Home » News » Unpublished Poem by Iraqi Poet Rushdi Al-Amel: A Long-Lost Gem Resurfaces After 30 Years

Unpublished Poem by Iraqi Poet Rushdi Al-Amel: A Long-Lost Gem Resurfaces After 30 Years

We publish here an unknown poem by the Iraqi poet Rushdi Al-Amel (1934 – September 19, 1990) that has not been published before, and was not included in his complete poetic works, which were published by Al-Mada publishing house in 2010.

The poet had sent a cassette tape to his friend and relative Damir Al-Ani, who resides in Morocco, containing this poem, in 1989, that is, one year before the poet’s death, in the hands of the late Moroccan poet Muhammad Al-Toubi. Due to some circumstances, this poem remained in his drawers for more than 30 years, until a few days ago he sent it to the poet’s son, Ali.

Rushdi Al-Amel belongs to the post-pioneer stage, along with Saadi Youssef, Youssef Al-Sayegh, Mahmoud Al-Braikan, and Hussein Mardan. The worker’s poetry was distinguished by his political commitment, mixing it with a delicate romantic feeling that did not leave him throughout his short life. As a poet and a human being, we do not find much difference between Rushdie’s first poem, in the early fifties, and the last poem he wrote in the late eighties, so much so that it can be said that Rushdie only wrote one poem, starting with “Songs Without Tears,” published in 1957, until his last poem. The worker was subjected to persecution during the royal era. He was expelled from school in his youth, exiled to Cairo, and then returned to Iraq after the 1958 coup. After the 1963 Baathist coup, he was imprisoned in “Qasr al-Nihaya.” After the 1968 coup, its writing was banned more than once.

Among his poetry collections: “Whispers of Astarte” 1951, “Songs Without Tears” 1956, “The Eyes of Baghdad and the Rain” 1961, “Words Have Doors and Sails” 1971, “You First” 1983, “The Migration of Colors” 1983, and “ Ali’s Garden 1986, and The Stone Road 1988.

(Planned by artist Faisal Laibi)

The turn

I was overcome with sadness

I tore my sails on the sidewalks of the night

I lie back laughing at everything

Who we were and was

The embers of poetry and revolution in

The date and letters in the flag

And the strings on the guitar

And hoarseness in the singer’s voice and songs

No sorrow suffocates my voice, no volcanoes of anger

All I ever enjoyed were houses made of reeds

Everything that makes me laugh or cry is mirrors and games

Oh, the time when you were lost in the mind of birds. That time has passed

Here I am, my kingdom is silence, and the gate of my sadness is closed

My paths, wherever I turn my face, are impossible

In my blood, a snake cries out to a place that I will never reach

On my lips, the rose withers and the ear cries

So leave me the bouquet of forgetfulness in the burdened basket of my soul

I am not an illusion that has passed you by, and you are not stingy

The roses are tired of the dew, and the branch is tired of the leaves

The horizon narrowed with moving wings

All the clusters were squeezed and the river ran its course

And the orange eyes turned white

The chest becomes dry and the infants do not produce breast milk

And the men lay down from oppression

The snow turned into piles of mud

A mound of sand

However, the earth is not fed up with its dead and still is

The guillotine spins

In the open path, I cast my shadow behind the door and left

The forest and the river are behind me

and the coast

She entered the remote temple

I crouched down on the ground

I touched the cold wood and the chair

Deserted in the confessional corner

I said, Mr. Priest, I prayed without a heart

And I sang without a voice

And I fought without a sword

and death

Once on River Street, in front of a pale-faced woman

I knelt down

Once in a prison torture room

I cried

Once for a child with bulging eyes in the street

I was stolen

Once in the battle, I didn’t know

Who kills whom?

What for

So I ran away

Try me, cut my flesh into pieces

I saw God in my face crying, so I cried

However, whenever a deep grave leaves me, I scream

They dragged me without sin to the court of patience

They tore the shroud of the dead for me and I was resurrected

Here I am, my lord priest, asking for forgiveness

Without sin

My days are bright, and my nights are innocent

Ask the Lord even if it is an inch of land

Hire me where I was born

Here I am, there you are, two faces on the stage

In one of the corners

We walked out between shadow and light, naked

Our ghosts wear silence and hide masks

A game in the clown theater, between the mirrors

Well, we are without land, without face, and without name

No history

The wing of the whirlwind threw us

And we started the game

You are a clever and critical director

You are the play

I am the poet and the poems, the choir and the lover

The singer cries

I am the judge, I am the witness

The accused is absent in every case

The chamberlain kneels: Your Honor

The delegations of justice and the second accused have come

And the sword of justice

Who is the second accused?

It is the public, Your Honor

And here came the prompter

The session begins at midnight: in the name of justice and law

And the symbol through which the Lord rules us

The scene ends with the execution of the witness and the judge

The second accused was detained, and the singer’s guitar was detained

With the flogging of the mad poet and the lovers in the Kingdom of God and the burial of the play

The critic and director are legally required to pay municipal fees

The enforcement agencies must close the case.

You have two faces

A face that gives the eye its innocence

Having fun like kids

And he rests beautiful and final at night

The second

He is filled with boredom

Tell me how to see the rib

The third is in curves

Disappointment and oppression, reflected in rippling laughter

How painful is honesty from both sides?

You have two hearts, one heart for bitter anger

The wind wails over him and the fire calms him down

It is ignited by sparks

The other is like a gentle wave

The moon swims in it

Which one would be far away if I returned to you?

Which one is waiting?

I will continue to divide my path between the two paths

And grant the source of surgery to the hearts

I have two votes

A whispering voice presents official papers

For national guards, for sellers in human flesh markets and for merchants

The other voice, demented, is for the revolution and the revolutionaries

Oh woman

You know me by two faces and you do not see me

You listen to the sounds on my lips but do not hear me

You live in the heartbeat and you do not know me

We are strangers seeking refuge in the cold of the desert

We are fugitives without names

We flee in the nakedness of our steps

Of city masks

This is the time of false love

Leave me at night stations, alone

Waiting for my time

May 1988

2023-10-05 17:15:42
#Imru #alQais #returns #country #centuries #Diriyah #Gate

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