Belangrike bloemlesing oor Midde-Oosterse digkuns

Reza Aslan

Reza Aslan

Words without Borders is ‘n instansie wat enorm baie doen om die grense tussen verskillende digkunste af te breek. So was hulle verlede jaar verantwoordelik vir die belangwekkende bloemlesing The Ecco Anthology of International Poetry (saamgestel deur Ilya Kaminsky & Susan Harris) en pas het daar nog ‘n belangrike publikasie onder hul inisiatief verskyn, naamlik Tablet and Pen – Literary Landscapes from the Middle East wat deur Reza Aslan saamgestel is.

Op die webblad van Guernica Magazine het ene Gaby Calvocoressi ‘n onderhoud met hom gevoer oor hierdie grensverskuiwende publikasie. Graag neem ek ‘n aanhaling uit Calvocoressi se inleidende opmerkings by wyse van kontekstualisering; veral omrede dit ‘n mens opnuut daaraan herinner dat ‘n bepaalde digkuns eintlik deurentyd besig is om die emosionele landskap van daardie bepaalde taalgroep te karteer: “As opposed to the usual compendium of poems and stories whose sheer critical mass is meant to signify the historical importance of the anthology’s subject, Aslan has created a book that functions more like a novel. I took his directive in the introduction and read the anthology from beginning to end. It was, as promised, a revelation. In this work, we see the history of the Middle East unfolding as a wide-ranging, passionate, sometimes discordant conversation. I was consistently struck by the interiority of the voices and how rarely, in these days when the ‘Middle East’ is often the lead story in the news, we are given any sense of the intimate and varied intellectual and emotional life of its people.”

Dit is egter die volgende uitspraak van Aslan wat verdien om van kennis geneem en bepraat te word, aangesien dit op indirekte manier ‘n geweldige aanklag is teen die moderne samelewing waarvan ons helaas deel vorm: “You need the arts-literature, music, film-as a universal language that allows people to see beyond the walls that separate us. To stop thinking of each other as different religions, or different cultures, or different ethnicities, or nationalities, and start thinking of each other as human beings. As people with the same aspirations, and the same dreams, the same conflicts and the same issues. It’s only through that recognition of same-ness that you really do change people’s minds. …”

Amen, wil ‘n mens sê. Maar dan – vreemd genoeg is daar geen Hebreeuse digters in dié bloemlesing opgeneem nie; ook het Calvocoressi die samesteller nie oor dié weglating gepols nie. Maar nou ja, so is dit. ‘n Belangrike boek met gebreke; grense met geen deurgang.

Vir jou leesplesier plaas ek vanoggend onder aan die Nuuswekker ‘n gedig van die jong Iranese digter, Rosa Jamali.

***

Sedert gister het daar net een nuwe bydrae bygekom en dit is ‘n fotogedig deur Andries Bezuidenhout met die titel “Aanwysing, waarskuwing, instruksie.” Dan behoort die radiogolwe vanaand omtrent aan die digkuns. Om 20:30 kan jy op RSG na Daniel Hugo luister wanneer hy in Leeskring met Louis Jansen van Vuuren gesels oor sy pasverskene bundel Tempermes. Om 22:00 is Daniel self aan die woord in Vers & Klank wanneer hy gedigte voorlees van Joan Hambidge, Johann de Lange, Danie Marais, Pieter Hugo, Louis Jansen van Vuuren, Martjie Bosman en Fanie Olivier. Die regisseur is Margot Luyt.

Geniet dit alles.

Mooi bly.

LE

 

The Last Street of Tehran

At the airport
The upshot of my hands now
Is this cramped land
It’s the size of the palms of my hands
Overlooking the slippery sunlight
And the sun is not on speaking terms with us
The dream coming from the Lut desert is moving my fingers
The wind stiffens my teeth
The whirlwind from the sandy desert
Is blowing through our house

Sticking the pieces of my face together to make me laugh?

How can I jump over your hands?
Precisely in the way you predicted: 
A huge grave
To put the longest night to sleep
The sleep has migrated from our eyelids
Has covered the river bank
Drenched our
Torn-up lips!

Sticking the pieces of my face together to make me laugh?

With scissors
They’re cutting something
Alphabets drooping on the soil
Vanished letters of our names
Had you forgotten them?
Through the zigzags
Firm and stiff
In the middle of the desert
Spread
You’ve locked up my mother’s breath!
Her footprints vanishing on the sand . . .

Sticking the pieces of my face together to make me laugh?
No . . . !
I won’t be back
I will not return to the last street of Tehran
I left a single shoe here
For you
To put on
And follow me!
An outline is forming on the horizon
It’s the size of my hand
Jumping higher than three feet
The precise size of my hand!

 

© Rosa Jamali (vertaal deur die digter)

 

 

 

 

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