoulders / of the wind.”
“I’ve said it before, and I say it now on this London evening / before it’s too late: / I am the last communist!”
For Sudanese readers living through the current crisis, the following lines by the late Mohammed el-Makkī Ibrahim resonate with striking immediacy, even though they were written in the 1980s. Beneath the layers of grief, a restrained optimism continues to breathe through its lines.
“Marriage is the afterlife / for which we have to cross this life, / leaving behind our homes and pasts, / waiting for justice with a light heart, / where our homes become our graves.”
“nothing to hold on to no more suitcases / & nothing left to take away”
“My city is full of barking / as if it were our shared memory / howling out there, in the cold.”
“After the genocide, / the genocide.”
Three months ago, ArabLit contributor Asmaa Dwaima lost her sister, who was martyred along with her little son. This poem is for her sister, Rewaa.