Tawfik Saabi

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The Joke
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Edward W. Said
“You cannot continue to victimize someone else just because you yourself were a victim once—there has to be a limit”
Edward Said

غسان كنفاني
“I heard you in the other room asking your mother, 'Mama, am I a Palestinian?' When she answered 'Yes' a heavy silence fell on the whole house. It was as if something hanging over our heads had fallen, its noise exploding, then - silence. Afterwards...I heard you crying. I could not move. There was something bigger than my awareness being born in the other room through your bewildered sobbing. It was as if a blessed scalpel was cutting up your chest and putting there the heart that belongs to you...I was unable to move to see what was happening in the other room. I knew, however, that a distant homeland was being born again: hills, olive groves, dead people, torn banners and folded ones, all cutting their way into a future of flesh and blood and being born in the heart of another child...Do you believe that man grows? No, he is born suddenly - a word, a moment, penetrates his heart to a new throb. One scene can hurl him down from the ceiling of childhood onto the ruggedness of the road.”
Ghassan Kanafani

Mahmoud Darwish
“المدن رائحة: عكا رائحة اليود البحري والبهارات. حيفا رائحة الصنوبر والشراشف المجعلكة. موسكو رائحة الفودكا على الثلج. القاهرة رائحة المانجو والزنجبيل. بيروت رائحة الشمس والبحر والدخان والليمون. باريس رائحة الخبز الطازج والأجبان ومشتقات الفتنة. دمشق رائحة الياسمين والفواكة المجففة. تونس رائحة مسك الليل والملح. الرباط رائحة الحناء والبخور والعسل. وكل مدينة لا تُعرفُ من رائحتها لا يُعوَّل على ذكراها. وللمنافي رائحة مشتركة هي رائحة الحنين إلى ما عداها... رائحة تتذكر رائحة أخرى. رائحة متقطعة الأنفاس، عاطفيّة تقودك كخارطة سياحية كثيرة الاستعمال إلى رائحة المكان الأول. الرائحة ذاكرةٌ وغروب شمس. والغروب هنا توبيخ الجمال للغريب.”
محمود درويش, في حضرة الغياب

Mahmoud Darwish
“هِيَ: هل عرفتَ الحب يوماً؟
هُوَ: عندما يأتي الشتاء يمسُّني
شغفٌ بشيء غائب، أضفي عليه
الاسمَ، أي اسمٍ، أَنسى…
هي: ماالذي تنساه؟ قُل!
هو: رعشة الحُمَّى، وما أهذي به
تحت الشراشف حين أشهق: دَثِّريني
دثِّريني!
هي: ليس حُباً ما تقول
هو: ليس حباً ما أَقول
هي: هل شعرتَ برغبة في أن تعيش
الموت في حضن إمرأة؟
هو: كلما اكتمل الغيابُ حضرتُ…
وانكسر البعيد، فعانق الموتُ الحياةَ
وعانَقَتهُ… كعاشقين
هي: ثم ماذا؟
هو: ثم ماذا؟
هي: واتحَّدت بها، فلم تعرف يديها
من يديك وأنتما تتبخران كغيمةٍ زرقاءَ
لا تَتَبيَّنان أأنتما جسدان… أم طيفان
أم؟
هو: من هي الأنثى - مجازُ الأرض
فينا؟ مّن هو الذَّكرُ - السماء؟
هي: هكذا ابتدأ أغاني الحبّ. أنت إذن
عرفتَ الحب يوماً!
هو: كلما اكتمل الحضورُ ودُجِّن المجهول…
غبتُ
هي: إنه فصل الشتاء، ورُبَّما
أصبحتُ ماضيكَ المفضل في الشتاء
هو: ربما… فإلى اللقاء
هي: ربما.. فإلى اللقاء!”
محمود درويش, كزهر اللوز أو أبعد

Gabriel García Márquez
“Tired of his lack of understanding, she asked him for an unusual birthday gift: that for one day he would take care of the domestic chores. He accepted in amusement, and indeed took charge of the house at dawn. He served a splendid breakfast, but he forgot that fried eggs did not agree with her and that she did not drink café con leche. Then he ordered a birthday luncheon for eight guests and gave instructions for tidying the house, and he tried so hard to manage better than she did that before noon he had to capitulate without a trace of embarrassment. From the first moment he realized he did not have the slightest idea where anything was, above all in the kitchen, and the servants let him upset everything to find each item, for they were playing the game too. At ten o’clock no decisions had been made regarding lunch because the housecleaning was not finished yet, the bedroom was not straightened, the bathroom was not scrubbed; he forgot to replace the toilet paper, change the sheets, and send the coachmen for the children, and he confused the servants’ duties: he told the cook to make the beds and set the chambermaids to cooking. At eleven o’clock, when the guests were about to arrive, the chaos in the house was such that Fermina Daza resumed command, laughing out loud, not with the triumphant attitude she would have liked but shaken instead with compassion for the domestic helplessness of her husband. He was bitter and offered the argument he always used: “Things did not go as badly for me as they would for you if you tried to cure the sick.” But it was a useful lesson, and not for him alone. Over the years they both reached the same wise conclusion by different paths: it was not possible to live together in any way, or love in any other way, and nothing in this world was more difficult than love.”
Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

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