There are events around the world this September 25-27 celebrating the poetry of Mahmoud Darwish, after the Arab World Institute and Centre Pompidou declared September 25 to be “Mahmoud Darwish Poetry Day.” We share this new translation by Palestinian writer-translator Alaa Alqaisi.
From ‘The End of Things’
By Mahmoud Darwish
Translated by Alaa Alqaisi
Fruit on the verge of falling from the tree:
that is the ending and the beginning,
or a language for leaving.
At the far end of the tunnel, space cracks open and expands.
We can neither search for a thing,
nor for a word that might set a wall free inside us.
And yet the streets open so we may pass.
Two shadows split from us,
then spread into a night neither felt nor seen.
Who can love after you?
Who will be healed of salt’s wounds
after you?
In the marriage of sea and night,
the heart turned toward you,
and did not find us:
it found no partridge disguised as stone.
At the far end of the tunnel,
we reach the wisdom of the slain.
We make our present equal to our past
so we might survive tomorrow’s nightmares.
Our days are trees.
How many moons wanted you
to be the sea’s bride?
How many winds longed to rise
so you might take me by the hand?
Our days are leaves
on the verge of falling with the rain.
Death has only its final excuses.
There is no place for us here
to linger beside the sea.
So let us open a road for flowers,
and for children’s feet,
so they might learn to walk quickly toward the graves.
Our trials have grown old,
and our speech has narrowed.
Let us go dark.
Let us hide
in the lives of the ancestors,
and in the journey that leads only to another journey.
At the far end of the tunnel,
everything falls from our hands.
The scent of almonds cannot bring us back,
nor can the roads of al-Sham.
At the end of all things,
we ask for everything
that might keep the final fruit from falling.
But we go on
toward the death of fruit,
with the stubborn pride of new lovers.
Do not remember me
when your unborn child grows and grows.
Do not step into my dream,
nor listen to my sleep.
Do not be angry with me.
Do not be angry with memory,
or with the rust on the feathers of doves.
At the end of things,
we understand how the moon
will slaughter and deny us.
Read the original poem at Al Diwan.
Mahmoud Darwish (1941-2008) was one of the great writers of the twentieth century.
Alaa Alqaisi is an author and translator who has new work out now from Skein Press. You can find it at the Skein Press website.
