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Bagpipes over the Arboretum drift up to the hill
This poem was inspired by a visit to Canberra’s arboretum. It is a beautiful gift to the city by visionary leaders who rather than opening up the land for development, wanted to create a public park open to all Canberrans and an arboretum, which then city then did not have. These forests, like almost all the people of Canberra, come from far away. Many are species that are endangered in the homelands. On any fine Canberra weekend the arboretum fills with walkers and families enjoying the beautiful scene. Autumn is particularly special as many of the individual forests put on their autumn colours. However this poem is not just a…
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Desdemona’s Tears rain down for another than she
In recent times, I have been working both on translating May Ziadeh’s poetry and publication of Cinthio’s Desdemona: The Story that Inspired Othello. With both their stories on my mind, I thought to write the poem below. In this poem, I follow Cinthio’s version of Desdemona’s story, rather than Shakespeare. The figure of Scheherazad appeared in my commentary for Cinthio’s Desdemona. The reference to Cassandra honours May Ziadeh’s own poetry, which itself draws on ancient Greek mythology. I have published translations of three of May’s poems: Eyes, the Child and I, and Where is My Country? Desdemona’s Tears [In memory of May Ziadeh] My tears are not for me, I…
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May Zaideh’s poignant country lost and found
Of the many cruelties of colonialism, one of the worst was the dissection of colonial possessions as colonialism came to an end. That dissection left lasting wounds which are yet to heal in many parts of the world and the lines drawn on maps in the interests of in faraway capitals still plagues the destiny of millions. May Ziadeh’s life was marked by that kind of history; that kind of geography. This article is dedicated to her poem “Where is My Country?” (عين وطني) published in her collection Shadows and Light (ظلمات وأشعة). The poem is presented below in its original Arabic, with my English translation. May Ziadeh was born…
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Echoes of Other Tongues
The poem below plays with language and voice. Recently I have been publishing poems in bilingual form: an original accompanied by a translation (English-Italian or English-Arabic). My poem below experiments with blending language and meaning into a single whole. La seguente poesia gioca con la voce e con la lingua. Di recente ho pubblicato poesie bilingue: un originale con una traduzione (inglese-italiano o inglese-arabo). Questa poesia prova a fondere due lingue e significati in un singolo insieme. In Andalusia, when Arabic was still the language of government and literature, writers did not confine themselves to one language, but could mix Romance and Arabic or Hebrew together. Muwashah poetry (a particular…
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Japanese Breakfast is a Special Treat
Japanese Breakfast is a Special Treat La Prima Colazione Giapponese è un piacere speciale A quiet Kyoto neighbourhood, The scene of an act of love for visiting family, Time out to prepare steaming rice and miso. Un rione quieto di Kyoto, Scena di un atto d’amore per la famiglia arrivata da lontano, Una pausa per fare il riso e il miso fumante. The carefully crafted egg roll, Accompanied by grilled smoked fish, Sweet and salt in harmony. L’involtino primavera artigianato con cura Servito con pesce affumicato alla griglia Dolce e salato in armonia Pickled vegetables and natto laid out just so, Each with its own bowl or dish … Sottaceti…
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Hate speech
Hate Speech Discorso d’odio A sly joke in 8chan Lighten up, just harmless trolling … Before you get down to tin tacks, And take the knuckledusters for an outing But the problem ain’t just that … Una battuta furbesca su 8chan Resta calmo, solo trolling innocente … Prima che arrivi al sodo, E ti porti i tirapugni per una passeggiata Ma il problema non è solo questo … Hate, Well it’s on the hustings, Flag draped proud Around its shoulders. And on nightly news its number two. L’odio Beh è nella campagna elettorale Bandiera avvolta fieramente Sulle spalle E sul telegiornale, è la seconda notizia. Hate’s lurking in the bomb…
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The atomic bomb never defined Nagasaki
This poem doesn’t need explanation, at least if you have visited Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Outside Japan you may only know these names because of the atomic bomb. This single reductive moment does not define Nagasaki, nor Hiroshima. Nagasaki is not the bomb Nagasaki non è la bomba Nagasaki is not the bomb, not future nullified No present, obliterated past. Nagasaki non è la bomba Senza presente, passato svanito. Not the mere shadowed imprint Of a flash of falling fire Not just the runner up In Hiroshima’s winning race. Non solo stampa di ombra Del bagliore del fuoco fatale Non solo secondo premio Dopo Hiroshima, la prima. Hiroshima, where one brilliant…
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Kahlil Gibran: Love is a spirit and you its essence
Kahlil Gibran has written much on the theme of love. Below are two new English translations of his poems Love is a spirit and you its essence (الحب روح أنت معناه) and Some we love, but we do not come near (البعض نحبهم لكن لا نقترب منهم). The second poem brings to mind the figure of May Ziadeh who was his most famous ‘distant’ love. Love is a spirit and you its essence الحب روح أنت معناه Love is a spirit and you its essence With a good word you fashioned it Have mercy on a heart on the brink of Perishing and protect him with thy care When I…
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Cordoba’s Mezquita: Silvered Birch and Sunset Palms
I thought I would hate it. Before I crossed the Roman-Andalusian bridge still Spanning the river’s gurgling rush; the guitar’s Flamenco soothing, reviving, recalling Before I passed the Courtyard of Oranges and entered – The shadowed hall Mirrored doubled striated palmed arches in red and gold Rank on rank, columns receding into sunsetting eternity Receding into eternal Arabic calligraphy Curling pirouettes in decorated coves. The Great Mosque of Cordoba, Or The Mezquita as it’s known, Its name an affectionate diminutive … Yet still my finger can trace the Arabic masjid* on the wall. Plonk a church inside a mosque … no that could never work Some kind of garish violation…
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Alhambra is beautiful white inside
