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Like a Straw Bird It Follows Me: And Other Poems
A stirring collection of recent work by a leading poet of the Arab world, superbly translated for English-language readers
In this inspired translation of Like a Straw Bird It Follows Me, Ghassan Zaqtan's tenth and most recent poetry collection,along with selected earlier poems, Fady Joudah brings to English-language readers the best work by one of the most important and original Palestinian poets of our time. With these poems Zaqtan enters new terrain, illuminating the vision of what Arabic poetry in general and Palestinian poetry in particular are capable of. Departing from the lush aesthetics of such celebrated predecessors as Mahmoud Darwish and Adonis, Zaqtan's daily, delicate narrative, whirling catalogues, and at times austere aesthetics represent a new trajectory, a significant leap for young Arabic poets today.
In his preface to the volume, Joudah analyzes and explores the poet's body of work. "Ghassan Zaqtan's poems, in their constant unfolding," Joudah writes, "invite us to enter them, exit them, map and unmap them, code and decode them, fill them up and empty them, with the living and nonliving, the animate and inanimate, toward a true freedom."
In this inspired translation of Like a Straw Bird It Follows Me, Ghassan Zaqtan's tenth and most recent poetry collection,along with selected earlier poems, Fady Joudah brings to English-language readers the best work by one of the most important and original Palestinian poets of our time. With these poems Zaqtan enters new terrain, illuminating the vision of what Arabic poetry in general and Palestinian poetry in particular are capable of. Departing from the lush aesthetics of such celebrated predecessors as Mahmoud Darwish and Adonis, Zaqtan's daily, delicate narrative, whirling catalogues, and at times austere aesthetics represent a new trajectory, a significant leap for young Arabic poets today.
In his preface to the volume, Joudah analyzes and explores the poet's body of work. "Ghassan Zaqtan's poems, in their constant unfolding," Joudah writes, "invite us to enter them, exit them, map and unmap them, code and decode them, fill them up and empty them, with the living and nonliving, the animate and inanimate, toward a true freedom."
- GenresPoetryMiddle East
144 pages, Hardcover
First published April 1, 2012
5 people are currently reading
189 people want to read
About the author
Ghassan Zaqtan
30 books22 followersGhassan Zaqtan (Arabic غسان زقطان) is a Palestinian poet, author of ten collections of poetry. He is also a novelist, editor. He was born in Beit Jala, near Bethlehem, and has lived in Jordan, Beirut, Damascus, and Tunis.
His book Like a Straw Bird it Follows me translated by Fady Joudah was awarded the Griffin Poetry Prize , 2013. His name appeared twice among the short-listed award winners of the Neustadt International Prize for Literature in the years of 2014, 2016 / University of Oklahoma, perceived as the American Nobel Prize. In recognition of his achievement and contribution to Arabic and Palestinian literature, Ghassan Zaqtan was awarded the National Medal of Honor by the Palestinian president Mahmoud Abbas in June 2013. His name appeared for the first time in the fall of 2013 among the speculation list for the Nobel Prize in Literature. Ghassan Zaqtan’s work has been translated to English, French, Italian, Norwegian, German and other languages.
His book Like a Straw Bird it Follows me translated by Fady Joudah was awarded the Griffin Poetry Prize , 2013. His name appeared twice among the short-listed award winners of the Neustadt International Prize for Literature in the years of 2014, 2016 / University of Oklahoma, perceived as the American Nobel Prize. In recognition of his achievement and contribution to Arabic and Palestinian literature, Ghassan Zaqtan was awarded the National Medal of Honor by the Palestinian president Mahmoud Abbas in June 2013. His name appeared for the first time in the fall of 2013 among the speculation list for the Nobel Prize in Literature. Ghassan Zaqtan’s work has been translated to English, French, Italian, Norwegian, German and other languages.
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
June 4, 2022
The birds' departure from his heart
leaves the plains white
where the story is white
and sleep is white
and silence is the caller's icon.
A laugh of sand will sprout when the door is opened
from fear's angle, a hymn
for the grand winter, and the voices
of those who left long ago will jump like grasshoppers
when the door is opened.
Wait, wait a moment
for us to dry a moment
there's in our trace
a reckless lament
and a ceramic bird …
and watch for the necklaces on the ceiling
Why don't you turn the lights on
or be happy with sitting
and watch for the fruits on the ground
Your voice in my room exhausts the silence
the silence of pots
the silence of shelves
the silence of writing
the silence of lighting
and the silence of survival
which I have been gathering for years
with the patience of one who's alone with the garden in summer
or one who retrieves absence
the absence
that never stops.
leaves the plains white
where the story is white
and sleep is white
and silence is the caller's icon.
A laugh of sand will sprout when the door is opened
from fear's angle, a hymn
for the grand winter, and the voices
of those who left long ago will jump like grasshoppers
when the door is opened.
Wait, wait a moment
for us to dry a moment
there's in our trace
a reckless lament
and a ceramic bird …
and watch for the necklaces on the ceiling
Why don't you turn the lights on
or be happy with sitting
and watch for the fruits on the ground
Your voice in my room exhausts the silence
the silence of pots
the silence of shelves
the silence of writing
the silence of lighting
and the silence of survival
which I have been gathering for years
with the patience of one who's alone with the garden in summer
or one who retrieves absence
the absence
that never stops.
January 28, 2022
Midnight . . .
or after.
We were here
buying mysterious fruit
from invisible vendors.
A darkness passed through the cane fields.
The edge of night
folded the paved road,
all the houses were equal.
The screaming of glass ended.
The great air
ended.
Your heart now
is black.
May 21, 2023
I’m still learning how to read poetry so I don’t have much to say. But I know these poems affected me and I think I’ll return to them.
November 11, 2013
Ghassan Zaqtan. The name of poet caught my eye and translated poetry always amazes me.
*From Luring the Mountain* is a poetic sense of mind, after the rest seemed not to pull me in. But am glad I picked it up. A list of favorites below.
-Neighboring Sounds
-The Song of the Betrayed
-Just A Song
-Islands
-Salty Hills
-Black Horses
-The Orchard's Song
-The Springs
*From Luring the Mountain* is a poetic sense of mind, after the rest seemed not to pull me in. But am glad I picked it up. A list of favorites below.
-Neighboring Sounds
-The Song of the Betrayed
-Just A Song
-Islands
-Salty Hills
-Black Horses
-The Orchard's Song
-The Springs
July 16, 2022
What a delight, beautiful!
January 31, 2021
when this book is good, its really good and when its bad, its just plain bizzare. zaqtan definitely does have a talent for domestic yet cutting imagery, and despite that quaintness of imagery the voice of the poems is quite grandiose in a way that seems to appreciate the gravity of its own object. my favourite section from this book (which had translations of poems from some of zaqtan's other collections) was the poems from biography of charcoal which definitely felt like poetry of witness to me and were just incredible, so im hoping to get my hands on the original collection at some point!
now when i say this book was at times bizzare i mean there were just a bunch of weird mentions of womens breasts, which im willing to think might be a fault of translation. however, the usage of women (and i say usage quite deliberately) felt lazy and sleazy most of the time, like i would be reading the poem out loud and then i'd trail off feeling really put off. they rarely had any autonomy, any characterisation, barely any personage — they were mostly bodies. there were also mentions of other things (slavery, elements of Asian cultures) that also felt weird and unjustified. the funniest thing is the syntax in those bits always felt like it was trying to copy darwish's which like????? but in the worst way possible.
ANYWAY this was still mostly a beautiful read. at its best its an exploration of exile, family, and death. at its worst... well, no need to beat a dead horse. 3.5 stars.
now when i say this book was at times bizzare i mean there were just a bunch of weird mentions of womens breasts, which im willing to think might be a fault of translation. however, the usage of women (and i say usage quite deliberately) felt lazy and sleazy most of the time, like i would be reading the poem out loud and then i'd trail off feeling really put off. they rarely had any autonomy, any characterisation, barely any personage — they were mostly bodies. there were also mentions of other things (slavery, elements of Asian cultures) that also felt weird and unjustified. the funniest thing is the syntax in those bits always felt like it was trying to copy darwish's which like????? but in the worst way possible.
ANYWAY this was still mostly a beautiful read. at its best its an exploration of exile, family, and death. at its worst... well, no need to beat a dead horse. 3.5 stars.
October 20, 2021
All died in war, my friends and classmates…
And their little feet, their excited hands, remained
Stomping the classroom floors, the dining tables and sidewalks,
The backs and shoulders of pedestrians…
Wherever I go
I hear them
I see them.
*******
…there is no sun for me here
no shadow
no state that delights the soul
or a rendezvous in the gist of speech…
I have no fear
no wall
and no horse.
I must leave quickly
and toss its laws to the wolves
its wisdom to sand
and leave at night
as when I arrived back when no gray glistened in my parted hair,
and free and nervous like a strange plant
I stood at the gates…
Like a Straw Bird It Follows Me: And Other Poems ** Read in Saudi Arabia (Sep-Oct 2021)
And their little feet, their excited hands, remained
Stomping the classroom floors, the dining tables and sidewalks,
The backs and shoulders of pedestrians…
Wherever I go
I hear them
I see them.
*******
…there is no sun for me here
no shadow
no state that delights the soul
or a rendezvous in the gist of speech…
I have no fear
no wall
and no horse.
I must leave quickly
and toss its laws to the wolves
its wisdom to sand
and leave at night
as when I arrived back when no gray glistened in my parted hair,
and free and nervous like a strange plant
I stood at the gates…
Like a Straw Bird It Follows Me: And Other Poems ** Read in Saudi Arabia (Sep-Oct 2021)
December 18, 2017
Book Riot Read Harder Challenge 2017 | Task 23: Read a collection of poetry in translation on a theme other than love
July 8, 2013
If the imagery of Wolves and Ghosts in this book of poetry was really an effort to "consciously move[d] away from mythologizing exile and displacement and homed in on the poem as textural movements...whose reservoir of everyday things became endless projections that sculpt (or crumble) sound and form" then it seems like Zaqtan has successfully moved away from Darwish and, weirdly enough, moved towards the 2005 Wolf Parade album "apologies to the Queen Mary." Which is a great thing. I love that album, and God knows I've never really understood the interest in Darwish. With the sense of isolation, the shifting associations of imagery (the wolf is used in totally different ways depending on the poem, imagine if Lorca used la luna to be feminine danger in one poem, and then suddenly it meant hospitality in another)and especially in my need to continuously reread and reread the poems (I remember playing Modern World 30 times in a row on my i-pod back in '05), this book could have been called Like a straw bird, it follows me into the high noon sun.
See what I mean: Exhibit A
The lighting that lit up the hills
sketched bending ghosts
and heads of anxious animals
behind and above
Exhibit B
I was a torch driving the savages back to the trees
Modern world has more ways
And I don't mention it since it's changed
While the people go out and the people come home again
It's gotta last to build up your eyes
And a lifetime of red skies
Which one is which? Anywho,
When I have a hard time following the logic of a poem, I like for it to be on its own merits, not because I'm not in on the mythology. It should be a mystery for everyone, experienced in our own minds. As I read this book, and read the beautiful confusing poems over and over again, I felt displaced, and moved, and it was my own experience, not something understood with the distance of a history book.
See what I mean: Exhibit A
The lighting that lit up the hills
sketched bending ghosts
and heads of anxious animals
behind and above
Exhibit B
I was a torch driving the savages back to the trees
Modern world has more ways
And I don't mention it since it's changed
While the people go out and the people come home again
It's gotta last to build up your eyes
And a lifetime of red skies
Which one is which? Anywho,
When I have a hard time following the logic of a poem, I like for it to be on its own merits, not because I'm not in on the mythology. It should be a mystery for everyone, experienced in our own minds. As I read this book, and read the beautiful confusing poems over and over again, I felt displaced, and moved, and it was my own experience, not something understood with the distance of a history book.
January 3, 2016
Astonishing.
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews