موقع الشاعر طارق الكرمي

( Jazz )

7 summer nights, inky
The colour of Sierra Leone’s maiden in the bar
French wine and swirling jazz,
sways Sierra Leone’s maiden
Eyes shining with what wine and jazz have done
Her loop of corners narrowing
Sierra Leone’s maiden, her loop is wine and Jazz
Be ware the leopard uncoils

August, the Costal Plain

(Friendship)
For years, my dog Mickey’s lived with me
I feed him what I eat, what people never taste
He never spits into the plate from which he feeds
Alone with my dog in the one house
Where friends abandoned me and disappeared
It is said “people, what dogs they are!”, and I laugh
At people gossiping, barking!
How rabid they can be
Mickey guards me
Trustee, entrusted with me
In his eyes I find purity
My guardian angel while I sleep
In my 70 years
I have become a connoisseur of human nature
I know that even a dog fears the bite of man
And I know that a dog is the best of men
If you’ll let him, the dog
Can be a saint

* August, the Costal Plain

(A life Not as We Know It )

There is child drawing in his little book
A river and a weeping willow
And a bright sun washing his feet in the river
And near them a house of 7 balconies
And a red slate roof where birds will soon alight
And a sky flying a kite, a sky that is
The whole world in a little child’s book
Life, a dream in a child’s mind
But for us, the children of the earth, the earth grows too small
And all the skies have fallen in this instant
So where shall we go?
Shall we come to this child and kiss his golden feet
To beg this child to shelter us in the house of 7 balconies
To paint us into his little book
And give us life

Septet (Septrain)

See among the weeds, the stone turns
Which the wind has rolled
This stone in the palm of daybreak
Was your heart not 7 seconds ago
This rock turning this way and that between invisible bullets
And which the fist of a secret song wrenched, see…
A shooting star in not 7 heartbeats

August, The Costal Plain*

( Face of a fallen woman )

I was in a Parisian bed and breakfast (a pension so old it stood on cement feet)

With a fallen woman in her fifties

Me and the fallen woman (which of us is fallen)

Fell into the bed to the bottom of the night

The cold biting the wood of the window

The wind a wounded wolverine

We smoked and swallowed Ricard

I ask her, from which land do you come (me I come from every land)

The room is dark and I feel her face, my familiar in this night (a saint’s face)

I feel her face to touch my face that I no longer remember

The face of the fallen woman melts (drips) icons

It drips the stories of streets where many brothers fell

It drips paths for dogs and trees without rain

For I have no face, and no home to shelter my bones

Let your face in this dreadful night

Let your face in my hands against this dread

To glimps an absent face which comes in an hour (what face will come to me in my hour)

I search in your that drips moons (and the wolf cries in my ribs)

I hold your face, my familiar as it turns in my hands and bows in my hands

To stare into it and hallucinate

Oh, the face of my land

نشرت بتاريخ: 2009-03-02 (239 قراءة)

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