Robin Moger Does Mohamed Al Maghout

The Dying of 1958 *

 

.

Not men them flaming in the rose gardens

but cubs who roared for the last time

beneath the north rains.

They shouldered history

like fruit crates borne across the mire

through the filthy schools, the brothels of the south.

.

I know them.

I know chivalry

dignity

the precepts flowing

over the backseats of taxis.

*

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Seat of a passenger who left the bus

WADIH SAADEH’S LANDMARK POEM IN ROBIN MOGER’S TRANSLATION

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Wadih Saadeh selling his poems on Hamra Street in Beirut, circa 1968. Source: al-ghorba12.blogspot

Farewell God I walk looking at my feet off to the cafe to meet my friends

Farewell I grow old the cafe in the square I mount two steps and sit

Heard Carmena Burana and went now the player sings alone

by the closed window

Light rain against the pane light rain against the port across the way

Farewell Four o’clock I have a date with my friends

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Robin Moger Does the Classics

Ibn Arabi

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Gleams lightning, thunder hymns

and down the rain pours where

it falls the hills and dells turn green

and flowers open in their fields.

.

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Robin Moger Does Ahmad Yamani

Tomorrow the village market day

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By Youssef Rakha. Leukerbad, Switzerland

I will go to the spring

where you slip away to fill your jar

everyone at the market and me by the tree

we maintain twenty metres no more no less

and this before you catch on a stone or two

and before a foot slips and a jar slips

leaving me ahead

on our way to the spring again

by twenty metres and a slight smile.

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Mohab Nasr: Please, God, give us books to read

EGYPT. Alexandria. On the ledge of San Stephano beach. 1993.

Harry Gruyaert, Alexandria. On the ledge of San Stephano beach, 1993. Source: magnumphotos.com

Somehow

I was a teacher;

somehow

I considered that natural.

For this reason I began to bow

to words I did not say;

and to communicate my respects to my children.

I tried to make them understand that it was absolutely necessary

for someone to read,

to review with his parents—

while he hurls his shoe under the bed—

how exhausting and beautiful respect is:

that they have no future without words.

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Mohammed El Mazrouie: The angels fly

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—You were waiting there,

not parting from the threshold.

Neither night after night

nor morning after morning

could wipe off your eyes the elongated picture of a soul,

of the trunk of a soul.

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