The fourth Qasida القصيدة الرابعة (اليمامة التي رحلت بقطار الشتاء) When our loved ones leave Amira, as you left, an endless migration in us begins and a certain sense takes hold in us that all of what is finest in and around us, except for the sadness, is going away- departing, not to return the pomegranate trees, whose flowers you loved, drooped and their shade withdrew,and the path , and the china bark tree, and the brooks- all departed after you left and won`t return. during the winter, strange birds seeking refuge arrive, among them quails and songbirds with colorful wings, and also birds of prey, and some that are sad and frail and hold you spellbound in their goodness gathering pebbles and grain, and trembling in the tremendous cold and out of a sense of profound strangeness- though all of a sudden together they leave. they come as one in winter suddenly, as with it they suddenly flee. ---------- I have, Amira, a strange and powerful feeling, which grows still stronger in winter, becoming increasingly forceful and strange, and I sense that you`ll arrive one day with these birds, an olive`s dove- enchanting, sweet-smelling, graceful and gentle, and restless, alighting near the almond tree in our garden. A dove whose feelings of cold are fatal, whose sense of strangeness can kill, whose longing for the olive grove is lethal, a dove who smiles, her eyes holding gardens of sadness, while joy`s remains linger on in her coo. The minute I see her, I`ll know her, and recognize, too, catastrophes` rings hanging from her tender neck. I`ll know her clear, springlike glance, her dewy gaze like the dreams of lakes. I`ll know her shy, velvety steps, her measured paces, like breaths taken by seedlings of lettuce. And I`ll know her sweet, singular,lilac voice, which-every time I heard it- I sensed was coming from deep within me, a remote place within my soul, lost and unknown- this voice that reaches me and which I greet and embrace before my hearing stirs. I will not mistake it, for I can distinguish between the voices of all the doves of the world gathered together in a single garden. And when I see her, my feet will set out for the heart`s site within my breast. But I will not let her see the tears welling up in my eyes, neither the tears of my joy for her, nor the tears of my fear for her, and not the tears of years of sadness, nor my years of pain. My blood will rush in my veins to meet her then and welcome her. And she will know us well, our sadness will lead her to us, our anticipation will lead her to us, the longing will lead her, the evenings, the ardor. The night will guide her, and the clouds and grass and the forest will show her the way, the seasons and rivers and paths- all will guide her toward us. And she will know us and cry, remember us and weep, gather the greens and grain and sob, tremble from the force of the cold and the depth of strangeness, and weep. We`ll tell her of the fields of thorn, the colocynth fruit and crimes of the wind, the fangs of dispersal, the mill of night and its cruelty, the ardor of evening we`ll speak to her of defeat, of bitterness and the loss- and remind her of the olive buds, as she weeps on and on. She`ll neither find us strange nor fear us and she will not draw back from us, but suddenly she`ll depart as suddenly she appeared, and the winter that brought her with when it arrived that morning will pass from our garden swiftly like a train. Waking from her slumber in terror, then she`ll cry and hanging from one of its coaches` windows she`ll weep, withdrawing into the distance, the tears filling her lovely eyes. ----------- Amira! When our loved ones leave us, as you left , an endless migration in us begins, and a certain sense takes hold in us that all of what is finest in and around us, except for the sadness, is going away, departing, not to return. 20.11.1983 أميرة! عندما يرحل أحباؤنا كما رحلت تبدأ في داخلنا هجرة لا تنتهي ويحيا معنا يقين أن كل ما هو جميل فينا ومن حولنا ما عدا الحزن يرحل يغادر ولا يعود فأشجار الرمان التي كنت تحبين أزهارها ترهلت أغصانها و غادرتها الظلال والطريق وأشجار الكينا وجداول الماء كلها رحلت بعد رحيلك ولم تعد وفي ألشتاء تأتي طيور غريبة لاجئة فيها سمان وفيها عصافير أجنحتها ملونة فيها طيور جارحة وفيها طيور رقيقة حزينة تأسر بطيبتها تلقط الحصى والقمح وترتجف من شدة البرد وعمق الإحساس بالغربة لكنها جميعا ترحل فجأة تأتي فجأة في الشتاء وترحل فجأة معه ----- لدي يا أميرة شعور غريب وقوي يتعزز كل شتاء ليصبح أكثر قوة وأشد غرابة فأنا أشعر انك ستأتين يوما مع هذه الطيور ستأتين يمامة زيتون يمامة فاتنة يمامة عطرة يمامة رشيقة أليفة قلقة تهبط عند شجرة الكرز من حديقتنا يمامة شعورها بالبرد قاتل إحساسها بالغربة قاتل حنينها لكروم الزيتون قاتل يمامة تبتسم وفي عينيها بساتين حزن تنوح وفي هديلها بقايا فرح أنا سأعرفها بمجرد أن أراها سأعرف أطواق النكبات المعلقة بعنقها الحنون ساعرف نظراتها الربيعية الصافية نظراتها الندية كأحلام البحيرات ساعرف خطواتها المخملية الخجولة خطواتها الرتيبة كانفاس اشتال الخس وسأعرف صوتها الليلكي المتفرد صوتها العذب صوتها الذي ما سمعته إلا احسست أنه قادم من مكان في أعماقي قصي مكان في النفس سحيق ضائع ومجهول هذا الصوت الذي يبلغني فأصافحه وأعانقه قبل أن يصل سمعي لا أخطئه أستطيع أن أميزه من بين أصوات يمام الدنيا وقد جمع ووضع في حديقة واحدة حين أراها سترحل كفي إلى موضع القلب من صدري لكني لن أدعها ترى الدموع في عيني لا دمع الفرح بها ولا دموع الخوف عليها ولا دموع أعوام الحزن وسني العذاب سيهرول دمي قي عروقي للقائها والتسليم عليها والاحتفاء بها هي ايضا ستعرفنا حزننا سيدلها علينا انتظارنا سيدلها علينا ألحنين يدلها والغروب والوجد ألليل يدلها والغمام والعشب ستدلها الغابة الفصول والطرقات والأنهار ستدلها علينا ستعرفنا وتبكي تتذكرنا وتبكي تلقط الحصى والقمح وتبكي ترتجف من شده البرد وعمق الغربة وتبكي نروي لها عن حقول الشوك وثمار الحنظل ونشكو لها جناية الرياح نحكي لها عن براثن الشتات عن لؤم رحى الليل وجوى الأمسيات نحكي لها عن القهر والمرارة والضياع ونذكرها ببراعم الزيتون فتبكي وتبكي هي لا تنكرنا لا تفزع منا ولا تبتعد عنا لكنها ترحل فجأة كما جاءت فجأة فالشتاء الذي أحضرها معه حين جاء يمر ذات صباح من حديقتنا مسرعا كالقطار فتهب من نومها مذعورة تبكي وتتعلق بإحدى شرفاته وتبكي تبتعد والدمع يملأ عينيها الحبيبتي ----- أميرة عندما يرحل أحباؤنا كما رحلت تبدأ في داخلنا هجرة لا تنتهي ويحيا معنا يقين أن كل ما هو جميل فينا ومن حولنا ما عدا الحزن يرحل يغادر يبتعد ولا يعود 1983.2.20 طه محمد علي
NORDST80 The fourth Qasida القصيدة الرابعة (اليمامة التي رحلت بقطار الشتاء) When our loved ones leave Amira, as you left, an endless migration in us begins and a certain sense takes hold in us that all of what is finest in and around us, except for the sadness, is going away- departing, not to return the pomegranate trees, whose flowers you loved, drooped and their shade withdrew,and the path , and the china bark tree, and the brooks- all departed after you left and won`t return. during the winter, strange birds seeking refuge arrive, among them quails and songbirds with colorful wings, and also birds of prey, and some that are sad and frail and hold you spellbound in their goodness gathering pebbles and grain, and trembling in the tremendous cold and out of a sense of profound strangeness- though all of a sudden together they leave. they come as one in winter suddenly, as with it they suddenly flee. ---------- I have, Amira, a strange and powerful feeling, which grows still stronger in winter, becoming increasingly forceful and strange, and I sense that you`ll arrive one day with these birds, an olive`s dove- enchanting, sweet-smelling, graceful and gentle, and restless, alighting near the almond tree in our garden. A dove whose feelings of cold are fatal, whose sense of strangeness can kill, whose longing for the olive grove is lethal, a dove who smiles, her eyes holding gardens of sadness, while joy`s remains linger on in her coo. The minute I see her, I`ll know her, and recognize, too, catastrophes` rings hanging from her tender neck. I`ll know her clear, springlike glance, her dewy gaze like the dreams of lakes. I`ll know her shy, velvety steps, her measured paces, like breaths taken by seedlings of lettuce. And I`ll know her sweet, singular,lilac voice, which-every time I heard it- I sensed was coming from deep within me, a remote place within my soul, lost and unknown- this voice that reaches me and which I greet and embrace before my hearing stirs. I will not mistake it, for I can distinguish between the voices of all the doves of the world gathered together in a single garden. And when I see her, my feet will set out for the heart`s site within my breast. But I will not let her see the tears welling up in my eyes, neither the tears of my joy for her, nor the tears of my fear for her, and not the tears of years of sadness, nor my years of pain. My blood will rush in my veins to meet her then and welcome her. And she will know us well, our sadness will lead her to us, our anticipation will lead her to us, the longing will lead her, the evenings, the ardor. The night will guide her, and the clouds and grass and the forest will show her the way, the seasons and rivers and paths- all will guide her toward us. And she will know us and cry, remember us and weep, gather the greens and grain and sob, tremble from the force of the cold and the depth of strangeness, and weep. We`ll tell her of the fields of thorn, the colocynth fruit and crimes of the wind, the fangs of dispersal, the mill of night and its cruelty, the ardor of evening we`ll speak to her of defeat, of bitterness and the loss- and remind her of the olive buds, as she weeps on and on. She`ll neither find us strange nor fear us and she will not draw back from us, but suddenly she`ll depart as suddenly she appeared, and the winter that brought her with when it arrived that morning will pass from our garden swiftly like a train. Waking from her slumber in terror, then she`ll cry and hanging from one of its coaches` windows she`ll weep, withdrawing into the distance, the tears filling her lovely eyes. ----------- Amira! When our loved ones leave us, as you left , an endless migration in us begins, and a certain sense takes hold in us that all of what is finest in and around us, except for the sadness, is going away, departing, not to return. 20.11.1983
أكثر من رائع أستاذ عامر أول مرة سمعتها منك في المعهد العربي للترجمة على الساعة ١٢:٠٠ سافرت بنا إلى عوالم ليلكية ... في خلوة الشعر يتأجج وجدننا العميق
The fourth Qasida القصيدة الرابعة
(اليمامة التي رحلت بقطار الشتاء)
When our loved ones leave
Amira,
as you left,
an endless migration in us begins
and a certain sense takes hold in us
that all of what is finest
in and around us,
except for the sadness,
is going away-
departing, not to return
the pomegranate trees,
whose flowers you loved,
drooped and their shade withdrew,and the path
, and the china bark tree,
and the brooks-
all departed
after you left
and won`t return.
during the winter,
strange birds seeking refuge arrive,
among them quails
and songbirds with colorful wings,
and also birds of prey,
and some that are sad and frail
and hold you spellbound in their goodness
gathering pebbles and grain,
and trembling in the tremendous cold
and out of a sense of profound strangeness-
though all of a sudden together they leave.
they come as one in winter suddenly,
as with it they suddenly flee.
----------
I have, Amira, a strange and powerful feeling,
which grows still stronger in winter,
becoming increasingly forceful
and strange,
and I sense that you`ll arrive
one day with these birds,
an olive`s dove-
enchanting,
sweet-smelling,
graceful and gentle,
and restless,
alighting near
the almond tree in our garden.
A dove whose feelings of cold are fatal,
whose sense of strangeness can kill,
whose longing for the olive
grove is lethal,
a dove who smiles,
her eyes holding gardens of sadness,
while joy`s remains linger on in her coo.
The minute I see her, I`ll know her,
and recognize, too, catastrophes` rings
hanging from her tender neck.
I`ll know her clear, springlike glance,
her dewy gaze
like the dreams of lakes.
I`ll know her shy, velvety steps,
her measured paces,
like breaths taken by seedlings of lettuce.
And I`ll know her sweet, singular,lilac voice,
which-every time I heard it-
I sensed was coming from deep within me,
a remote place within my soul,
lost and unknown-
this voice that reaches me
and which I greet
and embrace before my hearing stirs.
I will not mistake it,
for I can distinguish between
the voices of all the doves of the world
gathered together in a single garden.
And when I see her, my feet will set out
for the heart`s site within my breast.
But I will not let her see the tears
welling up in my eyes,
neither the tears of my joy for her,
nor the tears of my fear for her,
and not the tears of years of sadness,
nor my years of pain.
My blood will rush in my veins
to meet her then and welcome her.
And she will know us well,
our sadness will lead her to us,
our anticipation will lead her to us,
the longing will lead her,
the evenings, the ardor.
The night will guide her,
and the clouds and grass
and the forest will show her the way,
the seasons and rivers
and paths-
all will guide her toward us.
And she will know us and cry,
remember us and weep,
gather the greens and grain
and sob,
tremble from the force of the cold
and the depth of strangeness,
and weep.
We`ll tell her of the fields of thorn,
the colocynth fruit
and crimes of the wind,
the fangs of dispersal,
the mill of night and its cruelty,
the ardor of evening
we`ll speak to her of defeat,
of bitterness and the loss-
and remind her of the olive buds,
as she weeps on and on.
She`ll neither find us strange nor fear us
and she will not draw back from us,
but suddenly she`ll depart
as suddenly she appeared,
and the winter that brought her
with when it arrived
that morning will pass from our garden
swiftly like a train.
Waking from her slumber
in terror, then she`ll cry
and hanging from one of its coaches` windows
she`ll weep,
withdrawing into the distance,
the tears filling her lovely eyes.
-----------
Amira!
When our loved ones leave us,
as you left ,
an endless migration in us begins,
and a certain sense takes hold in us
that all of what is finest
in and around us,
except for the sadness,
is going away,
departing, not to return.
20.11.1983
أميرة!
عندما يرحل أحباؤنا
كما رحلت
تبدأ في داخلنا هجرة لا تنتهي
ويحيا معنا يقين
أن كل ما هو جميل
فينا ومن حولنا
ما عدا الحزن
يرحل يغادر
ولا يعود فأشجار الرمان
التي كنت تحبين أزهارها
ترهلت أغصانها
و غادرتها الظلال
والطريق وأشجار الكينا
وجداول الماء
كلها رحلت
بعد رحيلك
ولم تعد
وفي ألشتاء
تأتي طيور غريبة لاجئة
فيها سمان وفيها عصافير
أجنحتها ملونة
فيها طيور جارحة
وفيها طيور رقيقة حزينة
تأسر بطيبتها
تلقط الحصى والقمح
وترتجف من شدة البرد
وعمق الإحساس بالغربة
لكنها جميعا
ترحل فجأة
تأتي فجأة في الشتاء
وترحل فجأة معه
-----
لدي يا أميرة شعور غريب وقوي
يتعزز كل شتاء
ليصبح أكثر قوة
وأشد غرابة
فأنا أشعر انك ستأتين يوما
مع هذه الطيور
ستأتين يمامة زيتون
يمامة فاتنة
يمامة عطرة
يمامة رشيقة أليفة قلقة
تهبط عند شجرة الكرز من حديقتنا
يمامة شعورها بالبرد قاتل
إحساسها بالغربة قاتل
حنينها لكروم الزيتون قاتل
يمامة تبتسم وفي عينيها بساتين حزن
تنوح وفي هديلها بقايا فرح
أنا سأعرفها بمجرد أن أراها
سأعرف أطواق النكبات
المعلقة بعنقها الحنون
ساعرف نظراتها الربيعية الصافية
نظراتها الندية
كأحلام البحيرات
ساعرف خطواتها المخملية الخجولة
خطواتها الرتيبة
كانفاس اشتال الخس
وسأعرف صوتها الليلكي المتفرد
صوتها العذب
صوتها الذي ما سمعته
إلا احسست أنه قادم من مكان في أعماقي قصي
مكان في النفس سحيق
ضائع ومجهول
هذا الصوت الذي يبلغني
فأصافحه وأعانقه
قبل أن يصل سمعي
لا أخطئه
أستطيع أن أميزه
من بين أصوات يمام الدنيا
وقد جمع ووضع في حديقة واحدة
حين أراها سترحل كفي
إلى موضع القلب من صدري
لكني لن أدعها
ترى الدموع في عيني
لا دمع الفرح بها
ولا دموع الخوف عليها
ولا دموع أعوام الحزن
وسني العذاب
سيهرول دمي قي عروقي
للقائها
والتسليم عليها
والاحتفاء بها
هي ايضا ستعرفنا
حزننا سيدلها علينا
انتظارنا سيدلها علينا
ألحنين يدلها
والغروب والوجد
ألليل يدلها
والغمام والعشب
ستدلها الغابة
الفصول
والطرقات
والأنهار
ستدلها علينا
ستعرفنا وتبكي
تتذكرنا وتبكي
تلقط الحصى والقمح
وتبكي
ترتجف من شده البرد
وعمق الغربة
وتبكي
نروي لها عن حقول الشوك
وثمار الحنظل
ونشكو لها جناية الرياح
نحكي لها عن براثن الشتات
عن لؤم رحى الليل
وجوى الأمسيات
نحكي لها عن القهر
والمرارة والضياع
ونذكرها ببراعم الزيتون
فتبكي وتبكي
هي لا تنكرنا
لا تفزع منا
ولا تبتعد عنا
لكنها ترحل فجأة
كما جاءت فجأة
فالشتاء
الذي أحضرها معه حين جاء
يمر ذات صباح
من حديقتنا
مسرعا كالقطار
فتهب من نومها
مذعورة تبكي
وتتعلق بإحدى شرفاته
وتبكي
تبتعد
والدمع يملأ عينيها الحبيبتي
-----
أميرة
عندما يرحل أحباؤنا
كما رحلت
تبدأ في داخلنا هجرة لا تنتهي
ويحيا معنا يقين
أن كل ما هو جميل
فينا ومن حولنا
ما عدا الحزن
يرحل يغادر يبتعد
ولا يعود
1983.2.20
طه محمد علي
تعبير صادق لشعر الراحل طه محمد علي
روعة
احد احب القصائد لقلبي ... أميرة ❤ .
جميلة جدا
عُظمة هَل قصيدة.
القاء استثنائي
could one please post a translaiton in english or link me to the specific poem in english?
NORDST80 The fourth Qasida القصيدة الرابعة
(اليمامة التي رحلت بقطار الشتاء)
When our loved ones leave
Amira,
as you left,
an endless migration in us begins
and a certain sense takes hold in us
that all of what is finest
in and around us,
except for the sadness,
is going away-
departing, not to return
the pomegranate trees,
whose flowers you loved,
drooped and their shade withdrew,and the path
, and the china bark tree,
and the brooks-
all departed
after you left
and won`t return.
during the winter,
strange birds seeking refuge arrive,
among them quails
and songbirds with colorful wings,
and also birds of prey,
and some that are sad and frail
and hold you spellbound in their goodness
gathering pebbles and grain,
and trembling in the tremendous cold
and out of a sense of profound strangeness-
though all of a sudden together they leave.
they come as one in winter suddenly,
as with it they suddenly flee.
----------
I have, Amira, a strange and powerful feeling,
which grows still stronger in winter,
becoming increasingly forceful
and strange,
and I sense that you`ll arrive
one day with these birds,
an olive`s dove-
enchanting,
sweet-smelling,
graceful and gentle,
and restless,
alighting near
the almond tree in our garden.
A dove whose feelings of cold are fatal,
whose sense of strangeness can kill,
whose longing for the olive
grove is lethal,
a dove who smiles,
her eyes holding gardens of sadness,
while joy`s remains linger on in her coo.
The minute I see her, I`ll know her,
and recognize, too, catastrophes` rings
hanging from her tender neck.
I`ll know her clear, springlike glance,
her dewy gaze
like the dreams of lakes.
I`ll know her shy, velvety steps,
her measured paces,
like breaths taken by seedlings of lettuce.
And I`ll know her sweet, singular,lilac voice,
which-every time I heard it-
I sensed was coming from deep within me,
a remote place within my soul,
lost and unknown-
this voice that reaches me
and which I greet
and embrace before my hearing stirs.
I will not mistake it,
for I can distinguish between
the voices of all the doves of the world
gathered together in a single garden.
And when I see her, my feet will set out
for the heart`s site within my breast.
But I will not let her see the tears
welling up in my eyes,
neither the tears of my joy for her,
nor the tears of my fear for her,
and not the tears of years of sadness,
nor my years of pain.
My blood will rush in my veins
to meet her then and welcome her.
And she will know us well,
our sadness will lead her to us,
our anticipation will lead her to us,
the longing will lead her,
the evenings, the ardor.
The night will guide her,
and the clouds and grass
and the forest will show her the way,
the seasons and rivers
and paths-
all will guide her toward us.
And she will know us and cry,
remember us and weep,
gather the greens and grain
and sob,
tremble from the force of the cold
and the depth of strangeness,
and weep.
We`ll tell her of the fields of thorn,
the colocynth fruit
and crimes of the wind,
the fangs of dispersal,
the mill of night and its cruelty,
the ardor of evening
we`ll speak to her of defeat,
of bitterness and the loss-
and remind her of the olive buds,
as she weeps on and on.
She`ll neither find us strange nor fear us
and she will not draw back from us,
but suddenly she`ll depart
as suddenly she appeared,
and the winter that brought her
with when it arrived
that morning will pass from our garden
swiftly like a train.
Waking from her slumber
in terror, then she`ll cry
and hanging from one of its coaches` windows
she`ll weep,
withdrawing into the distance,
the tears filling her lovely eyes.
-----------
Amira!
When our loved ones leave us,
as you left ,
an endless migration in us begins,
and a certain sense takes hold in us
that all of what is finest
in and around us,
except for the sadness,
is going away,
departing, not to return.
20.11.1983