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FREEDOMWAYS        FIRST QUARTER 1973

class minority in their own homeland or as expropriated idle refugees in exile; at a later stage it became a ray of light that opened windows onto horizons of new hope and change. At all times it was embraced by the masses.

How this poetry will be judged in the future will be determined by what people who have been moved by it will do to change their realities.

The choice of this particular selection was merely a matter of personal taste. However, a variety has been attempted in terms of themes and poets. An anonymous poem from 1936 is included to illustrate the traditional nature of Palestinian poetry. Themes include poetry written by Palestinians in exile and by Palestinians who grew up under the Zionist occupation of Palestine. Culturally, one poet is a member of the Druze sect (Samih Al Kasim); three poets come from Christian families (Salem Jubran, Hannan Mikhail, Fawzi Al Asmar); three others from a Muslim background (Mahmud Darweesh, Fadwa Tukan, Rashed Hussein) and three are women (Jumana, Hanan Mikhail, Fadwa Tukan). All write for the cause of a free and progressive Palestine.

LYRIC FROM 1936*

Night: let the captive finish his song,
By dawn his wing will flutter
And the hanged one will swing
With the wind.

Night: lessen your pace,
Let me pour my heart to you,
Perhaps you forgot who I am
And what my troubles are.

Pity, how my hours have slipped
Down your hands.

Do not think I weep from fear,
My tears are for my country
And for a bunch of unfledged kids
Hungry at home
without their father.

Who will feed them after me?
My two brothers
Before me swung on the scaffold.

And how will my wife spend her days
Lonely and in tears?
I did not even leave a bracelet
Round her wrist
When my country cried for arms.

Anonymous


*This popular lyric, memorized by many Palestinians, has reached Palestinian generations by word of mouth. It was originally extemporized by an anonymous Palestinian just before his execution by the British authorities for participating in the revolt in Palestine in 1936.


TENT #50 (SONG OF A REFUGEE)

Tent #50, on the left, is my new world,
Shared with me by my memories:
Memories as verdant as the eyes of spring,
Memories like the eyes of a woman weeping.
And memories the color of milk and love.
Two doors has my tent, two doors like two wounds
One leads to the other tents, wrinkle-browed
Like clouds no longer able to weep;

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Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2024-02-21 09:11:16