Adnan Al-Seyagh / London

* Thurs. 03 / 01 / 2007

Script

 * Pearl Tree 4

Other

Biography
 
 

 

Adnan Al-Sayegh was born in Iraq on 1955. He is a member of The Iraqi Union of writers, The Arab Union of Writers, the Iraqi and Arab Journalists Union, The International Journalist Organization, The Swedish Writers Union and The Swedish Pen Club. His poems have been translated to English, Swedish, Spanish, French, German,Dutch, Romanian, Norwegian, Danish,  Persian and Kurdish. He has published: She waits for me under the statue of liberty (Baghdad, 1984) Songs on the bridge of Kufa (Baghdad, 1986)  Birds don't love bullets (Baghdad, 1986) Sky in a helmet (Baghdad, 1988) Mirror for her long hair (Baghdad, 1992) Clouds of glue (Baghdad, 1993) Under a strange sky (London, 1994) Formations (Beirut and Amman, 1996) Orok anthem (Beirut, 1996) A shout as large as a native country (Sweden, 1998) To cuddle my exile (Sweden, 2001).

 
 

 

Script

I forgot myself
On the desk of my library
And went away
As I started
My step to the road
I detected
That I was nothing
But just a shadow of a script
Walking
Before me and I am looking at
Shaking hands with the people
As if it were me.

Malmö, February 2, 2000
 

Interpretation

They dictate me into lines
Classify me into chapters
Print me fully
And deliver me
To bookstores
Cursing me
On newspapers
And I haven’t opened
My mouth yet.

Damascus, March 7, 1996
 

Obsessions

Lesser knock at a door
Hiding my poems confusedly
In the drawers
But frequently
Knockings are like an echo
of police patrols
To circuit in the streets
of my head.
Nevertheless
I surely know
They will knock at
My door one day
With their trained fingers
Like police dogs
To reach the alders
of my heart
And grab my papers
And……..
My life
To depart later
Peacefully.

Beirut, October, 1996
 

Schizophrenia

In my country
Fear gathers me
And divides me
A man writes
Another lurks me
Behind the curtains
Of my window.

Baghdad, January 10, 1987
 

Doors

I knock at a door
I open it
But I see nothing
Except myself as a door
I open it
To get into
But there is nothing
Except another door
Oh! Lord
How many doors
Separate myself
From me ?!

Malmö, December, 1998
 

Longing

I have a homeland
In the shadow of the palms
Enclosed with rifles
Oh! How can I reach it?
And the path
Gets so away between us
The admonition as well
How can I see the comrades
Who were taken away
To the cellars
Or got paunchy in the scales
Or delivered to the dust
It is an ordeal
To find – after twenty years –
The bridge isn’t you traversed once
And the skies aren’t as used to
And the people are haunted with absence.
 

***********
Translated by: Jawad wadi
 

  
 

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