POEMS by | Mazen Maarouf, Manal Al-Sheikh, Anisur Rahman, Diana Mistera, Hamdam Zakirov and Inger-Mari Aikio.


Mazen Maarouf / PALESTINE-ICELAND

 

Chlorophyll
[Translation: Mazen Maarouf]

 

The wood, which was used
Without love
To make wings of planes
And windows,
That wood
Inhabited by the spirits of hundreds of birds
From when it was part of a tree,
They clung to it,
While contemplating the skin of their little babies
And thinking
The leaves, which protect me from the wind …
Are late …
The wood of that window
Knows
That there are feathers beneath its bark,
That someday
It will be able to steal
Out of these squares
Designed for it
And then it will fly high
Wiping away the sweat of workers from its skin
Boasting
In front of children waiting for their school bus
That its origin was
A group of sparrows.

 

 

—-

Mazen Maarouf is a Palestinian-Icelandic writer, poet, translator and journalist. He has recently published his first short story collection titled Jokes for the Gunmen. He lives between Reykjavik and Beirut.


Manal Al Sheikh / IRAQ-NORWAY

 

War & Love
[Translation: Angham A.  Abdullah]

 

4- War
Men plan wars
And women survive in the rubble
One day there will be no men
And a woman will pursue another
In search of the scent of the last man
Who touched his lips to her neck.

7- Flowers don’t bud on my name
There is no grave to hold me when I die
For flowers don’t bud in Iraq
And here,
A passerby won’t lay a flower over a name you no longer say.

—-

Manal Al-Sheikh was born in Iraq. She has published poetry and narrative works. Typo- Love File is her last poetry collection. Manal currently resides in Stavanger, Norway.


Anisur Rahman / BANGLADESH-SWEDEN

 

(Six)
[Translation: Dominic Williams with Anisur Rahman]

Heart is empty, poems are nothing
For writing poetry, in search of a computer
Or carrying laptop on arms, moves here and there
I know there were poets, there were poetry in those days
When people could not even imagine this thing
Many poets then made beautiful poems
Telling their minds, opening their hearts
They see beauties even after bloodshed in hearts
They told many tales from their hearts, many verses
Even those days when they had no pen and paper
But there were poets, there were poetry and beauties
They had minds, they had hearts, they had urge to meet
Hearts sought for hearts, minds met minds after all
There were battering, shattering in their hearts
They had set their eyes on the eyes of others,
Recovered their poetry, then read the language in eyes
You and I had all madness in our bodies and minds
In the gamble of the time, what happened, we lost
The time, we missed the chance to make those madness
Between you and me, we missed the touches that could
Touch never ending bliss in you and me, what a pity
We had no time to think of those, no time in this world
Let me remind you the time of Adam and Eve, they could
Reunite, but we could not. They could return home, but not us.
We have no time to look at, no attempt to think of
We live in the same time, travel in a same vehicle
We fly on same wings of imagination, we find the same room
Sometimes maybe, who knows, who tells, who confesses
We appear on facebook, twitter, email, blog, mobiles and so
But what those mean to me when we fail to appear in our minds
We are passing the time running after computer, net after gate
How many names, how many pics page after page on every post
That’s not the end, we do sms, chat and skype and button type
Dear poet listen to me: I am tired of your poems, what you say
And do, run for computer. You the goddess, I am longing for
Heart is empty, poems are nothing, if you are not there. #

—–

Anisur Rahman was born in Bangladesh. Anisur had a pioneer role in founding the Literary Centre in Uppsala. His debut collection of poems is Empty Glass, 2003. He currently lives in Uppsala.


Diana Mistera / ITALY-FINLAND

 

Beloved Emptiness
[Translation: Diana Mistera]

Looking out of the window
while it’s raining
counting every heartache
in each drop of rain
while my tears
still keep falling on the floor.
My heart is gasping
at the memory of your lovely smile
that used to be, only mine.
I am crumbling
out of the shadows
only to run back in there.
This emptiness I hoped would be gone
but its pain is keeping this love forever alive.
I don’t know what I am feeling
Is it the cold feel of the grave”
or is it only the edge of the black hole
that I am running straight into
knowing that
I always find you at the end of the tunnel.

—-

Diana Mistera is an Italian author living in Finland. In 2011 she published her first novel, Il Signore delle Ombre. In 2012 Mistera joined Runokohtauksia a Finnish multilingual project.


Hamdam Zakirov / UZBEKISTAN-FINLAND

 

Kirjoittamaton Kertomus: olemattomuus
[Translation: Jukka Mallinen]

Sinun pikku sanasi “kuuntele tämänpäiväinen uni” oli
kaikille painajainen.
Ahdistelit sillä alituisesti. Miten paljon
yritimmekään myöhemmin muistaa kertomuksesi –
emme löytäneet yhdestäkään alkua ja loppua,
emme yhdenkään, pienenkään taulun kehyksiin kuvattua –
nature morten tai maiseman –
siellä, missä horisontti on merkitty huomaamatta, jos
katsoo tarkkaan,
kiristetyllä silkkilangalla, tai ranta on autio, mutta aina
jollain sätkällä tyhjyydestä vapautettu.
Yritettiin myös yhdistellä lyhyitä katkelmia,
vuosiin siroteltuja, eri vuoteisiin,
jotta saataisiin ilmi sinulle itsellesi
mahdollisesti tuntematon ydin,
joka pystyisi selittämään sinut meille kuolevaisille.
Sillä olihan se olemassa (mikä on epäämätöntä) –
tanssivassa askelluksessa,
hermostuneessa puheessa, virnistyksissä, kapeissa sormissa,
jotka aina
pitivät valmiina sytytintä, metron rahaketta tai huulipunaa.
Lensit kuin sudenkorento
(tarkemmin sanoen lepatit läpinäkyvin siivin)
tapahtumasta toiseen – oli se sitten kahvila,
ystävättären koti tai
minun rakkauteni: sinun elämässäsi tietysti –
taas uusi typeryys
(kuten muuten kaikki mitä sinulle tapahtuu). Niin otit
jokaisen päivän – kuin erikokoisten esteiden jonon –
kuitenkin
olit selvästikin juonessa kohtalon kanssa, kun jopa minä,
näissä asioissa sokea,
huomasin, ettet karttanut niitä, vaikka et
väsynytkään valittamaan.
Vain uni oli oikea nautinto ja sille
antauduit varauksetta ja vakavasti, kertoaksesi
(kuin nunna, joka nähtyään maitomukissa Jumalanäidin
rientää kertomaan unisille sisarille ennusmerkistä),
näkemäsi sille, jonka kanssa aurinko kohtasi lihasi
(ikään kuin
itse tuonpuoleisen reaalisuuden tosiseikka olisi
juonta tärkeämpi – kuten meidän tapauksessamme).
Unista tuli
ainoa kiinnikkeesi elämään, jossa vajosimme
(kuin “kompostin likavedessä”, kuten kerran heitit)
ongelmiin ja huoliin, sinähän pyrähtelit
kärsien tunkkaisesta ilmasta ja tahmeasta limasta –
raskaasti, kevyesti – kuten meistä näytti.
Nyttemmin, kun jälkesi ovat kadonneet, kaikki on
kenties toisin: mies, lapsia.
Tai onnistuit nousemaan lentoon ja irtautumaan maasta,
ja sinut nähdäkseen pitää nukahtaa syvään,
hyvin syvään. Ja herätä rakkaudesta.
Ja uhrata savukkeille se, mitä yöstä on jäljellä.

———

Hamdam Zakirov was born in Uzbekistan. He moved to Finland at 2001. Zakirov new poetry collection will be published by NLO a prestigious publishing house in Russia. Lives in Vantaa.


Inger Mari Aikio / FINLAND

[Translation: Inger-Mari Aikio]

 

sisilialaš
don jearat
makkárat min soagŋovierut
dološ jáhkut, sieiddit

in dieđe
ja heahpanan

jeara baicce
makkárat suopmelaččaid
vierut ja osku

de dieđán
ja heahpanan

—————————

sisilialainen
sinä kysyt
millaiset kosiomenomme
vanhat uskomuksemme, seitamme

en tiedä
ja häpeän

kysyisit pikemminkin
millaiset suomalaisten
tavat ja uskomukset

niin tiedän
ja häpeän.


Inger-Mari Aikio
is a Saami writer and filmmaker. Her poetry book Máilmmis dása (DAT 2001) was nominated for Nordic Litterature Prize 2004. Aurinko juo kermaa (2014) is her last book in Saami and Finnish presented as a poetry concert with Miro Mantere.

 

FR33MHZ-MUTANTTIKIELTÄ 18.3.2016

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